"Chocolate chip?" the text read.
"Yup," I responded.
"Be there in 5," came the reply.
I laughed out loud as I sat my phone on the counter and reached for the potholders to pull the cookie sheets out of the oven.
Tonight was far from the first time Bill spotted my light on at 1:00 AM and texted me. Our best chats happened in the middle of the night.
I snagged two glasses from the cabinet and poured some Bailey's and Jameson over ice. As I walked to the coffee table, I spotted him heading out of his building and then jogging across the parking lot towards mine. I buzzed him up, unlocked my door and padded back to the kitchen to begin plating the warm cookies.
I needed this tonight. As I got older, I hated being alone. At 43, I knew so much of my life had already passed by. The time to get married, have kids and my happily ever after, were long gone. I was so tired of trying and not being good enough. Tonight was one of those nights I had crawled in bed early, hoping sleep would make the ache go away. And like too many nights lately, sleep wouldn't come. My brain refused to shut down. All I could think about was what I would never have.
"Hey Nanc!" Bill called as he came in the door and I heard him toe off his sneakers.
"Hey," I called back. "I'm plating the cookies."
I saw his hand before I saw the rest of him as he reached out and grabbed one. I followed that hand as it raised to his mouth, devouring the cookie in one bite, loving the face he always made when he sampled one of my sweets.
"Yum," he groaned.
"Right back at ya," I thought to myself, grinning at the gentle giant of a man who always made me happy. He truly was my best friend.
"How was Vegas?" I asked.
"Boring work stuff, just like always," he shrugged.
"You expect me to believe you had no fun?" I scoffed.
"How long have you known me and you still assume the worst of me?" he grabbed the platter of cookies and turned toward the living room. "I'm insulted!"
"No, you're not," I followed him, turning on the fireplace as I passed by. "You're an egomaniac and completely flattered by my assumptions."
I plopped myself on the couch, reaching for the blanket behind him. He tugged it down for me and laid it over my lap, tucking me in on both sides. I watched his hands as they moved, loving the kindness of his gesture, the way he always made me feel safe. He reached for our drinks, handing me mine, before laying the cookies on his lap and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
"Cheers, sweets," he clicked our glasses.
"Slainte," I tapped back.
He smiled warmly at my nod to my heritage, laying his head back on the couch to gaze at me.
"So, what's up?" I asked.
"Tell me why you've been crying," he said. "And don't lie to me. I see the traces on your cheeks."
"Bill..." I shook my head. "I'm fine."
"Oh, I know you're fine. You've been damn fine since the moment I met you six years ago," he smiled at me, making me blush. He loved to tease me.
"I was just...just having a bad night, feeling sorry for myself," I shrugged, taking a sip of my drink. "I'm glad you're home and stopped by. Thank you."
He handed me a cookie and we munched in silence for a few minutes. I glanced at his hand wrapped around his glass. I loved his hands as much as I loved his smile, his eyes. They were so strong, so big. I had spent countless nights imagining them wrapped around me, stroking me, making me feel alive. And the rest of the time I told myself how crazy it was to feel that way. Bill was so far out of my league and we were such good friends.
"You always take care of me in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. I don't think I've ever told you that or thanked you for that. Yet...you won't let me take care of you, you won't trust me," he sighed.
"I feed you cookies. I wouldn't call that taking care of you, Bill."
He placed the cookies and his drink on the table before fully turning towards me.
"When we met six years ago and then you left the company a year later...I missed you. No one sparred with me like you did in meetings, always keeping me on my toes. And then three years ago when you moved in here and I ran into you at the recycle bins...I was so happy," he rubbed my knee through the blanket. "You are the most passionate, caring person I know."
"Passionate? You definitely see me much differently than I see myself," I told him.
"Yeah, I do," he agreed, "and I want to change that. I've always wanted to change that for you. 'Cause that's your one and only flaw...not knowing how passionate you are...how you make people feel."
"I definitely have more than one flaw," I whispered.
"Don't argue with me, sweets," he tucked my hair behind my ear, wrapping his left palm around my neck as he reached for my glass and set it on the table, before returning his right hand to my knee.
I inhaled sharply, biting my lip to keep from crying out at his touch. His fingers dipped into my hair and I tilted my head back into his palm, letting him cradle me.
"Tell me why you were feeling sorry for yourself, what's got you so upset," he pleaded.
"I just...sometimes I wonder...this is going to sound so pathetic," I looked up at him, trusting him not to laugh at me. "Why couldn't I be lovable?"
"Nanc..." he inched closer, his hand rubbing from my knee to my thigh, "you are so very lovable."