Page 40 of Fault Lines
Tony gave a short laugh. “Yeah, right. What’s really grown on you is a new blonde working there.”
Nate rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother to deny it. “Don’t you have drinks to pour?”
Tony cackled and wandered off, leaving us with our beers. I took a sip, expecting to wince, but it was strangely good: crisp, a little sweet, almost like Sprite. “I don’t usually like beer, but this is good,” I admitted.
“That’s why I come here,” Nate said, taking a sip of his own. “Joe makes it himself.”
For a while, I listened to the TV, letting the comfortable silence stretch. “You like basketball?” I asked.
“Not really,” he said. “I’m more of a movie guy. Stories, you know?”
“So, you really don’t like working at Timeless Treasures?”
He hesitated, searching for the words. “It’s fine. I just like doing my own thing better. I don’t love dealing with pushy customers.”
I could relate, but I still loved the shop. “So why are you there every day, now that we have more help?”
He rested his chin on his hand and looked at me. “I think you know why, Livi.”
I felt my cheeks go warm. “But you know…”
“That you’re married? That you love your husband? That you’re not looking for more?” His voice was gentle, steady. “Yeah, Livi. I know all of that. I won’t push—I like being your friend. That’s enough for me. But if you ever want more—even just once in a while—I’m game. It’s up to you. I’ll follow your lead.”
I didn’t know what to do with that, so I blurted, “Let’s dance.”
He looked at me like I was joking. “What?”
I nodded toward the jukebox. “I bet there’s something good in there. Let’s find a song.”
Nate laughed. “I don’t think people dance here.”
I scanned the room, found a patch of clear floor not far from our seats. “Right there.”
He held up his hands in defeat. “Alright. But I warn you—I’m the world’s worst dancer.”
I led him to the jukebox, grinning as he looked over the song list.
“This thing’s ancient,” he said with a laugh.
“You’ve never used it? I thought you were a regular.”
“I come for the beer, not the music. Music’s more your thing,” he said, glancing at me.
“Music is the best way to relax,” I told him. “When I’m home alone, headphones on, glass of wine in my hand—I can almost forget the world.”
Nate picked something slow, flipping through the options. The speakers creaked to life with old jazz, something smooth and deliberate.
“Frank Sinatra?” I teased.
“There’s not much else to pick,” he said, taking my hand. “Can’t go wrong with that, though.”
He spun me onto the clear patch of floor, surprising me, and for a moment we were just two people turned loose in someone else’s night. We both started laughing, and I almost lost my balance. “Mean!” I accused, nudging him.
He caught my waist; this time he was gentle, drawing me close, and we swayed in a clumsy circle. It was nothing like the movies, but somehow better. No one else paid us any mind except Tony, who watched now and again from behind the bar. Maybe it was the wedding ring that caught his attention. Maybe to an outsider, this looked like something it wasn’t.
But even with Nate’s confession, this felt safe. Harmless. He knew where things stood.
So why did guilt keep tugging at me, even as we laughed our way through the final bars of the song?
