"It was okay."
"But you like this job better." He grins.
"Well, yeah. I mean, in terms of eye candy, you've got Lou beat, hands down."
"Comb-overs and potbellies aren't your thing?"
I laugh. "No. I'm afraid not. Or men who are forty years older than me. He wanted us to come over for dinner tonight. He wants to get to know you better. He thinks we're dating and wants to make sure you're a decent guy. I told him we're not dating but I don't think he believes me."
"So what time are we going over there?"
"We're not going. I told him I had leftovers to eat. Do you want to have dinner with me tonight? There's a lot of spaghetti left. Or if you're busy and don't want to, you don't have to."
"I want to," he says. "This dinner thing is starting to become a habit. And I'm not good at breaking habits." He kisses me and a heat swells inside me. God, I want him. I want him so bad. Last night when he shoved me back against the wall, I was so turned on I would've done it right here in the kitchen.
"Don't start," I say, breaking from his lips. "I need to get to work."
"Your boss says it's break time."
"I just got here. It's not time for a break." I kiss him, because I can't help myself when his lips are this close to mine. "Now let me work. And stop spying on me. I've seen you sneaking in the living room."
"I've got eye candy too, you know. And I've gotta go check it out every now and then."
I smile as I walk back to the living room. I've never had a guy flirt with me the way Nash does. Usually, a guy will flirt the first time you meet him and then once you admit you like him, the flirting ends. But Nash keeps it going, which just heightens my attraction to him.
An hour later, I'm going through yet another box and finally find something that isn't a newspaper, magazine, or junk mail. I've gone through dozens of boxes and that's all I've found. The old man was obsessed with collecting paper.
But the box I just opened has an envelope with photos in it. They're photos of the Grand Canyon, but they're old and yellowed and some of them are cracked. I'm not sure if Nash would want these.
"Nash, do you—" I stop when I see a photo that isn't of the canyon. It's of a girl, maybe 15 or 16. She's standing in someone's back yard, next to a tree. It's an old photo, but in better shape than the others, with just a little yellowing and no cracks. As I look closer, I see that the girl's face looks similar to Nash's. This must be a relative. Maybe it's his mom. I quickly fumble through the rest of the photos and find one of her when she's older, maybe 20.
"Nash," I call out.
"What do you need?"
"Can you come in here a minute?"
He walks into the living room. "You find something?" He points to the box.
"Yeah. I um...found some photos. I think you'll want to keep these."
"Photos of what?"
"I'm not sure who it is, but maybe you'll recognize her." I hand him the photos.
He looks at them, studying them.
"Who is she? Do you know?"
He flips the photo over. There's writing on the back, a girl's name and a date.
"It's my mom," he says. His eyes move to the photo of her when she's older.
"You have other photos of her, right?"
He shakes his head. "No. I've never seen her."
He's never seen her? His dad didn't have any pictures? You'd think he'd have at least one or two, or maybe he does and he didn't want Nash to see them.
He's still staring at the photo, not saying anything.
"Nash, are you all right?"
He snaps out of his daze and holds up the photos. "If you find any more of these, set them aside."
"I will. I wasn't going to throw them out. But do you want the others? The canyon photos?"
"No. You can toss those." He takes the photos of his mom and walks out of the room.
Wow. That's the first time he's seen his mom? That's a huge deal. I wonder how he's feeling right now. That's gotta be strange to see your mom after not knowing what she looked like for the past twenty-five years. He goes back to work and I don't see him again until I find him in the kitchen later to tell him I'm going back to my house to heat up our spaghetti.
It's a nice evening, so we eat out on Nash's deck. He's quiet for most of dinner. He's never quiet. He's always talking, joking around. But now he's serious and distant.
"I think I'll head home," I say, getting up from the table.
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks for your help today."
"Sure. I'll see you tomorrow." I go to leave but then stop and return to the table, sitting down next to him. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I didn't ask him earlier because I thought he didn't want me to, but that's because if it were me, I wouldn't want to be asked. But maybe he wants to talk. Maybe he needs to.
He sighs, tapping his empty pop can on the table. "I knew when I came here that I'd find something of hers. Photos. Stuff from her childhood. I just wasn't prepared to see it. And now that I have, I'm not sure how I feel."
"I'm sorry, Nash."
He smiles a little. "You don't need to be. I'm fine. I just need some time to think."