Page 16 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
And that might just be my biggest problem.
Yeah, she’s grown. Mature beyond her years. Sharp, grounded, knows who she is. No question there. But the moment I heard her say her age, something inside me shifted.
Through ordering food, the easy flow of playful banter, even the flirtation that keeps skimming dangerously close to that invisible line—we keep talking, but I can’t stop the loop playing in my head.
The gap. Not just in years. In life. In experience. She’s closer to Marlow’s age than she is to mine. And suddenly, I feel every single one of those fifteen years press heavy on my chest.
Then the ugliest thought creeps in—one I can’t shake. What if the reason I’m so drawn to her has nothing to do withwhoshe is... and everything to do with what she represents?
Young. Temporary. Easy to lose.
The very things I’ve clung to, to keep from wanting something real with anyone after Maddy. Exactly what I promised Marlow I’d stop chasing.
Finally, I can no longer hide my expression. “Why does it look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Eslin asks. Her voice is gentle, but her eyes are sharp. Intuitive.
I try to laugh it off, but the sound is hollow. Forced. “My daughter’s just a few years younger than you.”
She frowns, thoughtful. “And the age difference bothers you?”
I drag in a breath. “Me? No. Her? Definitely.”
She studies me for a beat, her gaze piercing. “And you don’t want to fracture your relationship with her for something that—”
“—should stay in Vegas,” I finish for her.
She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to convince me otherwise. And damn if that doesn’t make me respect her even more.
When the check comes, I refuse to let her pay. But true to who she’s been all night, she slips a wad of cash onto the table and insists on covering the tip. Stubborn.
The young ones usually are.
We walk again, quiet but connected, the streets slowly waking around us. We’re near the hotel and club where we first met when the first light of dawn creeps in. The Strip softens beneath the sunrise—Vegas shedding its shine for the day.
And then... she lets my hand go.
In that moment, I know.
After the best damn night of my life, I have to lethergo too.
No phone number. No first or last kiss. No empty promises.
Just...goodbye.
Chapter three
Cupcakes & Croissants
Eslin
Present day
“Move in the summer!” they said.
“It’ll be easier!” they said.
Well, the next time I see any one of my so-called friends who told me it was a good idea to move to the freakingSouthin the middle of July, I’m going to slap the taste from their mouths. All of them. On sight.
I wanted a change of pace. Hell, a change of life. So when my college friend, Maxine, called, telling me the Atlanta Strikers were looking for a team therapist and performance coach—someone to help get their players’heads rightbefore the soccer championships next year—I didn’t hesitate. It sounded like the perfect fit.
