No. I'm not okay. I hate goodbyes, and even though he'll be back in a few days, him leaving is bothering me more than it should.
"Yes. No. I don't know." I groan under my breath, exasperated, before totally not pouting or sounding like a whining kid again. "I thought by living together we'd hang out more. But I've been working so much, and I really regret that. You're not going to be around forever."
"Hey, hey. Don't be upset." He comes over and braces me by my arms. "Your schedule will ease up in the new year, right? AndI can work as much or as little as I want at the inn. I know. Let's make a pre-New Year's resolution to spend more time together. Just the two of us."
I nod and walk into his warm body, hating feeling like a needy baby but totally soothed by his words all the same. "Thank you. I needed that."
"Of course. I'll be back soon, and we will be hanging out so much you'll get sick of me."
I pull back and manage a grin. "That's impossible."
"Correct answer." Court grins back. "I'll text you when I get to Dad's, okay?"
I reach for him again, needing just one more hug. "Make sure you do. And drive safely, okay? Speed limits are there for a reason."
He chuckles, and I can feel the vibration all the way down to my toes.
Man, I really am a needy fucker.
26
Courtland
"This is fun," Buzz says, sounding genuinely chipper, gliding the roller up and down the wall with a soft, rhythmic hiss.
"Is it?" I reply, shooting him a skeptical look. I mean, any chance to see Buzz in overalls—no T-shirt, full muscle flex on display—is a good thing, but painting rooms at the inn? "This wasn't exactly what I pictured when I said we'd spend more time together in the new year."
He laughs, dunking the roller into the tray to load up some more slate-blue paint. "Nice to see you're starting the new year as uptight as ever."
I stop mid-stroke with the roller still pressed to the wall. "Am I really that uptight?"
"Of course you are. It's one of the many things I love about you."
The words settle over my heart like a warm blanket. I love him, too. So much. The five days we spent apart over the holidays seemed to stretch for longer than my six months in Africa. No matter what I did to keep busy—going shopping with Joan and the kids, helping out in the kitchen, going for hikes with Dad—one person, and one person only, dominated my thoughts.
But does that mean I know what I'm going to do?
Absolutely not.
Scooter has been on my case to make a move, reminding me that time is ticking, like there's some biological clock at play here.
There isn't for me. But Buzz did say he wants kids.
Is that just another roadblock, another area where we're incompatible?
I'm not against the idea of starting a family, I just haven't given it much thought since it's never been a viable option for me. I've never had anything more serious than a couple of FWB situations. Not exactly a solid foundation for becoming a parent.
"When does Howie move into his new place?" I ask.
"Next week. He's really excited. I think it's the perfect house for him. He needs a project."
He bought a crumbling old property on the outskirts of town, one that needs plenty of time and money to fix up. Luckily, dude has both in spades.
"It's a project, all right," I agree. "Does he need a hand moving?"
"He's getting most of his stuff shipped in directly to the house, but I was going to be there with him and help anyway. Moving solo is never fun."
"Mind if I tag along? I'll ask Lola if she can make some food."
