Page 124 of Before We Were

There's a brief moment of silence before his lips quirk into that half-smile that still makes my heart skip. "Do you trust me?"

The question echoes in my chest.

Do I trust him?

Even when I was angry, even when his choices felt like betrayal, I've always trusted Nate Sullivan with everything that matters—including my heart, even when I tried not to.

Before doubt can creep in, I wrap my arms around his waist. His body is solid against mine, warmth seeping through his damp shirt. His heartbeat thuds against my chest, steady and strong, and the closeness makes me dizzy. I feel him react to my touch, his breathing changing, muscles tensing beneath my fingers.

"Keep your eyes on me, Leni," he says, his voice dropping low. My name on his lips sends shivers down my spine.

Then we're falling, the cold water shocking us both. I surface laughing, clinging to him like he's my anchor in a storm.

"You're insane!" I gasp through my laughter.

"You say insane, I say fun." He grins, holding me close.

His eyes drift to my lips, lingering there, and the world narrows to just us—floating in the water, bodies pressed together, breaths mingling in the narrow space between us. Heat builds despite the cool water, and I bite my lip, trying to ignore how badly I want him to close that distance.

The moment stretches, electric and fragile, until he breaks it. "It's getting dark. We should head back."

I nod, even as every cell in my body screams for something else. He lifts me back onto the boat, his hands firm on my waist, leaving ghost prints of warmth on my skin. When I emerge from changing into his old Aerosmith t-shirt, I catch him staring at me like I'm something precious and rare. For the first time in forever, I feel beautiful. Wanted.

The drive home starts in comfortable silence, the kind that hums with possibility. I steal glances at him, watching his fingers drum against the steering wheel, his dark hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends. The muscles in his forearms flex with each turn, defined and strong, reminding me of how those exact arms had wrapped around me in the water, keeping me safe as we plunged beneath the surface. When "High and Dry" by Radiohead plays, followed by "For Me This Is Heaven" by Jimmy Eat World, his jaw relaxes in that familiar way. Memories flood back: summers spent arguing about music on the dock, him teaching me piano with endless patience, those rare smiles that felt like gifts meant just for me.

It was never just a teenage crush, though I tried to convince myself otherwise. The way my heart raced when he entered a room, how time seemed to slow when he smiled—it was deeper, more intense. He's woven into the fabric of who I am, present even when I'm not looking.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice breaks through my reverie.

I smile, studying my hands before meeting his eyes. "Did you know you hum when you're relaxed or happy?"

He laughs, rich and warm. "I do?"

"Yeah," I say softly. "You've been doing it for as long as I can remember."

His brow furrows thoughtfully. "No one's ever pointed that out before."

"Well, maybe you're not relaxed and happy often enough," I tease, truth hiding behind the lightness.

His smile grows, and something in his gaze makes my heart stutter. Snow Patrol's "Open Your Eyes" plays softly in the background, its lyrics threading through the moment like fate. I reach out, brushing his arm with my fingers. When he looks at me, there's something unspoken in his eyes that makes my breath catch.

"Hey," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the music.I love you. God, I fucking love youburns on my tongue, but instead, I say, "I'm really proud of you."

He squeezes my hand, his smile soft and real.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "For not understanding sooner."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Nora. You've always been there, even when you didn't know it."

Our eyes meet again, electricity crackling between us, but his phone buzzes, shattering the moment. He doesn't reach for it, though, just holds my hand tighter as we drive through the night.

Nate drops me off and hesitates, looking down before meeting my eyes. "I, uh… I've got to take care of something."

I don't ask what—I already know. The girlfriend whose texts are lighting up his phone. I swallow hard and force a smile. He gives me one last look, heavy with unspoken words, then walks back to his car.

I don't know where we stand after today, but one truth rings clear: I was eight when I first felt the flutter of love for him, and now it's carved into my bones. No matter how many walls I build or distances I create, he'll always be the person my eyes search for in every crowded room. His name is written in invisible ink across my heart, appearing only when warmed by his presence.

Some loves are choices. Others are gravity—forces of nature we can resist but never truly escape.

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