it's all coming back to me | c. kreider (part viii)
(Part VII ICYMI)
Word Count: 5.6k
Warnings: slow burn, exes to lovers, relationship breakdown, swearing, alcohol, 18+
Author’s Note: This feels like progress. Doesn't this feel like progress to you?
Summary: Chris Kreider x Reader Insert. They say that all good things come to an end, that you can never have too much of a good thing, but when Chris decided to end your relationship you wondered how anything could ever be good again. A chance meeting 9 years later drags up all those feelings you both thought you were done with. Can you work through your hurt and pain to see what it is that Chris is trying to show you? Or are some things better left forgotten?
Tagging: @laurenairay; @thebookofmags; @whatishockey; @robindrake13
~
It had been over a week.
It had been over a week since Chris had heard from you and over a week since you’d shared you were going on a second date with Sam and his disposition could only be described as sour. Chris had few smiles for his teammates, even Mika, and his temperament when it came to reporters was uncharacteristically surly. Perhaps the worst part of it all was that he’d once again found himself in a slump and despite him trying his utmost to drown out the background noise that was the internet, it was hard to ignore comments that called for his immediate trade. He wondered if you’d noticed. He wondered if you even cared.
The Rangers’ latest win against the visiting Capitals hadn’t hit the way that it should and despite the jovial atmosphere in the locker room, Chris felt anything but.
“You comin’ out for a few, Kreids?” Lindy asked as he took off his pads.
“Nah,” Chris shook his head. “Not tonight.”
“Awww, c’mon,” Trouba piped up. “Not even for one drink? If this is about the turnover in the neutral zone-”
“It’s not,” Chris snapped before exhaling to collect himself, a forced evenness in his voice as he spoke again. “It’s not about the turnover. I’m just not feeling up to it tonight.”
Mika gave Trouba a look that told him not to push.
“A’ight,” Jacob shrugged as he turned away.
Chris wordlessly removed the rest of his pads, pulling at the velcro with more force than was necessary, all the while Mika watched him with furrowed brows.
“Hey, how about we grab a quiet drink somewhere, just the two of us?” he offered, quiet enough for Chris’ ears only.
“Mika-”
“One drink,” Mika pressed gently. “One drink and I swear I’ll let you go home to mope.”
“‘m not moping,” Chris groused as he stood and grabbed his towel.
“Sulk, then.”
Chris went to protest but stopped himself at the good-natured smile his best friend was giving him and simply sighed instead.
“Fine,” Chris conceded. “One drink.”
Chris didn’t see Mika’s triumphant little smile as he turned away to head to the showers but he knew Mika well enough to know that he’d be feeling rather pleased with himself right about now. He also knew that Mika would coax out the truth about what was truly bothering him, one way or another and he knew that would mean having to talk about you, which he truthfully didn’t know how he felt about. Perhaps it would be good to get it all out, to get a third party perspective on it all, but it still didn’t change what happened and it certainly didn’t change the fact that you were clearly moving on with your life.
The walk from Madison Square Garden was mostly silent but not uncomfortably so. Mika had found a quiet little piano bar in Chelsea that wasn’t too far and there was little chance of them running into any teammates. The pair slid into a booth near the back of the bar and shrugged out of their jackets, Chris picking up the menu and studying it intently as if that would stop Mika from pursuing whatever line of questioning he knew was imminent. Mika watched him, his usually soft eyes uncharacteristically keen while he waited. Chris could feel Mika’s gaze on him, steady and unwavering and after a few more breaths he put down the menu with a soft exhale. Better to rip the band aid off and get this over with.
“So what’s going on with you?” Mika asked.
“Wow, cutting right to the chase,” Chris remarked. “We’ve not even ordered our drinks yet.”
“Figured I’d get ahead,” Mika shrugged in reply, eyes still keen on Chris.
Chris paused for a moment and glanced around the bar, giving himself time to gather and order his thoughts. He supposed he didn’t need to start from the very beginning, given that Mika knew about you, at least in part.
“Remember when we met up after summer break and you asked me if there was a girl?”
“Yeah, which you denied pretty enthusiastically,” Mika replied, a little smile playing on his lips. “There was, wasn’t there? I knew you were bullshitting us.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” Chris shook his head.
“Sure it is. There either was a girl or there wasn’t.”
Chris exhaled.
“Remember that girl from college I told you about?”
“The one you lived with, right?” Mika asked.
“Yeah,” Chris answered, his eyes sad. “She was the only person I’ve ever loved, like truly loved.”
Mika nodded in wordless encouragement.
“And I messed up pretty bad,” Chris continued, his voice rougher than Mika had ever heard it. “I hurt her.”
“C’mon, Chris,” Mika said gently. “I know you and I know that you’d never hurt anyone intentionally.”
“Doesn’t matter if it was intentional or not,” Chris countered. “My actions hurt her. I thought in some stupid way that by doing what I did, I was protecting her but it wasn’t my decision to make. I left her behind in Boston because I thought I was doing right by her but I never even asked her what she wanted.”
“You were young, Chris,” Mika reasoned. “You made the decision you thought was right at the time.”
“Doesn’t mean it was truly the right one though, does it?”
Mika watched as Chris’ shoulders rose and fell with his sigh, giving him a moment before speaking again.
“So what happened?”
“I bumped into her,” Chris answered plainly. “In Rowayton of all places.”
“No shit,” Mika exhaled. “Did she recognise you?”
“I recognised her first.”
Mika chewed his lip for a moment while he processed Chris’ revelation.
“That’s… huge,” Mika said eventually, Chris merely nodding in response. “What happened? Did you talk to her?”
“Yeah,” Chris replied. “And we got talking and it was rough and she bolted, which is fair, y’know? But then I bumped into her again in Stamford.”
“Fuck,” Mika breathed. “Like bumping into her once? That’s nothing to really pay attention to, but twice?”
“Feels like some sort of shitty joke on the universe’s part, right?”
“Or divine intervention,” Mika offered. “If Irma were here she’d say that was a sign that the two of you weren’t done.”
“Oh, I think we’re pretty done,” Chris grimaced. “She’s been moving on.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because she told me,” Chris said matter of factly.
“So you guys have been talking, then?”
“We met up again in person and talked more about stuff, y’know, about what happened with us. Since then we’ve exchanged a few texts here and there,” Chris confirmed. “And it kind of felt like things were going somewhere, I don’t know where exactly but… I dunno, it just felt less strained and maybe like something resembling friendship, and then she told me that she’d been on a date with a guy and that went well so they arranged a second one.”
“And how do you feel about that?” Mika asked.
“Like shit,” Chris replied bluntly. “And I know I have no right to because I’m not anything to her anymore, but…”
“It still hurts,” Mika nodded. “And it’s gonna. She was your girl, Chris. You loved her, that sort of stuff doesn’t just go away.”
“It has for her,” Chris countered.
“You don’t really know that,” Mika offered. “You don’t know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling.”
“No,” Chris conceded. “But it’s been a decade and she’s dating and that’s enough of a sign. I couldn’t have expected her to still be waiting on me after all this time, not after what I did. So I told her I was happy for her but she’s left me on ‘read’.”
“Shit, Chris. I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is,” Chris shrugged, relieved at the sight of the waitress coming over to take their order and giving him a much needed reprieve.
To Chris’ surprise, Mika didn’t push the subject further once their drinks were ordered and conversation turned to Mika and Irma’s upcoming wedding. True to his word, Mika didn’t press Chris to stay for a second drink and the two parted ways with a hug and a goodnight, Chris taking the short walk home to his apartment while Mika grabbed an Uber.
Somehow the apartment felt emptier tonight, hollow even. Perhaps it was simply reflecting Chris’ energy right back at him, perhaps not, but as Chris hung up his jacket and kicked off his shoes he couldn’t help but pay attention to the ache that sat deep within his chest. It had been years since he’d come home to you, so long that, truthfully, he wasn’t even sure if he could really remember just what that was like. Your apartment together always smelled so good, Chris remembered that much, always a vanilla candle burning whenever you were home, and you would always call out ‘Marco’ to him whenever he stepped through the door, eagerly awaiting his ‘Polo’ in reply. You would repeat this until you finally got eyes on him, greeting him with a “hello, Marco” and a big smile. He never truly understood why you did it, but he would indulge you every single time without question.
The hurt washed over him again, like a rogue wave and he couldn’t help the quiet sniffle that escaped him. You’d never been in this apartment, he’d never experienced the grace of your presence in this space he called ‘home’ and yet tonight it seemed so barren without you, completely devoid of any vibrancy. He wondered how that was possible, how a space could miss something it never had, how his apartment felt as if it had a you shaped hole in it when it had never known anything other than Chris. Perhaps this place had never been whole and that it was only now, in the swirling waters of his hurt and grief, that Chris was realising it. Maybe it wasn’t the apartment at all that wasn’t whole, maybe it was Chris and he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever truly been whole since the day he closed the door on your shared home in Boston for the last time.
*
It took you three days to reply to Sam.
You’d picked up your phone to do it multiple times over the 72 hour period, even getting as far as opening the text conversation on a few occasions, but each time something stopped you right in your tracks. You couldn’t deny the fact that Chris had been on your mind more often than not over the last couple of days and that in itself was equal parts maddening and confusing. You were angry with yourself for allowing your mind to wander the way that it had, angry that you had let yourself slip but you continued to tell yourself that thinking about Chris subconsciously while you touched yourself meant nothing. It was the wine. It had to be the wine.
And yet despite this, you still hadn’t rushed to reach out to Sam either and perhaps that spoke even more volumes. You’d very quickly chased away the idea that you were hesitating because of Chris, it simply being too ludicrous to give any sort of meaningful acknowledgement, but you also couldn’t think of any other tangible reason for it either. Even as you finally text Sam back, there was the distinct sense that it was forced, something you hoped wouldn’t come across in your message, and even as you found yourself agreeing to date number three, it all just felt a little contrived. A little insincere. You hoped as the days passed that the feeling would dissipate, that the thoughts of Chris would recede like fog being chased away by the mid-morning sun and you would rekindle those feelings of initial excitement at the prospect of new romance, but as you stood in front of your closet ahead of your date trying to decide what dress to wear, you felt nothing.
The kiss Sam gave you as he picked you up didn’t flutter the butterflies in your stomach like it had done before and the feeling of your hand in his as you walked from the car to the restaurant felt foreign, wrong even. You’d suggested doing something different this time, like a movie or bowling, but Sam had insisted on taking you to dinner with the promise that you could choose the date activity next time. You couldn’t help but think back to your dates with Chris, the pasta making class he’d booked where you both left absolutely covered in flour, the time he took you ice skating, the time you made a Christmas wreath together for your apartment door. All the concerts, the plays, trips to bookstores and record shops, walks in the park with kisses that tasted of coffee and cake. Those dates in each other’s dorms where Chris would somehow manage to eat a 16 inch pizza to himself and still finish strong with a pint of ice cream. You smiled involuntarily at the memory before it quickly faded at the sound of the restaurant door closing behind you, bringing you back down to Earth.
You forced a smile through dinner, socially aware enough to know when to nod and laugh in all the right places, but you couldn’t deny the overwhelming relief in your chest when the check came. You’d hoped that Sam hadn’t noticed; he hadn’t seemed to but you then questioned whether he was simply being polite. He certainly seemed like that kind of guy. You cursed yourself. You cursed yourself for living inside of your own head, for thinking about Chris, for being a bad date. After all, this was what you wanted, right?
This was you, once again, trying to move on and move forward with your life, leaving the past in the past and all you seemed to get for your trouble was a ‘nearly but not quite’ version of the man you were trying to leave behind. There was nothing wrong with Sam, of course and in any other timeline, where your path never crossed Chris’, you were certain you could have had a fourth date with him, maybe even a fifth, to see where this would lead. But if this whole evening, this whole week, had achieved anything, it had simply reaffirmed what you already knew to be true in your heart, that you’d never really let Chris go and while some men might come close, there was nothing quite like the real thing.
It was too easy to let your mind drift during dinner, the conversation that had initially been scintillating suddenly feeling a little lacklustre through no fault of the man in your company and the bottle of Sangiovese he’d ordered for the table, a wine that Chris would order every single time, had you crawling back into those corners of your mind where you’d stored away every memory of every single date you ever had with Chris Kreider for the second time that night.
The evening ended with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a vague promise to do this again sometime, but instead of the disappointment you’d expected to feel, there was instead a strange and unexpected feeling that was akin to relief. No, clarity.
You weren’t over Chris, that much was clear as day to you now and for better or worse your heart still clung to the man who had both given you so many happy memories, so much joy, and had shattered your world. It was the reason why you’d accepted and reciprocated contact after a decade, why you hadn’t brushed him off, why you’d let him back into your life, even if you had been keeping him at arm’s length for the most part. Your reckless heart still called out to his, even if your cautious head was screaming at you to stay away, to be careful, to protect yourself. You couldn’t help but let him back in, because even if you couldn’t say that you truly forgave him for what he did, you could never say that you ever stopped loving him. Not really.
All you had to do now was to decide just what exactly you were going to do next.
*
The last thing Chris expected on a Tuesday night after a game at home to the Predators was a phone call from you and he found himself hesitating for a number of reasons, not least because of the late hour. This was the first time hearing from you since you’d left him on ‘read’ and if he was being truthful, he still wasn’t over the knock to his pride. But it was late and Chris knew that he would never forgive himself if you were in some sort of trouble and he ignored your call. It was that thought that had him reaching for his phone, a forced calmness in his voice as he answered.
“Hey, is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” you answered, a slight edge to your voice that Chris couldn’t quite place. “I just… I saw the game and I wanted to check in, make sure you were okay.”
Chris’ face flushed in embarrassment and he was thankful that you couldn’t see him at that moment. The game you referenced was nothing short of a shit show and Chris hadn’t seen much of the ice in the third period, the benching he received completely justified in his own opinion, but still stung nonetheless.
“I’m fine,” Chris lied. “Just have to correct the mistakes, learn from it and move on to the next one.”
It was such a PR friendly response, one he’d throw out during a postgame interview and he was so tired that he hadn’t even tried to mask the overly rehearsed delivery with something a little more sincere. He’d half hoped you wouldn’t notice but, of course, you’d prove him wrong. You always could cut right through all the smoke and the mirrors to get to the very heart. It was one of the things he’d always loved about you.
“I’m not a reporter, Chris,” you gently scolded. “Please don’t treat me like one.”
Chris had to swallow down a scoff at that. You were right, of course, you weren’t a reporter, but Chris also wasn’t sure just what the hell you were anymore. One thing he was certain of though was that he absolutely wasn’t about to take a lecture from you, not when he’d not heard from you for so long. Not with how things were left between you both. But Chris was tired. His body was tired, his mind was tired and his heart was tired. He didn’t have it in him to get into it with you. Not tonight.
“It was just a bad night,” Chris offered lamely. “I’ve gotta be better. No two ways about it.”
“I know you will be,” you replied, a genuine softness in your voice that Chris picked up on immediately. “You’ll make it right.”
Chris sat up at that, unsure if he’d imagined the veiled message behind your words, whether it was merely a trick of the mind or if there truly was so much more that you were saying.
“I hope so,” he managed after a breath or two. “I mean, I’m trying.”
“I know.”
Chris exhaled at that, his free hand coming up to rub his face. He was exhausted and he wasn’t sure he had the energy to play this perceived game of emotional chess with you. He figured he’d cut right to the chase.
“Why are you really calling, Pickle?” he asked, voice rough. “You just… ghosted me.”
“I know,” you replied quietly. “I’m sorry, Chris. I… I don’t know why I did that.”
“I meant it, y’know. I’m happy for you, I’m happy to see you finding happiness and someone who is good to you.” The sniffle on the other end of the line was barely inaudible and had you said something, anything, Chris would have missed it. “Pickle?”
“I’m sorry,” you breathed out, fighting hard to suppress the waver in your voice and taking a few breaths to compose yourself. “I should let you go to bed. You must be exhausted.”
“I’m alright,” Chris assured, not prepared to let this drop so easily. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing-”
“Please,” he cut you off firmly. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Lie to me,” he gritted. “Don’t lie to me.”
The silence through the phone was deafening and were it not for your tiny exhale on the other end of the line, Chris would have thought you’d gone completely. He wasn’t about to let this lie. You’d been the one to call him, after all and that meant something. It had to mean something.
“I just,” you started, after what felt like an eternity of silence and choosing your next words carefully. “It just didn’t work out between Sam and I.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah…”
There was another pause.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said quietly after a moment.
“It’s… It’s just the way it goes sometimes.”
“Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
Chris paused for a few breaths, caught between wanting to push further and not wanting to seem intrusive. It wasn’t really any of his business why it didn’t work out between you and Sam, not really and yet he knew there was more to it. More that you weren’t saying for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of but felt like he needed to know.
“What happened?” he asked eventually.
“We didn’t work out.”
“So you said,” Chris replied sceptically. “Okay, let me rephrase my question. Why didn’t you work out?”
You cursed him internally, both in knowing that he wasn’t about to let you deflect and because the nature of his question meant that you were really going to have to think about the way you would answer him.
“Because,” you started on the exhale of a breath, unsure even as the word came out of your mouth where you were going to go with this. What could you say? Tell Chris that you weren’t over him? That you called time on things with Sam because he simply wasn’t Chris? Sure, it was the truth, but it wasn’t something you were certain you were ready to share, not least because you knew you weren’t ready for the consequences of that, whatever they happened to be. “Because it just didn’t feel right with him. I don’t know how else to say it other than that.”
Chris knew that he wasn’t going to get anything more out of you and he wasn’t going to rock the boat by pressing the issue further and so, with reluctance, he dropped it.
“Well, if it doesn’t feel right then it doesn’t feel right,” he replied simply. “You can’t force that kind of thing.”
“No,” you agreed. “No, you can’t.”
There was a brief silence that descended between you, filled with all the words neither of you could say and weighted with feelings that you weren’t ready to openly express.
“I am sorry, though,” Chris said finally. “Truly.”
“Yeah,” you replied hoarsely. “Me too.” You hesitated a moment more before wishing Chris goodnight. “You really should get some rest.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he acknowledged, the hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m goin’.”
“Goodnight, Christopher.”
“G’night, Pickle,” he replied softly. “And please don’t be a stranger.”
You smiled at that, for the first time in days.
“I won’t. I promise.”
*
The next few weeks for Chris passed in what could only be described as a complete blur. The schedule somehow seemed more unforgiving than usual and Chris was desperately looking forward to the All Star Break where he could pause and finally catch his breath. He’d made no firm plans which, while not like him, he was content with. He’d toyed with the idea of booking a vacation somewhere warm, where he could bask in the feeling of the sun on his skin and sand between his toes, but the thought of travelling seemed like too much effort, even if St Barts was lovely at that time of the year. Perhaps he’d venture as far as Rowayton and blow the cobwebs away with fresh sea air, or perhaps he would stay in Manhattan and get lost in a good book. The latter sounded mighty tempting, especially as it had been a while since he’d spent a day wandering the city, going from bookstore to bookstore with plenty of coffee stops in between.
There might have been something else keeping him in the city, although Chris would never admit to it. He didn’t want to be that guy, the one waiting on you. He also didn’t want to just let you back in so easily. You’d ghosted him once, you could do it again. But even so, the frequency of texts seemed to increase with each day that passed and soon he found himself calling you on the way back from practice or on drives home from the airport, just as you called him on your commute home or while you were cooking dinner. It was nice, Chris thought. Nice to have you back in his life and nice to have something that could very easily fit the definition of friendship, especially after everything that had happened. Those calls soon became FaceTimes and before long it was a normal occurrence for Chris to catch up with you that way before turning in for the night.
It was the final away trip before the All Star break and he’d found himself in a hotel room in Pittsburgh. It was getting on for 9:30 and while some of the younger guys had taken themselves out into the city for drinks after dinner, Chris had been content to come back to the room, take as hot a bath as he could stand and catch an earlyish night. His book was already on the nightstand and he’d not long changed into a pair of loose cotton pyjama pants. He settled himself on the bed, propped up with every pillow at his disposal, and called you.
*
You groaned as you climbed into bed, your body aching in a way that it hadn’t for a very long time, although you supposed that’s what you got for leaving it so long to go back to the gym. The bath you’d taken had worked wonders for your muscles, that is, until it was time for you to get out and then it was as if your legs had completely forgotten how to do the whole standing thing. You’d made something akin to a nest with your pillows and scatter cushions, with your book and herbal tea sitting on the nightstand ready and waiting for you. Your phone vibrated beside the mug and you couldn’t help the smile on your face at the sight of Chris’ name on the screen, his call unexpected but welcome all the same.
You were still wearing your smile as you answered, Chris’ face soft and sleepy on your screen.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey, Pickle,” he said, voice a little tired. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “I mean, I think I’ve broken my legs but that’s what I get for going to the gym.”
Chris laughed softly at that, a little smirk on his face as he spoke.
“You think they’re sore now, just you wait ‘til the morning.”
“Ugh, don’t,” you groaned. “The lift is out at work too so I’ve got like two flights of stairs to go up.”
“Yikes.”
“Eh, serves me right. How’re you anyway? How’s Pittsburgh?”
“I’m good,” Chris replied with a gentle smile. “Pittsburgh is cold. The guys went out for a beer after dinner but I came back, got a bath and figured I’d get a chapter in before turnin’ in for the night.”
“You old man,” you teased. “You shoulda got yourself out.”
“Nah,” Chris shook his head. “Just didn’t feel up to it tonight, besides, it means I get to catch up with you.”
You couldn’t help the flush in your cheeks at that and you hoped that Chris couldn’t read the bashful little smile that played on your lips. Your eyes flitted to Chris’ bare chest, somehow only just noticing that he was sans shirt and the heat in face seemed to burn hotter as your thighs pressed together of their own volition
“I wish I could say I had more news for you but I lead a very boring life,” you said, trying to keep your eyes fixed firmly on Chris’ face in the hopes that it would restore some kind of order to your body.
“How’s your mom?”
“She’s good,” you replied, swallowing thickly. “She’s uh taken up knitting so there’s just yarn everywhere.”
“Yeah?” Chris smiled. “She taking any requests? I could use a hat.”
“Not planning on shaving your head again are you?”
“You saw that?” Chris grinned.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “Yeah, I did.”
A weighted silence fell between you both, not uncomfortable but tinged with a sadness at the reference to your years apart. You winced internally at it, wishing you could take back your words. Chris spoke first, his voice soft and laced with something you couldn’t quite place.
“Well, I promise I’ve no plans to shave my head.”
“Good,” you replied, voice almost a whisper. “I mean, you can do what you want. It’s your head.”
Chris laughed then and it seemed to cut through the weird tension that had started to form, causing you to exhale a breath of relief. You smiled back at him.
“I’ll ask mom if she can make you a hat,” you added.
“I appreciate that, thank you.”
“Don’t come crying to me when she knits you some sort of beret.”
“Bold of you to assume that I didn’t want a beret,” he grinned. “I’m a very cultured guy.”
“Eating everything at a world buffet doesn’t make you a cultured guy, Chris,” you teased.
“Uhhhh, yes it does.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at the silly little expression on Chris’ face and it was easy to let yourself get lost in how familiar this all felt. You’d always talk like this. Before you lived together you’d talk on the phone for hours in bed, Chris staying on the line with you until you’d fallen asleep because you refused to hang up, insisting that you weren’t tired. You wondered if he’d still stay on the line with you if you asked him to. You wouldn’t, of course, but you’d like to think he would.
“So what are your plans for next week?” you asked. “It’s the break, right? You jetting off somewhere exotic?”
“Nah,” Chris shook his head. “I thought about going away somewhere but I think I’m just gonna chill at home.”
“Sometimes that’s what you need,” you agreed.
“Yeah,” Chris nodded. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good poke around a book store so I think I’ll take myself over to the Upper West Side and see what I can find.”
“That sounds like a really good plan, Chris,” you smiled. “It seems like the season’s been a rough one so far, I think it’ll do you good to recharge at home. Do the things you enjoy, y’know?”
“Would you um…”
Chris paused and you couldn’t help but notice the conflicted expression that had settled on his brow.
“Yeah?”
Chris exhaled.
“Would you like to maybe meet up for coffee sometime next week?”
“In Manhattan?” you asked, hoping you didn’t sound too taken aback.
“Or Hartford,” Chris rushed. “I could come to you. I mean, you’ll be working and I’ve got the time to spare so…”
“I could take some time off that I’m owed,” you offered.
“I- really?” Chris replied, a little stunned that you’d not rebuffed him.
“Yeah, then we’re not having to rush for me to get back to work” you nodded. “I mean, it’s been a minute since I’ve driven into New York so god knows how that’ll go.”
“I’ll come to Hartford,” Chris suggested. “It’ll be quieter anyways.”
“You sure? I don’t wanna put you out.”
“You’re not,” he assured. “I’m offering. New York traffic is bad enough, but when you’re not used to it it’s even worse. I’ll come to you, no trouble at all.”
“Okay,” you conceded. “Okay, yeah. That’d be great.”
“I’ll reach out when I’m back in the city and we can sort something out?”
“Yeah that sounds perfect, Chris,” you smiled softly.
There was a pause then, you both somehow managing to hold each other’s gaze through the screen. That warmth that had been in your face earlier had migrated to your chest and you couldn’t help but think how soft he looked propped up in bed. You were glad when Chris spoke again, his words stopping your thoughts from pushing the boundaries of appropriateness and straying into a territory you were trying your best to stay away from.
“I’ll let you get some rest. You look exhausted.”
“Gee, thanks,” you chuckled.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do,” you smiled softly. “You get some rest too.”
Chris wished you goodnight and ended the call, leaving you laid in bed with your heart racing as your mind wandered to all the coffee dates with Chris that had come before and you began to wonder just what this all was and how it would feel to see him again.
