7

SOCIAL MEDIA —the introvert’s answer to networking without having to talk to people face-to-face.

I settled in one corner of my couch, my laptop close by, tuned to a favorite Spotify playlist of country songs. I’d already opened the tab for Festivities’s Pinterest account, ready to add pins to our event boards. But first, I’d add some photos to our Instagram account.

Our “Paint the Town Red” bachelorette party several weeks ago had thrilled the bride-to-be. The red Hummer limo where the guests enjoyed Sweet Eves cocktails —a red twist on champagne. Guests wearing red dresses receiving gift bags containing bright-red lipstick, nail polish, faux ruby gemstone rings, and feather boas. And a Celtic Woman concert at Red Rocks Amphitheatre, complete with backstage passes.

Not my idea of fun, but Kimberlee loved the idea. Even Bianca joined in, suggesting the faux jewelry and feather boas. And now to post photos, anticipate people’s reactions, and reply to their comments. Hope we attracted future customers, enabling Kimberlee’s dream to grow even bigger. If my business “superpower” was keeping up our social media presence, so be it.

Saturday evening spent behind the scenes? Easy. And satisfying, especially since I knew how happy Kimberlee would be when I showed her all the updates on Monday.

Wait a minute. Was someone knocking at my front door? I muted my playlist right as Keith Urban was crooning, “I’ll be the fighter.” Sure enough, two rapid knocks sounded. Should I ignore it, assuming someone was selling candy or cookies or something else I didn’t need? But I needed to refresh my coffee anyway, so I’d check the door and then grab a refill before getting back to work.

I opened the door, expecting to see some adolescent asking for a donation to their band program in exchange for a chocolate candy bar. Instead, Nash stood there, holding a huge brown paper sack.

“Surprise! I brought you dinner.” He smiled his most disarming smile as he moved past me, the aroma of Thai food causing my mouth to water.

“Nash, I told you I was working.”

“But a girl’s got to eat, right? And I know you. You won’t take time to make yourself dinner.” Nash continued up the short flight of stairs to my kitchen. “You’ll get all caught up in doing whatever it is you’ve got to do and suddenly it will be midnight and you’ll be starving.”

After so many months together, the guy knew me. And I should appreciate his surprise appearance with food —most likely Thai curry for me. Nash was being kind. Loving. So why did his showing up on my doorstep feel more like an intrusion?

“You want to grab dishes while I unpack all this food?”

“Sure.”

What had Johanna said about Beckett? He was “easy on the eyes”? So was Nash. He had brown eyes —my favorite. Black hair, just like I preferred. Had a standing monthly appointment with his hairstylist. Spent enough time at the gym to be muscular without being over-the-top about his workouts or his abs or arms. Always smelled good and dressed nice, too.

In so many ways, he was everything I wanted in a guy. What was wrong with me?

Now was not the time to answer that question.

After filling our plates while Nash poured us each a glass of wine, I moved my computer so Nash could join me on the couch.

“Do you want to put in a movie while we eat?”

“You go ahead and watch a movie if you want. I’ll probably eat some and then get back to work.”

“Can’t you relax just for tonight? We haven’t had a date in a while.”

“That is not all my fault. Work has been busy for both of us. And you were traveling —”

“I’m just saying I miss you.”

All of our conversations eventually came to this. Nash said he missed me. I said I missed him. But I didn’t. He complained he didn’t see me enough. And I was fine not seeing him at all.

As I struggled to say what Nash wanted to hear, he’d moved closer to me on the couch, hemming me in. Making it even more difficult to be who he wanted me to be.

I couldn’t fake what I didn’t feel.

Wait. That was wrong. Yes, I could. I’d been doing it for years.

I didn’t want to pretend that I loved Nash. But I also didn’t have the energy to break up with him tonight, in the middle of an impromptu dinner.

I was a liar and a coward.

If I couldn’t say I missed him, could I at least act like I’d missed him?

“Listen, I’m glad you stopped by, and not because you brought me dinner. I meant to talk to you about this sooner.” I shoveled a bit of Thai curry into my mouth. Chewed. “There’s a ceremony in a few weeks. It’s at my old high school. Honoring star athletes —”

“Are you going to be honored?”

“No. Not me. Pepper. She was the one who set all the school records.” I set my plate on the floor, wiping my hands on a napkin. “Anyway, my family is going, of course, and I was asked to talk about Pepper. Nothing too elaborate. I was hoping you’d go with me.”

“I’d love to go with you, Payton.” Nash took my hand in his. “I know this might be hard for you.”

I broke contact by retrieving my dinner. “It’s fine. No big deal.”

What was one more person? I told him the date and time, trying to ignore how pleased he looked to be included.

He was all about supporting me, and I was all about fulfilling an obligation. This was the death knell of my relationships —the word obligation. And by inviting Nash, I had to go to the event. No backing out now.

“How about if I put in The Italian Job?”

“Sure.” One of the action DVDs Nash brought over months ago and left here.

Juggling my plate, I closed my laptop. Stayed close to Nash when he sat beside me. There’d be no more work tonight.

At least I’d made him happy . . . for the moment.