Page 12 of Without a Clue

But during the work hours I’m free.

I’m allowed to laugh at his jokes.

I’m allowed to stand by his side on the street and discuss in low and humorous tones exactly what I think about Jackie and Crystal elbowing their way to get into the taxi first. I’m allowed to confide in him and appreciate him and all the ways we have each other’s backs while on duty.

He’s just . . . my person.

My work person.

And up until six weeks ago, that was all he was allowed to be.

There. That’s how I’d describe us.

Nash is my nine-to-five person who lights up my nine-to-five life in a way that makes me feel that all the joy of work would be sucked out of my life without him.

Simple, and exceedingly platonic.

When he has finally let go and takes a seat beside me, I’m out of breath again, but for entirely different reasons.

Wordlessly, the bartender holds up a chilled mug in one hand and plain beer in the other. Nash taps the beer and he slides it over.

“Today was . . . not the best travel day,” I say, feeling more grounded in Nash’s presence than I have in weeks.

This is what I needed, I realize, taking a steady sip of my rhubarb and rose.

Not the salt air.

Not the bubbly waves.

I needed this right here.

That poor (I mean, but we can only pity him so much, can’t we?) man with the boom box went through it for nothing.

“Neena didn’t make you listen to ‘Desperado’ again, did she? I told you, Pip. You don’t have to listen to it—”

“I know,” I say. “But she plays it through her phone—”

“You gotta stand up to her—”

“She thinks it’s bonding.”

“What part of ‘Desperado’ is bonding? No part of that song speaks to group travel. I don’t know why she clings to it. How many times was it this time?”

“I lost count after thirty-seven.”

He whistles.

“And that marked hour one. I told you,” I say, then pull the drink to my lips, “it was a long day.”

My phone dings with an incoming text followed three seconds later by ringing. Nash and I both lean in to see who it’s from.

That, I think, might sum up Nash and me.

We are both unapologetically nosy about other people’s calls—and don’t mind.

We press speakerphone when we answer.

It’s more like a secret third party on every call.