Wait.
“Sorry,” I mutter, picking up Hugh’s phone and zooming in.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
I zoom in a little more. Holy shit. “Was this taken at the Edgy Envelope?”
Hugh smiles. “Yeah. We got Jack a journal there. His therapist recommended it after our last session, and her office is just down the street, so I figured we’d stop by. Tia loves that place, too. I got her a perfume there last Christmas that was not cheap, but let me tell you, that investment paid dividends, you know what I’m saying?”
Nick offers him a fist pound, cracking up. “I’m gonna check it out, then. Get something for Bianca,” he says, before biting into his sandwich.
I give him a sharp look. “You will not.”
“Why not?” he asks around his mouthful.
“Because Kate’s working there and will not take kindly to you showing your face.” I tap the screen on Hugh’s phone. “That’s who took this photo, isn’t it, Kate?”
“Yeah, wait, how do you know her? She was so good with Jack. Tia was like, ‘Can we see if she babysits?’？”
“Unless you want Jack burning bras and rubbing shoulders with an anti-capitalist, I would not recommend Kate as a babysitter.”
He laughs. “Ah, there are worse things than a kid spending time with an adult fired up about the world’s injustices. I mean, I want that, truth be told. We all do. It’s why we work here. It’s why you took your family’s company in an entirely new direction.”
I stare at the photo, knowing he’s right, how in many ways—in spite of how I’ve tried to tell myself otherwise—Kate and I share similar goals for the world, albeit through very different methods.
And now I’m back to remembering those kisses.
Jesus, I’m screwed. The mess I’m trying to clean up just became messier.
I have a decade of experience wooing women. But I have never had to work to repair a relationship with one. Especially one I don’t want a relationship with, for so many very sensible reasons. How do you make things right with someone without making things good between you? How do you set a break without grafting yourselves together in the healing?
Apparently you kiss them, then dream about them, then beat off in the shower to thoughts of them, and obsessively replay kissing them in your head.
I’m losing it.
And it’s all her damn fault.
“Do you think she’d be free to watch Jack?” Hugh asks, shattering my thoughts.
“Probably not. She’s a traveling photojournalist,” I tell him. “She won’t be here for long. She never is. She disappears for months, even years sometimes.”
“Wait, a photojournalist? I have a brilliant idea.” Nick drops his sandwich and claps his hands together. “You should hire her to do the new company headshots.”
I blink at him, gently setting down Hugh’s phone. “Why the hell would I do that?”
Nick leans in, smiling. “You’ve been grumbling that they need to be updated. And you’re not wrong, Hugh’s creepy uncle goatee was rough—”
“Hey.” Hugh throws a chip at Nick’s head. “You leave me and my goatee alone. It was artistic.”
“It was not your best look, my friend.” Nick turns back to me. “Listen, I know you and Kate don’t get along, but—”
“Wait. You don’t?” Hugh frowns. “She seemed so friendly. What’s the problem?”
“A complicated multitude of ills,” I mutter.
“And who knows better what cures a multitude of ills than us?” Nick says. “Money.”
“With pretty much anyone else,” I tell him, “but not Kate.”
“So what does she value?” Hugh asks.
I try very hard to push away the memory of last night, her confession that she’s felt excluded, shut out, pushed away. It makes my chest ache.
“She just . . .” My throat feels thick. “She just wants to feel like she belongs.”
And I made her feel like she didn’t. Guilt sours my stomach. I push my food away.
“Hmm.” Hugh frowns thoughtfully. “Well, never thought I’d say it, but for once, I think Nick’s onto something, then.”
“Thanks,” Nick says, before he realizes the implications. “Hey.”
Hugh laughs. “I’m just messing with you, man. It’s a good idea and not your first.”
“Hiring her to do our photos?” I ask Hugh, turning it over. “Why is that a good idea?”