Page 39 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
But it nearly kills me to stop there.
I want to say more. Much more.
I want to ask her to take a walk with me—no expectations, no promises. No words needed.
Just to be near her. To breathe the same air for a little longer.
But then I hear footsteps and a familiar bark. Coach Jones rounds the corner with Rocky—the team’s rambunctious pup—trotting at his side.
The sound pulls me back to earth, softens the ache in my chest just enough to breathe again.
I kneel down, letting Rocky barrel into me, tail wagging. I run a hand through his thick fur, pressing a kiss to his head. “Hey, Coach,” I greet Jones, though my attention stays on Rocky. “Hey,Coach Rocky,” I add with a playful growl, roughing up his ears.
Rocky’s a former Navy SEAL dog who was retired early when they discovered he was too playful for that kind of work. Too friendly. My buddy from the unit called me, said he’d be perfect for a new life with us. I didn’t hesitate. Brought him in for the guys here—and he’s worked miracles for morale.
He’s worked miracles for me, too.
When he’s not with the players, he stays with me. My shadow. My calm.
“You ready to go home, buddy?” I ask softly, and Rocky barks his approval.
I rise, forcing my gaze back to Eslin. Forcing the words out with more control than I feel.
“Goodbye, Dr. Saunders.”
She straightens, chin high even as her eyes shimmer again. “Goodbye, Mister.”
Chapter twelve
90’s, Nostalgia & Moscow Mules
Eslin
His daughter.
I work with—for—Grant’s daughter.
It’s honestly one of the most hilarious and inconvenient things I’ve ever had to deal with. And keep in mind, I once had to share a bunkbed with my foster sister’s pet lizard, so that’s saying a lot.
Why does my love life insist on getting this complicated the moment I finally feel like I’m starting to get my footing? I’ve got the dream job. The dream apartment. My social calendar is slowly filling up with brunches and happy hours where I’m rubbing elbows with the rich Black folks my mama used to whisper about like they were royalty.
I should be coasting. Floating. Thriving.
Instead, I feel like I’m back in middle school trying not to say or do anything that might get me sent to the principal’s office. Only now the “principal” is my boss’s father. The man who, with one look, is able to pull me apart without touching me.
And what’s worse? I care.
I’ve never been the woman who lost sleep over what someone thought of me. Not in school. Not in foster care. Not in my career. But somehow, all of a sudden, I want him to know he was right about me. About the woman he saw that night. The woman who captivated him for one perfect evening.
When we left things in Vegas, it felt romantic. This mysterious, suspended moment in time—two strangers who shared the kind of night you carry with you forever. It was everything I promised him it would be at the start of the evening.
Now that we’re two people in the same city, breathing the same air, working in the same orbit, I keep catching myself wanting to preserve that mystery. To let him hold on to that version of me. The version he fell for. The one he said he was ready to upend his life for. Even though, seeing him now, seeing the choice he’s made—I know those words weren’t entirely true. They were beautiful in the moment. But like most beautiful things in Vegas, they were built for the night, not the daylight.
It’s Friday, and usually I only schedule one appointment since I reserve the day to catch up on paperwork, reports, and general housekeeping for the team. But Luca needed an emergency session and I needed the distraction. Anything to keep my mind off of Grant Mills.
So, I opened up a spot.
One hour. One crisis.
