“Oh, uh—no. You don’t need to do that.” I try my best to sound convincing, but fail miserably. Probably because the giant lump that just materialized out of nowhere makes it hard for me to speak.
Because ugh. Halloween.
He places the taco in his hand back on his plate before pushing it to the side. “Hey.” His voice is almost as soft as his eyes as he leans in closer to me. “Are you okay?”
I wave my hand in front of him. “Yeah, of course I am.” I try to laugh it off as no big deal, but instead, my laugh mingles with the sob stuck in the back of my throat.
Oh my god.
I’m going to cry in front of him.
Again.
“Fuck.” I slap my hands over my eyes when tears flood my vision and I realize there is no possible way to force them back down. “I’m so sorry.” The words are smothered in my hands as my breathing hitches with each mortifying sob that takes over my body.
And before I know what’s happening, heat envelopes me as long arms wrap around my shoulders and Quinton pulls me into his chest.
Any other time, I’m sure I would take note of his cologne and how his arms fit so perfectly around me. But instead, all I can think about is how crazy I must look and that there’s a ninety percent likelihood of me ruining his shirt with either my mascara or snot.
Please, God, let it just be the mascara.
His hands start to rub circles along my back and he whispers words I can’t comprehend in my ear.
The only thing I know, is that for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel alone and it’s that feeling . . . that realization . . . that slows my tears. Quinton’s arms loosen as my body starts to relax, but he doesn’t pull them away. His hands rest on my shoulders, and the heat and strength from his reassuring touch seeps into my body.
“I’m so sorry.” I start to extract myself from his arms, but I don’t make it far before his grip tightens.
“Don’t you dare fucking apologize for that.” He bends down so he’s looking me straight in my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I start to say I’m fine. This is not what he signed up for . . . this isn’t what I signed up for. But then I wonder when else I’ll be able to share my feelings. When will I have this support and attention from someone offering to be a shoulder to lean on? My friends have been amazing throughout all of this, but I’m sure they can only take so much of my crying until they get sick of me. It might be nice to vent to a person I probably won’t ever talk to again once I’m finished with this job.
But the real reason is that I’m so fucking tired of saying I’m fine when I’m not. I’m over being strong. I’m exhausted from the effort it takes to bury everything and walk around like nothing is bothering me. The smile I’ve been wearing is so heavy. I don’t want to do it anymore.
“I’ve been pretending the holidays weren’t going to come this year. I know it’s only Halloween and it doesn’t even count as a real holiday for most people. But once I got too old to trick-or-treat, I would pass out candy with my dad and as soon as we’d turn off the porch light, we’d watch a movie that gave me nightmares until the following Halloween. Even in college. I’d do the parties one night, but I always came home and did this with him.” I look down at his stupid, bare cement floor that really needs a rug and wipe away the stray tears I don’t try to stop from falling. “He’s not here, the house is gone, and I can’t even watch the movies because unless it airs on Disney—and not even always then—I get too freaked. And yes, I know how ridiculous this sounds.”
“None of that sounds ridiculous.” His fingers bite into my skin for a split second before his hands fall to his sides. “You miss your dad. The time of year when everyone is preaching about family is coming up. It’d sound ridiculous if you weren’t feeling like this.”
“Really?” I try to wipe away the remnants of melted mascara that’s probably staining my cheeks and take a deep breath before meeting his gaze again.
And when I do?
Holy shit.
I might be drunk off feelings or the constant welling of tears has distorted my vision, but the way he’s looking at me knocks what little air I do have right out of my system. I can’t even pinpoint what I see. But it’s not the look of pity or disinterest. He doesn’t look irritated or annoyed that I broke down in his kitchen and he was forced to comfort me. It’s none of those things. Understanding maybe? I’ll never know.
“So . . .” He wiggles his eyebrows and looks cuter than anyone wiggling their eyebrows has a right to look. “Do you want that ticket and parking pass or nah?”
“Ugh.” I groan and take a step away from him. My brain is struggling to function from all of the nearness and physical contact of a human male. “I mean, if you insist. It would be rude to turn you down.”
“Thank you, I’m not sure my delicate ego could’ve taken the rejection.” He grins and his white teeth just sparkle against his beautiful dark skin.
I nearly fall into a trance looking at him, so for the sake of self-preservation, I turn on a heel and book it out of there. Only slowing down to yell over my shoulder once I’m sure his smile magic can’t take hold of me. “Hurry up, Howard. If you’re done being so unprofessional, it’s time to work.”
I don’t even make it around the corner before a wadded-up paper towel—just like
