A firm believer in "Exes can be friends," Chassie Lewis has proven everyone thinking otherwise wrong. For almost four years now, she's been happily divorced from her ex-husband, Nathaniel Forester. The sparks had flown and crashed between them a lon...
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Chassie George
"Okay, baby, I got to go. I'll call you later for my goodnight kiss." I held my phone to my ear, my other hand on the stirring wheel. I declined Julie's invitation to unwind at the bar. As I had yesterday. I preferred the hollow silence of the house. And Chinese food for dinner. It goes well with Sex and the City marathon.
It's that, or I'm crying myself to sleep with a bag of sour cream and onion chips or a tub of chocolate chip ice cream.
I glance over to the passenger seat. A brown filing box stared back at me where the rest of my stuff from my desk are carefully stored. Steadying my gaze back on the road, I almost stepped on the brake when I saw there was already a car parked in my driveway.
My heart leapt to my throat as my car screeched into a stop, two wheels on the curb. I grabbed the box and pushed the car door open. My stomach churned as I stepped onto the ground. My fingers latched nervously on the box as if my life depended on it.
Nathan was sitting on the front steps, lost in his thoughts. And utterly so gorgeous in his navy-blue button-down shirt. They matched his eyes.
My heels click on the paved ground.
His head snapped to my direction. He sprang off his seat, took a couple of indecisive steps toward me then stopped like he was changing his mind. His hands slid to the front pockets of his pants as if he doesn't know what to do with them.
I stood in front of him. Torn between giving him a platonic hug for old time's sake or rolling to my tiptoes and just kiss him because I've been missing him in a not-platonic kind of way.
Nathan smiles slightly. "Hi."
"Hi." My insides flip.
He stared.
I stared back.
"What are you doing here?" I finally ask.
His hands went over his hair and dropped to his side. "I was worried."
"Worried?"
Nathan sighed, his gaze darting to his feet then came back up to my face softer. "I was worried about you."
I gaped. "Oh."
"I couldn't sleep, Chassie." His palm swiped over his eyes.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly.
He shakes his head. "I couldn't sleep because I hate the thought of you all alone. You can't cook. You don't call the plumber to fix the sink. You can't even park your own car properly for Christ's sake." He chopped a stiff hand to the direction of my car that still has its wheels on the curb.
"I just got distracted, that's all. That's a one-time thing," I say. It's comical how I still find the slight reprimands sweet and endearing. And I just missed him so much that my eyes started to prickle, deliberately blurring my vision. I sniffled.
