T W O

"You what?" Josh practically shrieks the next morning when I stop by before work to grab some breakfast. He nearly drops the tray of muffins he's taking out of the oven, and when one of the muffins on the edge topples over and falls to the floor, he curses. I smirk.

"What would Carmen think of your clumsiness?" I tease. "I'm sure she wouldn't be very happy that you're getting so flustered by a customer that you're wasting perfectly good food. I wonder how much dish-washing you'd have to do before she forgives you for the money you've just lost."

Josh scowls and glances furtively towards the kitchen doors. "Shh, she'll hear you. But anyway, what do you think you're doing? You're letting them live with you, no questions asked? I can understand one night, but starting with three weeks right off the bat? What's gotten into you?"

I shake my finger at him jokingly. "Not quite no questions asked. Just not very many questions asked. But seriously, I know enough. They need a place to stay for a while, and I have extra space in my house. I don't mind. It'll be nice to have the company. Just let it go, alright? They'll probably come by later, and you'd better be friendly. And don't pry."

"I'll try," he says grudgingly, though it's more about being dramatic than it is about actually being reluctant. Even just from last night, I can tell he's taken a liking to Hayden, and as much as we argue playfully, we both know when to be serious. We're friends, after all, and over the last few years, we've built up quite a bit of trust.

"Thanks, dude," I say, taking my finally completed order from his outstretched hands and handing over some cash. "I've got to go now. I'll text you later if I need anything, okay?"

"'Kay. See you later, Avagator."

"I've told you a ridiculous amount of times to stop calling me that," I whine over my shoulder as I walk toward the stairs. The only thing I get in return is a laugh and a smirk, and unfortunately, they're too contagious for me to keep up my annoyed front. My laughter joins his and echoes in the hall all the way up the stairs.

I rush through my set-up even more frantically than normal, since I woke up later than normal this morning. I normally wake up at five so I can leave the house at five thirty, but I didn't even wake up until five thirty-five this morning. And then, on top of my normal morning routine, I set out some potential breakfast options and left a note out for Chelsie. I didn't end up leaving my house until six.

But somehow, even though I'm rushing, the time seems like it's barely crawling by. When I look up at the clock, each second seems to last longer than normal, and each time I'm sure an hour has passed, it's only been fifteen minutes. Even after I open and the shop fills with people—which normally makes the time pass in a frantic blur—I'm still finding myself get frustrated with how slowly time seems to be passing.

Anticipation. It's been such a long time since I've felt anticipation this strong, and I'm not even sure what I'm anticipating. Am I anticipating their arrival? Am I anticipating being able to go home to someone, for once? Am I anticipating Hayden's cheerful and dimpled smile, his childlike innocence and joy? Or am I anticipating Chelsie's quiet and timid entry, the way her smile wrinkles her eyes and creates a small blush that brightens her cheeks?

Crap. I really, really, really do not want to follow this train of thought. Somehow, though, I've been thrown on the train, which is now speeding away from the station faster than is even remotely okay. I'm not sure what the destination is, but I can tell that it'll be a long ride. Probably with numerous bumps along the way, a derailing or two at some point, and an engine malfunction at the end, if not an all-out explosion. And, to make matters worse, it's too late to get off. While I certainly love the movie, my own mental Polar Express operating with full steam ahead and no option to stop is not something that I wanted or planned on having for Christmas this year.

I spend the rest of the morning wallowing in a pit of dread, shame, anxiety, and anticipation, all the while trying to act normal to keep business going. Which is somehow even harder than it sounds. But I manage. It's a lot easier to do when I remind myself that my livelihood depends on me acting normal and making money. Living independently and far away from family has its drawbacks, after all.

I'm on my eleven thirty lunch break—which is actually less of a break than the rest of my day since it's me frantically shoving food in my face while trying to juggle everything else at the same time—when they finally meander in the door. Hayden, I'm not surprised to see, is munching on a pastry from downstairs, as is Chelsie. But what does surprise me is the fact that Chelsie's brought a whole entire tray of Krapfen up. For me.

"Oh my gosh, you're amazing," I gush. I have to bite back what I was originally going to say, which was "Oh my gosh, I love you," since I'm in that frantic state where I overthink anything and everything that requires any thinking at all. And even though I don't mean it like that, and I know she won't take it like that, I can't help but worry.

"Thanks, I try," she says with a grin. She's not quite as reserved as yesterday, I notice. I wouldn't go quite as far as to call her sassy or anything like that. I think she's just gotten a little bit more comfortable after having a little bit more stability. Which is nice. Because while confidence doesn't always look the best on everyone—it's almost like cologne or perfume, where some can be worse than none at all—it looks great on her.

"Would you mind putting a log on the fire?" I ask her. "I've got to deal with a bunch of people at the register before they start getting antsy. If you want to talk a bit more, it should quiet down pretty soon while a lot of people go for lunch."

"Of course!" She starts walking over, and as she walks away, I hear, "Come on Hayden. Do you want to make some paper snowflakes over at the table with the other kids?"

Content that they'll be okay for a while, I turn back to my work. The time is passing even slower than this morning, if that's even possible. Because they're both so close, now, but still so far at the same time. I'm starting to get annoyed with the need for me to work all day every day. It would be great to be able to take some time off right now, even just for a day or two. But unfortunately, that's not an option when I've set myself up to be completely independent.

I know I told Chelsie that it'd quiet down soon, but half an hour goes by, and then a full hour, and there's still no letup. I've just about reached my breaking point. At my wit's end, I text Josh a plea for help, asking him if he'd be willing to take over for me for just a little while so I can go collect myself and calm down a little.

Thankfully, he agrees, and ten minutes later, he appears at the front, a smile on his face and a Santa hat on his head. He meets my eyes first and then looks over to where Chelsie and Hayden are seated at one of the craft tables. Hayden is the first out of the two of them to look up, and when he does, his eyes light up. He readily abandons the snowflake he was cutting out and drags Chelsie over here excitedly.

"Josh!" he exclaims, waving. "Hi!"

"Hayden, hi!" Josh echoes. "How are you, little master chef dude?"

He practically glows at the nickname but forces a pout onto his face. "I'm bored. I already made seven snowflakes, and I'm running out of ideas. There are too many triangles."

Chelsie lets out a sigh. "I'm sorry, bud. But I don't have anything else for you to do right now."

I stare at the three of them thoughtfully. "Chelsie, if you'd be willing to help out with Josh for a bit, I could take Hayden somewhere fun to get a treat really quick. You'd get paid, of course. It won't be long, I promise. Just enough for me to get some fresh air."

"Of course. You don't have to pay me, though. Letting me stay over is more than enough."

"Nonsense. If you're working, I can't just not compensate you for it. But is it okay if I take Hayden out with me?"

She nods. "Yeah, of course. Thanks so much, Ava."

"You're welcome," I respond with a bright smile. Then, I turn to Josh. "Don't mess anything up, please. Or break anything. Don't make me regret trusting you."

He salutes. "Aye-aye, captain. I promise I won't mess anything up. Intentionally, that is. I can't promise that I won't make any mistakes, but I can promise that I'll try not to make any mistakes. How's that?"

"That's as good as I'm going to get, isn't it," I grumble. "Alright. That's fine, I suppose. Okay, Hayden, are you ready to go?"

He perks up from where he's been slouched against the counter. "Yeah! Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," I tell him, grabbing his hand so I don't accidentally lose him in the crowd. It'd be one thing for Chelsie to mess up in the shop, but it'd be whole nother thing for me to lose her child. Or her almost-child, anyway. I'm still not quite sure what their relationship is. Nephew, maybe?

"Auntie Chelsie doesn't like surprises," Hayden rambles as we make our way outside. "Not anymore. Not after Mean Uncle told her, 'Surprise! You have to leave.' Now I tell her before I do things so that she doesn't get scared."

He deepens his voice as he imitates his so-called Mean Uncle, and I would find it comical if not for what he's saying. There are so many things that I want to ask, so many things that I want to know. But there are also so many boundaries that I don't want to overstep, so instead of asking more about that day, or that instance, or whatever it was, I settle for my less extreme original burning question. "Does that mean that Chelsie isn't your mom?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. She's mommy's younger sister. Mommy's not here anymore. She's up there. That's what Auntie Chelsie said." I follow his finger to where he's pointing up at the sky, and all of a sudden, it feels like there's a weight in my chest that's making it hard to breathe.

"I bet she's sending down all this snow for you," I comment, desperate to dispel the suddenly heavy mood. I hold out a hand and watch the falling snowflakes land on my coat sleeve and glove. "Each time one lands on your cheek, it's a kiss from your mommy. It's her way of saying hello from way up there. She's telling you that she still loves you."

Hayden smiles and brings a hand up to touch his cheek where a snowflake just landed, but he doesn't say anything else about it. Instead, he starts to look around at all the people walking around and asks, "Where are we going? Can we go eat food? I'm hungry."

"Of course. We'll get some food on the way back," I assure him, feeling the cold air rush past my nose as I nod. "But let's go to the rink first. Have you ever been ice skating?"

He stares up at me with a solemn expression. "No. Never. Mean Uncle thought it was a waste of time, and Auntie Chelsie was too busy."

"Well, now's your chance," I say, tugging him gently along towards the entrance to the rink. There's a bit of a line, but we get to skip right to the front. All of us workers get special privileges in each other's businesses, a pass of sorts that lets us avoid the long waiting time. We all recognize how hectic it gets at this time of year. We all recognize how important saving even just fifteen minutes is.

It takes a few tries, but we eventually find a pair of skates that fits Hayden. I take care to lace them up tightly so that he'll be as stable as possible, but even so, he's still very, very wobbly when he tries to stand. A noise of surprise escapes his mouth as his knees almost buckle beneath him, and he only barely manages to catch himself on my shoulder.

After a few minutes of practice, he no longer looks like a drunken sailor that's just come back onto land after months at sea, so we venture carefully out onto the ice and start the whole process over again. But this time, it only takes a little bit before he's found his legs again. He's a natural. It's not long until we're zipping around the rink, racing each other from side to side. My lungs are burning, and my heart is racing. It's exhilarating.

The sound of skates scraping against the ice floats through the air, as do the echoes of chatter from the rest of the crowd. I let it all wash over me, let it gather up my stress and carry it away until all I'm left with is a feeling of serenity and satisfaction. It feels like I'm floating up above everything, and I love it. This, I think, is how the holidays should feel. And not just in the morning before I start work, but all the time.

After a few more races across the rink, I finally convince Hayden that it's time for us to leave and head back. He does come off the rink, albeit grudgingly, and plops down to start unlacing his skates. When he manages to get them off and hands them to me, his nose and cheeks are rosy with cold, and his eyes are dancing with excitement. Hopefully this was just the little boost that he needed to perk up again.

He rambles on and on about mundane things as we walk back slowly, the both of us still adjusting back to our normal shoes. We stop in at a bookstore briefly, and I let him pick out a coloring book and a set of colored pencils before we continue on our way back. Then, I make one last stop to pick up some pasta for a second lunch before we head back.

I do have to admit that I'm both immensely relieved and a little shocked to find that everything is operating like it normally does when I'm in charge. Josh is stationed behind the cash register like he used to be at the bakery—and still is half the time, to be honest, since Carmen is a force to be reckoned with and just does whatever she wants—while Chelsie is out teaching a group of kids how to cut paper snowflakes. They're hanging on to her every word and motion, and the sight sends a warm tingly fuzzy feeling through my chest.

Hayden flounces over to where Josh is standing and holds up his coloring book. "Look what I got!" he exclaims. "And then we went ice skating and Ava said I'm a natural!"

Josh casts me an amused look. "Is that so? You must be really good, then. Ava hates giving compliments."

I nudge him in the side. "That's not true. Josh just isn't as good at ice skating as you, Hayden. But anyway, thanks a lot for that. I can take back over now."

"Thank goodness for that," Josh mutters under his breath. "It's even busier up here than it is downstairs. I'm not sure how that's possible. How do you manage?"

"Frantically," I snort. "And on autopilot. But no matter. You're a lifesaver. Now go, before Carmen gets annoyed with me for stealing you for so long and doesn't want to give me any more pastries. I'd die without them."

"Noted." Josh smirks, but he still takes a step back when he sees my glare. "Okay, well, I guess I've got to get going then. See ya later, Avagator."

"Idiot," I call after him. Fondly, of course. With only a slight hint of exasperation. Meanwhile, Hayden has drifted back over to Chelsie's side, where he's sitting and focusing intently on his coloring book. When Chelsie catches me gazing over at them, she throws me a warm smile and a nod of appreciation.

I try to tell her that she can stop working now, but she won't hear any of it. She keeps insisting that I'm overstressed and overworked—which is true, no matter how much I try to deny it—and that since she enjoys working with kids anyway, she doesn't mind working the crafts. And as hard as I try, I'm finding it awfully hard to refute that argument. So now we're splitting the work, and while half of me is feeling guilty about making her do stuff, the other half of me is relieved.

When it gets to be eight, instead of waiting another hour to close, I decide to wrap everything up for the night. There aren't many people in here anyway, and I have more important things to be doing. Chelsie had mentioned earlier that she wants to get all of their stuff out of the car and unpack a little, and I want to shower since I didn't have the chance to last night. Or the night before.

With Chelsie's help—and Hayden's, I suppose, which consists of him chanting short phrases of encouragement and moral support but not actually doing anything—I manage to tidy everything up in record time. It only takes fifteen minutes before I'm satisfied enough to leave, and we're walking out the door at eight twenty or so. Before we go, though, I erase the closing times I have written out on the window in erasable marker and change all the times to eight. Because I feel like I'll be doing this a lot in the coming weeks, and I don't want people complaining that my times don't match.

Chelsie and I chat about relatively unimportant things as she leads me towards the car. Though unimportant isn't quite the right word. It's more the getting-to-know-someone kind of discussion. Hobbies, favorite color, music preferences, and the like. I learn that she's fluent in Korean even though she's never been to Korea, that she approves of my Christmas playlist, and that she likes books but not movies as much. Though ironically, she loves The Polar Express in both book and movie form. I asked. I make a mental note to watch it again later, preferably with her.

My boots crunch in the slush that's sitting in sad, dirty piles all over the hotel parking lot. While the snow may be pretty in most places, it's blackish brown and dirty here, half melted and half ice. Quite unpleasant. It's only slightly better than the yellow snow that's always there at the dog park.

Her car is parked at the very edge of the parking lot, so we don't have to walk much farther on the gross pavement. It's a minivan, which fills me with relief. I guess I'd imagined them living in a much smaller car for months, but knowing that it's a minivan with quite a bit more space than that makes me feel a little better. Not that living in a minivan is a good situation at all. But it's not the worst.

Chelsie pulls the keys from her pocket and unlocks the car. Hayden rushes to open the door and get inside, and Chelsie pulls open the front passenger door for me before walking around to the other side. "Sorry for the mess," she says nervously as she gets in.

I shake my head. "It's completely fine," I assure her. And it is—it's pretty hard to live in such a small space without having stuff cluttered everywhere, and especially since she's living with a little kid like Hayden. I learned that in college with a dorm room that was much bigger than this. Seeing a bit of a mess assures me that they haven't been living on absolutely nothing. I'd honestly be more concerned if there was nothing in here.

The drive back is pretty short, and Hayden spends the whole time hugging a stuffed bear. Bronson, I think he said. I watch him in the rearview mirror as he kisses it on the head. I'm practically swooning. He's the absolute sweetest, and I just want to squeeze him. But that would be weird, because personal boundaries are a thing.

This is the second time in the last day where I've actually wanted to hug someone. The first time was last night with Chelsie, and now it's Hayden. After not wanting hugs for practically my whole life, I'm wanting to give hugs now. Which is kind of scary. Not in a bad way, I don't think. But it's certainly a big change, and a change that I wasn't at all prepared for.

"Just go ahead and park in my driveway," I tell Chelsie when she gets to my house and then slows down questioningly. "I almost never use my car, especially during the winter, so you don't have to worry about being in the way or anything."

She nods and pulls in, and after she turns off the car, she lets out a long, heavy sigh. I look at her face carefully, but there's nothing there that makes me worry—she looks relieved, and maybe a little tired, but nothing worse than that. And since Hayden doesn't seem to have noticed, I don't ask. She seems determined to hide any sort of sadness from him, too, and I don't want to make that any harder for her.

"Do you want any help bringing stuff inside?" I ask instead as the three of us climb out of the car and back into the freezing night air. I'm not sure how much stuff she wants to bring in, but there's definitely more stuff in the car than the two of them can carry on their own.

"That'd be amazing," Chelsie says. "Here, can you take this bag and this box? I think Hayden and I can get the rest."

"Of course," I say, grunting a little when she hands them to me. They're heavier than I expected, and like I realized earlier, I'm very out of shape. Which can't be helped, really, since I have no time to exercise during the winter. Or at least, that's what I tell myself to make myself feel better about the fat gathering around my stomach and thighs and under my chin. Half of it is really that I'm too lazy to cook for myself and get unhealthy pastries for breakfast and lunch every day instead.

I stagger inside and set the stuff down on the floor with a dramatic thud, which makes Hayden giggle. Then, I start nudging it towards the guest room with my feet. It's less likely that I'll pull a muscle that way. And I won't look quite so out of breath.

That thought stills me for a moment. Realizing that I care what I look like to them. To her. I mean, obviously that comes with a crush and all, but there was still a part of me that hoped that it was just fascination. Just curiosity. But the Polar Express is even farther from the station now than it was just this morning, and if turning back was improbable earlier, it's impossible now.

But I don't have time to dwell, because soon after I get the stuff to the guest room, Chelsie comes in behind me with two boxes in her arms, a backpack on her back, and two more bags looped around her arms. She sets everything down on the floor and straightens with a satisfied grin, not looking the least bit tired. Curse her and her athleticism. Or just general fitness, but it's practically the same thing. Because she looks perfect, and here I am, panting from carrying a twenty-pound box for fifty feet.

I can't help but wonder what she thinks of me. I know there's no way she thinks of me in the way I want her to, though a girl can dream. But does she find me attractive at all? Though, now that I think about it, she said she's ace, and while that means something different for everyone, it means she can't be attracted to me in the way I am to her. But she also said she was biromantic, so maybe she can be attracted to me that way?

God, I sound desperate. If she could hear my thoughts, I'd die of embarrassment and shame. I'm cringing just listening to myself think. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to project any of my feelings onto her. I don't want to assume I know everything about how she feels just because I've read an article or two about asexuality on the internet. But I find myself jumping to conclusions anyway.

"You okay?" Chelsie asks me, startling me out of my thoughts. "You're frowning."

"Yeah, sorry. I'm just thinking. Anyway, do you want any help unpacking? Or is there anything else I can do for you? I'd like to take a shower tonight, but other than that, I'm free to help out all evening."

"I'm not sure I feel like unpacking everything right now," she says. "I'm tired now, and it'll bring up memories that I don't want to deal with right now, so I'll do it in the morning. Do you have a movie or something we can all watch together?"

"Yeah, definitely." I pause for a moment to think, and after a few seconds, I smile. The suggestion is obvious. "How about The Polar Express?"

Not picking up on my half-sarcastic and slightly self-deprecating tone, she gives me an excited smile. "Sure, that sounds great! I love that movie. I haven't seen it in forever, and I don't think Hayden's ever seen it, either, so that's perfect."

In all honesty, I actually love the movie, so I'm not upset about watching it. It's just taken on a second meaning that I'm not quite so fond of. But I'm willing to deal with that to make her and Hayden happy. Especially when she gives me that smile where her nose wrinkles a little bit and her asymmetrical dimples show on her cheeks. Because I'm weak.

I give her the TV remote and the movie case before heading into the kitchen to make us all some hot chocolate. I'm still a bit chilled—sweating earlier after lifting the boxes has only left me more chilled than before—and I figure that even if Chelsie and Hayden aren't cold, you can't really go wrong with hot chocolate. Especially with a marshmallow or two floating around at the top.

Chelsie's gotten the movie set up by the time I come back out into the living room, and she's also gotten herself set up with pillows and a blanket. Hayden is nestled into her side, staring at the TV with wide eyes. I hand her the hot chocolate and then sit down on her other side. Am I using the small blanket as an excuse to sit next to her? Yes. Am I feeling slightly guilty about it? Yes. Does that mean I'm going to stop? Not unless she asks me to.

"Is this okay?" I ask anyway, just to double check. Because I feel like she's the type to feel uncomfortable about something and just not say anything unless I give her a chance to say no. I'd do that too, I think, especially if the person I'd need to say no to was the same person that was doing me a huge favor. But she just gives me a nod and a smile that doesn't seem the least bit uncomfortable, so I settle in for good.

As the movie plays, I'm reminded of why I like it so much. This wasn't exactly the movie of my childhood—it came out when I was in high school, after all—but the story itself has me reminiscing. Whenever my family got out all of our holiday decorations at the beginning of December, I would make my mom read me this story before we even thought about putting up any of the actual decorations. Year after year, even when she was no longer reading to me during any other time of the year. Even when I was far too old to be read to.

So, this movie holds quite a bit of sentimental value for me. Which is why it feels weird to be watching it with someone who isn't in my family. But it's not bad. Chelsie and I are pressed together, side be side, and her head has come down to rest on my shoulder. She's not sleeping, which I know because I can see the images from the TV reflected on her eyes, but I can feel each rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. And while there's something magical about this story as a family tradition, there's something magical about this moment, too.

I sip my hot chocolate slowly throughout the movie, so slowly that I still have half of the mug left after it's gone cold. I would go and heat it back up in the microwave, but I don't want to disrupt what I have right here. It seems fragile, somehow. Almost like if I move, Chelsie will emerge from whatever trance she's in and realize how close we are, and then decide that she's uncomfortable. Which I really don't want to happen.

By the time the ending credits roll across the screen, it's already almost eleven. Hayden seems more awake than the two of us. He jumps up as soon as it's over, heading off to the kitchen with his mug, but neither Chelsie nor I move. I know she's awake—I can see her blinking—so why isn't she moving? Then, I notice a glimmer of light on her cheek, which seems really odd at first until I realize the light from the TV is being reflected on something. A tear.

"Hey," I murmur quietly so that Hayden doesn't hear from wherever he is. In the kitchen, I think. "It's gonna be okay."

She nods. "Yeah." But the evenness of her voice doesn't match her expression. Her face is crumpled, and there are more tears leaking out of her eyes.

"Hang on. I'll go get Hayden to bed and then I'll come back out. Stay there for a minute, okay?"

She just nods complacently, so I don't feel nervous about leaving her there to enter the kitchen and get Hayden. Except he isn't there. I panic for a moment before I hear a noise coming from the bathroom. When I knock on the door, he tells me he's brushing his teeth, and then he swings the door open a moment later.

"Done?" I ask, breathing a sigh of relief when he nods. "Come on then, let's get you off to bed now. It's pretty late, isn't it?"

He lets out a yawn and nods. "What about Auntie Chelsie?"

I purse my lips, not sure exactly what to say. "We're going to talk for a little bit, okay? She'll be in with you soon. I'm sure she'll be happy if you're already asleep when she goes to bed."

He nods again as he clambers into bed. "Okay. I'll try. I have Bronson and your bear, see? They're friends now."

A smile makes its way across my cheeks. "That's wonderful. I'm really glad. Okay, I'm going to go now, bud. Good night."

"'Night," he mumbles, already half asleep.

I walk out into the hallway and shut the door gently behind me. When I walk back out into the living room, Chelsie is still sitting in the same position on the couch. Her face is now a stony, impassive mask, but tears are still falling out of her eyes and trailing down her cheeks. It scares me a little bit that her face is so calm and stoic, because that means whatever she's holding inside is scary enough that she doesn't want to let it out.

She barely reacts when I sit down next to her. The only thing I notice is that she leans toward my touch, just a little bit, but then she forces herself away. Not obviously, of course. I wouldn't have noticed it if the touch of her skin against mine didn't send tingles through my skin. I wouldn't have noticed it if my skin didn't feel cold when she moved away. But I noticed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask her gently, almost whispering. "You don't have to, but I'm happy to listen."

She shakes her head but starts talking anyway. "I miss the idea of my old life," she whispers. "Sitting here watching a movie like this seems like something a family would do, and it just caught me off guard. I know I wasn't happy with my husband towards the end, but I used to be. At the beginning, he was nice. Sweet. I thought he loved me, and I loved him. But shortly after we got married, he just...changed. He became a different person, and our relationship became toxic.

"It got a lot worse when I had to take on Hayden, too. His mother—my sister—got involved in a fatal car crash, and he had nowhere else to go. But my husband had never liked my family, even when he still acted like he loved me, which may or may not have to do with the fact that I'm adopted. I'm still not sure. He said we didn't have enough money or resources to take care of Hayden, even though we did. Finding out I was bi was the last straw, but definitely not the first."

"Even though you're ace," I murmur. It's all I can do to wrap her in a hug and rock her gently back and forth, because while I love taking care of other people in theory, I'm not the best at it in practice. Offering comfort is a foreign concept to me. "It's not fair to you that he went and did that. It's really hard when you think you know someone, and they turn around and hurt you like that. But that doesn't say anything about you, okay? It's all about them. Because if he had really loved you, he would've accepted all parts of you, whether it be your sexuality or your family."

"I know," she whispers. "I know that, but there's still a part of me that clings on to the old him. That thinks that maybe he still does love me, and that I shouldn't have left." She lets out a laugh. "It's like when you give a friend advice. You know what they should do, but you wouldn't do the thing that you're telling them to. I know that I should just let it go, but I can't bring myself to. I don't mean that I'm still in love with him—I think that ended shortly after we got married. I just can't bring myself to acknowledge that he doesn't love me anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because it means that I did something to make him fall out of love with me." Her response is heartbreakingly simple, but the weight of her words is immense. She still blames herself, somehow, even though I don't think anything is actually her fault. I know how she feels, though. The feeling of guilt and self-loathing after the end of a relationship is all too familiar to me. I know how much it hurts.

"You're worth loving," I murmur into her hair. "Trust me. Just because he fell out of love with you doesn't invalidate you. It doesn't mean that other people can't fall in love with you." By other people, I mean myself, but I don't tell her that. It's still too soon. "It just means that he was too hasty and didn't take the time to get to know you well before making a commitment that he shouldn't have made."

"Yeah. Thanks." Her tone is sincere, but I can tell she still doesn't fully believe it. But that's okay—as I've learned myself, believing isn't something that happens overnight. It's a much longer process of confronting the bad thoughts and consciously replacing them with something positive. Especially after an experience like that.

"You ready to head to bed now?" I ask her, sensing that she's done talking for tonight. "It's gotten pretty late, and we could both use the rest."

"Yeah, for sure." She gets up from the couch, albeit reluctantly, and stretches her arms out above her head. It makes my heart pound and my cheeks flush with color. I take comfort in the fact that the room is mostly dark and that she won't be able to see my red face. "Hey, is there any way I can keep helping out at your shop? It was really nice to be able to keep my mind off things, and working with kids makes me happy. You don't even have to pay me, since I'll be doing it mostly for myself."

"Of course you can keep helping," I say. "Do you really think I'd say no to that? I can use all the help I can get, honestly. And there's no way I'm not paying you for this. Your help is really valuable. I appreciate it."

"But—"

"No buts. You're getting paid, and that's final. We can work out the amount later, but I can't let you not get anything."

"You're letting me and my nephew stay in your house!" she exclaims. "For free! Working for free doesn't make up for that, and working for pay is even worse."

I sigh. "We'll have this argument later, okay? I've got to get up tomorrow at five again, and you've got to unpack in the morning. Just rest."

"Fine," she grumbles. "But don't think I'll give up that easily. You're doing far more for me than you'd ever know, Ava. You're absolutely amazing."

It's pathetic how flustered her compliments make me. It's pathetic how much hope fills my chest. I have to get out of this mindset that just because she told me that she's biromantic and knows that I'm gay, she's probably attracted to me. Romantically, that is. I know I get really, really annoyed when woman assume that I'm attracted to them when they find out I'm gay, but here I am, doing the same thing. Definitely not my finest moment.

"Thanks," I respond bashfully. The word is nowhere close to enough to convey everything that I'm feeling right now, but it's a good cover-up. A good way to end the conversation, to force us to move on before she can ask me what's on my mind. I don't want her knowing what I'm thinking. "Good night, Chelsie. I'll see you in the morning, maybe? Stop by if you want to and if you're free. Don't feel like you have to, though."

"I definitely will," she assures me. "Good night, Ava. See you tomorrow."

Her arm brushes mine as she walks past me out of the room, and her hair gently brushes my cheek. Which is most definitely not good for my heart. I force myself to ignore it anyway and follow her into the hallway, turning left into my room while she turns right into the guest room. But the feeling still lingers, even after I've taken a shower and gotten into bed. And that night, it graces my dreams.