Page 29 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
Grant
Iam a glutton for punishment. A foolish, idiotic man.
When I found out Eslin wasn’t backing down from the job—that she was, in fact, starting right after the Fourth of July—I might’ve insisted we offer her one of the corporate apartments.
In my building.
It’s a small detail I conveniently left out when I updated Xavier and Will. No need to invite scrutiny where there doesn’t need to be any.
Because it doesn’t matter. I won’t touch her. I won’t make a move. I just wanted her...close. Even knowing full well I can’t have her.
What can I say? I’m an addict.
Eslin is my drug.
I’m nearly two months sober now. Two months into what I’ve dubbed my six-month sentence of good behavior. I can’t afford to screw it up. I can’t afford to be selfish, not when my daughter is depending on me.
My driver pulls onto Peachtree, weaving through mid-morning traffic on the way to my next meeting. I pop open my laptop to knock out a few emails. Just as I start typing, a text notification flashes on the corner of the screen. I click the message app on my computer so I don’t have to dig my phone out of my pocket.
Marlow:I’m thinking enchiladas for Sunday dinner. Thoughts?
Me:I’m thinking delicious, but glad I sleep alone.
A second later, her reply comes through—a string of laughing emojis.
I type back: Can’t wait to see you.
She’s been killing it lately. Grinding every day, learning everything she can about this team and the sport. I’ve basically been putting her through my version of bootcamp—making sure she knows the game, the players, the business side, all of it.
If I’m honest, it’s probably the prep I should’ve done before I signed up to take over this mess in the first place. If I had, maybe I would’ve made a different choice.
I lean back in the seat, laptop still open but my attention drifting.
I’m not happy I sleep alone, but that’s one of the new lies I tell myself. The one I sell to Marlow, too. That this time alone, my good behavior sentence, is good for me. Healing. Healthy.
But the truth is, all it’s done is remind me how much I miss my wife.
Maddy.
Not just her—though I’ll miss her for the rest of my life. It’s everything we shared. The companionship. The laughter. The way she got my jokes before I even finished them. Movie nights. Lazy days on the boat. All the things we said we’d do more of once Marlow was off to college.
I miss it all.
And not only do I not get Maddy...I don’t get Eslin either.
So I do the only thing I can…I watch. I wait. I dream.
A man can dream can’t he?
***
The week flies by faster than I expect, and somehow, it’s already Sunday.
Marlow’s in my kitchen, sleeves rolled up, dark hair piled high on her head as she preps dinner—enchiladas, her new specialty. I’m leaning against the island, drink in hand, watching her with a small smile.
“You look just like your mother, you know that?”
She pauses mid-chop, a pile of fresh cilantro under her knife. She smiles softly. “So, I’m told.”
