Page 82 of Fault Lines
“All right,” I relented, smiling despite myself. “What’s the plan?”
“First, a movie. Something to get us through the caffeine and laundry, since I forgot to switch your clothes last night. Then I’m taking you somewhere.”
I rolled my eyes. “Mysterious.”
He refused to elaborate, just smiled cryptically, and led me to the couch. He scrolled through Netflix while I curled up, coffee warming my hands. It took a while to agree on a movie, and when he settled on a rom com, I couldn’t help but give him a sideways glance.
He caught it, laughing. “What? I’m not just a nerd—I’m a closet romantic, too.”
“Color me surprised,” I said, nestling in closer as he draped his arm over my shoulders. For a moment, guilt whispered that I shouldn’t be comfortable here, that this was another line I shouldn’t blur. But Cam had already crossed all the lines and left me to put the pieces back together, alone. If this made it easier, even just a little, then he could hardly complain.
At least here, with Nate, someone wanted to ease the pain instead of causing it.
We watched in companionable silence, sipping coffee, the world outside and all its sharp edges held at bay. Partway through, Nate stood and quietly tended to my laundry, returning just as the heroine finally got her happily ever after. I pretended, for the length of the credits, that such things were possible—that love could still be like that.
When the movie ended, I stretched away from Nate’s warmth and stood to help tidy up our mugs.
Nate went to fetch my clothes, appearing moments later with them neatly folded. Oddly, I didn’t mind that he’d handled my underwear; it felt ordinary, just another shared moment between us. I ducked into the bathroom to change and pull myself together with a brush and a touch of mascara from my purse.
He was waiting for me by the door, tying his sneakers. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, eyeing him. “Are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?”
He just grinned. “You’ll see.”
As I waited for him to lock up, my phone buzzed. A text from Cam.
Good morning, beautiful. Hope you slept okay without me. I’ll be home around three as planned. Love you.
I stared at the screen, numb. He was really going to pretend? Like nothing had changed—or maybe, for him, nothing had. Maybe this was just another Sunday for Cam.
“You okay?” Nate’s voice, gentle at my shoulder.
I nodded, putting the phone away without replying. What, after all, was there to say?
“Let’s go,” I said, more tired than before.
We rode the elevator down, stepped out into the cool morning. Nate took my hand, leading us through the city, zigzagging past little storefronts until we stopped in front of the massive public library.
I looked at him, confused. “You know it’s closed, right? It’s Sunday.”
He just smiled and pulled out a ring of keys, expertly unlocking the door and holding it open for me.
The silence inside was startling; in the absence of people, our footsteps sounded like thunder. “Nate? Why do you have keys to the library? Serious question.”
He laughed, his voice echoing through the empty reading room. “It’s for work,” he explained calmly, steering me toward a hallway I’d never noticed. “I’m digitalizing the newspaper archives. Preserving history in case something happens to the building.”
“So that’s what you do? Digital archiving?”
He nodded, shepherding us down a narrow staircase. “Mostly. I do freelance, a bit of everything, but digital archiving pays the bills. I used to work for a company, but after I left, I just went independent.”
“Why’d you leave?”
He didn’t answer right away, flipping the lights on as we reached the basement level. The room smelled of old paper and time, shelves of yellowed folders everywhere. For a moment, I thought he might not answer at all, but then: “They fired me.”
A chill prickled up my arms, but I swallowed my questions and followed him to a dusty table, where an old microfilm machine stood sentinel.
“Didn’t realize libraries still had these,” I remarked, tracing the edge of the table.
