“Hey.” Nick leans in, forcing me to meet his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything about work. I would never do that. You have a job here as long as you want one. But I can’t keep doing the rest of this anymore, okay?”

I nod.

His voice softens. “Please don’t keep doing this to me, Chloe.”

“Okay, um.” I gather my bags under my arms. “I need to . . . be somewhere. Now. Bye.”

I start off down the sidewalk and Nick calls after me, his voice resigned, like he can’t help himself. “Do you need help?”

God, even when he hates me, he can’t stop himself from helping me. He’s too perfect.

I lift one hand in a wave without looking back, then almost drop my bag. “I’m good. See you at work.”

I speed-walk around the corner, tears rolling down my face. What the hell? My tears were neatly contained for years, but this week I’m a geyser. What is wrong with me?

And what the hell did I do to Nick? It was pretty clear, from both his words and his expression, that I hurt him. Deeply. Someone who only wanted to help me and all I did was take advantage of him, use him, play with his emotions like this was all a game for me. He said he loved me, and I . . .

Well.

I care about him, so much. Obviously. But I don’t have room in my sad, broken heart to love anybody. Nick deserves better than a girl who treats him like this, who weasels her way into his heart only to blow the whole thing up. He deserves better than someone whose entire life is already dedicated to other people. He deserves better than me.

What was initially a pom-and-pie crisis has now evolved into a full-blown entire-life crisis, and I guess I have Nick to thank for teaching me a valuable lesson, one I maybe should’ve learned a long time ago. It isn’t fair to expect people to put up with my bullshit, to welcome me with open arms when I treat them like garbage. I may have to stay up for the next forty-eight hours to get everything done, but that’s my problem, not anyone else’s.

I walk past house after house, each one probably home to a family that loves and helps each other. A group of people who can count on each other, not just one woman who has to shoulder everything all by herself. They’re all sleeping peacefully in their beds, not even realizing how good they have it, while I clomp down the sidewalk, sad, alone, carrying a bag of tissue paper decorations.

I finally reach home and I’m about to walk down the driveway to the carriage house when I hear a tiny voice say, “Um . . . hello?”

I jump and drop my bags, then squint in the darkness. “Annie?”

She stands in the small front yard, behind the wrought iron fence, holding . . . a leash.