Page 152 of Before We Were

I smell traces of vodka on her breath.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Don't change the subject."

"Maybe you should??—"

"Don't tell me what I should do, Nate. I'm perfectly fine??—"

She stumbles, feet slipping beneath her. My arms move on instinct, catching her waist and steadying her before she falls. She's pressed against me now, hands on my chest, my hands gripping her hips. Heat radiates between us, her body fits against mine like it was made to be there.

Time stops. I'm about to lose my fucking mind holding her like this.

She stares up at me, wide-eyed, and something unspoken passes between us. That silent confession between us screams without words. I feel it in every point where our bodies touch, in the slight tremor of her breath against my neck. I let my hands linger longer than I should, feeling her body melt under my touch. She steps back, creating space, and I immediately regret letting go. The loss of contact feels like physical pain.

"Thanks," she murmurs, voice softer now.

These tiny, electric moments between us—brief, charged bursts that shatter the calm—come when one of us stares too long, smiles too wide, or thinks too hard. Little shocks to remind us not to slip too far. To stay safe. To keep our distance. And fuck, I crave these moments the most.

They're like matches in the dark, brief flares of light that show me everything I want but can't have.

I catch her again before she can fall. One arm loops around her elbow, the other braces her lower back. I pull her close, steadying her, and our bodies press together. Through my shorts, I feel the heat of her skin, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to pull her closer and kiss her right here in front of everyone.

Her sweet, innocent green eyes lift to mine, wide and unguarded. There's trust there I don't deserve, that I shouldn't encourage.

"I got you, Leni," I say, grinning to hide how much this affects me.

Her cheeks flush pink as she clears her throat, gaze flickering to where my hands still grip her hips. I don't move. I should, but I can't make myself let go.

"You're making this a thing," she murmurs.

I laugh softly, the sound drawing out the grin that always comes so easily when she's flustered. "You know I'll never let you fall."

I'm weak when it comes to her. Everything in me is drawn to her, this magnetic pull I can't resist. Don't want to resist, even though I know I should. We stay like that, caught in the moment. Her nails dig into my shoulders, but I don't mind. I feel it in the way her body leans into mine. It's almost primal, this need between us. It scares me how much I want her.

She's panting slightly, and it's adorable that she pretends she's unaffected when our bodies collide. The need I feel for her isn't logical; it's instinctual, coming from a place I don't recognize, a place only she can reach.

If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that Lenora Wells lives in my head rent-free. She's carved out a space in my soul no one else could ever fill.

And that terrifies me more than anything because people like me don't get to keep beautiful things.

We just break them.

CHAPTER45

THE GEOMETRY OF ALMOST

NORA

Before I can processwhat's happened, Nate's arms are around me, steadying me. My heart doesn't skip, it leaps. Not from the near fall or the drinks buzzing through my system, but from him. His hands grip my waist with a sureness that makes my breath catch, and his warmth bleeds through my clothes like a brand. His touch doesn't make me flinch or hesitate—it anchors me. With him, I always feel that way, like coming up for air after being underwater too long.

"You need water," he says, his tone brooking no argument. "Come on." His arm stays wrapped around me as he guides me inside, as if afraid I might slip away again.

In the kitchen, he grabs a glass, filling it with ice and water. I hop onto the counter, letting my legs dangle, watching as his eyes trace the line of them. It's bold—something I wouldn't normally do—but today things feel different. Maybe it's the small amount of alcohol I drank when he arrived to try and take the edge off, or maybe the heat, or maybe I'm tired of pretending I don't want what I want.

He stands before me, watching as I take a sip. His gaze follows the glass to my lips with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. The water cools me down, but Nate?

He's the reason I feel light-headed.

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