Page 52 of Corkscrew You
“Hey,” he says, taking the word right out of my mouth.
I extemporize. “Hi.”
Then we stare at each other. Until, as is traditional in such circumstances, we both start speaking at once.
“I—”
“Th—”
Following the ritual to a T, we both say, “Go—”
“No, you go—”
And grind to a halt again.
“I’m sorry.” Nate leaps headlong into the gap. “I should never have put you on the spot like that. It was a dick move.”
“But it wasn’t a stupid thing to ask,” I tell him. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, and I know how emotionally draining family issues are.Ihaven’t eventhoughtabout having a relationship since Dad died. Except, of course, with you…”
Nice hole you’re digging, Shelby.
“So what I’m saying,” I continue, hurriedly, “is that I’m OK to wait. I accused you of not trusting me, but I also need to trust thatyouknow your own mind. So if you say you need time, I shouldn’t question that.”
I didn’t know I was going to say that when I walked in. But I’ve said it now, and it rings true to me. Nate Durantisworth waiting for. Just … not forever, if you get me. I’m not up for some dying-in-a-cave scenario, like inThe English Patient.
His shoulders sag and I can’t tell whether it’s disappointment or relief. But then he strides round the desk and pulls me into his arms. Only an embrace, no kissing. I wrap my arms around his waist, lay my head on his chest and breathe him in. Unlike Ted, Nate doesn’t seem to go in for cologne or aftershave, so he smells like himself, manly musk with a hint of laundry detergent and … is thatcookies?
“You are the greatest thing to ever happen to me,” he murmurs into my hair. “And I willnotfuck this up, Iswear.”
“Can I ask you one question, though?” I say.
I feel him tense.
“I can’t be sure about timing,” he says. “I don’t want to overpromise and disappoint you.”
“That’s not the question.”
I raise my head. He’s frowning down at me.
“OK?” he says, warily.
“My questionis: why do you smell of cookies?”
He nods, slowly. “Because I missed out last night, so I stole what was left this morning and ate them for breakfast.”
“Can’t believe your family left cookies uneaten,” I say. “What kind of weirdoes are you people?”
“Weirder than you can imagine,” he replies. “Though Iamthe only one who ate six cookies for breakfast.”
I smile up at him. “I think we must have been separated at birth.”
He seems to be battling between smiling back and frowning. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, and my whole body fires up in anticipation.
But Nate’s got a lot of self-discipline – I knowthatabout him by now – so all he does is tighten his embrace for a moment, and then step back, with a last gentle touch on my upper arms.
“A part of me feels I ought to say I don’t deserve you,” he says. “But a way bigger part wants to prove that’s one hundred percent wrong.”
Ialsoknow that he can be super intense. And that worries me, just a teensy bit.
