The way Atlas silently mouths the word goodbye in return is sexy as hell.
When I end the call, I fall onto my bed and sigh. I love the way I feel after I talk to him. He makes me giddy and energized and happy, even when the call is as shocking and chaotic as that one was.
I wish I knew where he lived. I’d go give him a drive-by hug like the one he gave me last night. I hate that he’s dealing with this, but at the same time I’m happy for him. I can’t imagine how alone he’s felt since I met him, not having a single family member in his life.
And that poor kid. It’s like Atlas all over again, as if one kid feeling that unloved by their mother wasn’t enough.
My phone chimes, indicating I have a text. I smile when I see it’s from him. I smile even bigger when I see how long the text is.
Thank you for being the most comforting part of my life right now. Thank you for always being the beacon I need every time I feel lost. Whether you mean to shine on me or not. I am grateful for you. I’ve missed you. I absolutely should have kissed you.
I’m covering my mouth with my hand when I finish reading it. I’m filled with so much emotion, I don’t know where to put it.
Josh is lucky to have you in his life now.
Within seconds, Atlas hearts my text. Then I send another one.
And you’re right. You absolutely should have kissed me.
Atlas hearts that text, too.
Chapter Seventeen Atlas
Josh doesn’t trust me, but I’ll wear him down. I’m willing to bet he doesn’t trust anyone, so I’m not taking it personally. If his childhood is anything like mine was, I’m sure he’s been toughened at the age of twelve in a way that no kid should be familiar with.
As much as he glares at me with distrustful eyes, I can also sense that he’s curious about me. He doesn’t ask many questions, but he watches me in a way that makes it obvious he has a million questions on the tip of his tongue. For whatever reason, he keeps swallowing them down. He’s probably wondering why I went so easy on him last night after finding out he’s the one who damaged my restaurants. He’s also probably wondering why I didn’t know about him, and how I turned out so vastly different from my mother and Tim.
Whatever he’s wondering, he’s attempting to keep a tight lid on his expressions. I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, so I’ve been doing most of the talking while he eats breakfast. It’s not that hard; I have just as many questions for him as he does for me. It’s one of the reasons I couldn’t sleep last night when we finally made it to my house. I kept listening for the sound of him trying to sneak out of the house. I was honestly shocked he was still here this morning.
As much as my questions are probably annoying him, I can remember what it was like to be twelve. All I wanted was for someone to be interested in who I was, even if they were faking interest. If his life is anything like mine was, he’s gone twelve years being ignored, and I refuse to allow him to feel that way under my roof. But I’ve only been asking him safe questions. I’ll ease into the more difficult stuff.
Josh eats one thing at a time. A biscuit first, then bacon. He’s cutting into the pancakes for the first time when I say, “What are you interested in? Any hobbies?”
He takes a bite, and one of his eyebrows raises a bit, but I don’t know if it’s because of the food or my question. “Why?”
“Why am I asking you what you’re interested in?”
His neck is stiff when he nods.
“I’ve missed twelve years of your life. I want to know who you are.”
Josh breaks eye contact and forks more pancakes into his mouth. “Manga,” he mutters.
That surprises me. But thanks to Theo, I actually know what manga is. “What’s your favorite series?”
“One Piece.” He shakes his head, erasing that answer. “No, Chainsaw Man is probably my favorite.”
That’s about as far into that conversation as I can go without sounding ignorant. “We can go to a bookstore later today if you want.”
He nods. “These are good pancakes.”
“Thanks.”
I watch him take a drink of his juice, and when he sets the glass down, he says, “What are you interested in?” He nods toward the plate. “Other than cooking.”
I don’t know how to answer that. Most of my time is given to my restaurants. Whatever time I have left over is spent on house repairs, laundry, sleep. “I like the Cooking Channel.”
Josh chuckles. “That’s sad.”
“Why?”
“I said besides cooking.”
It’s a harder question than I thought, now that it’s being thrown back at me. “I like museums,” I say. “And going to the movies. And traveling. I just don’t do any of those things.”
“Because you’re always working?”
“Yeah.”
“Like I said. Sad.” He leans over his plate to catch another bite of pancake.
The get-to-know-you questions are backfiring, so I cut right to the chase. “What was your fight about?”
He shrugs. “Half the time I don’t even know what the hell I do wrong. She just gets mad for no reason.”
I can relate to that. I let him eat for a while before I pose another question. “Where have you been staying?”
Josh doesn’t look at me. He scoots food around on his plate for a moment, and then says, “Your restaurant.” His eyes slowly journey back over to mine. “You have a really comfortable couch in your office.”
