Page 47 of Brooklynaire
“I swear I am. The dizziness is gone now. It was justoneglass of champagne, and I didn’t believe that itcould…”
He holds up a hand. “You don’t have to explain it to me. Not mybusiness.”
“Really?” This is more surprising than Lauren being so nice earlier. “Here I’m handing you a golden opportunity to say ‘I told you so.’ Leap on it,man.”
Nate tips his head back and lets out a soft laugh. “Can’t do it. I promised Iwouldn’t.”
“You promisedLauren?”
He turns his head toward me, and his eyes are bright even though it’s dark. “I don’t want to nag you, Bec. You’re obviously fine. And you take good care of everyone, including yourself. Lauren just made me admit it. That’sall.”
I think of Lauren in her blue silk and revise my opinion of her for the hundredth time. “She sure looked glamoroustonight.”
“So did you.” Nate’s voice is weirdly thick. He reaches over the comforter to squeeze my hand. And his touch is warmer than I expect it tobe.
I’ve had millions of conversations with Nate. And often alone. But this is oddly intimate. It’s the middle of the night, and it feels as if we’re the only two people awake in all of Florida. “Can I ask yousomething?”
“Sure,” he says, and his hand doesn’t leavemine.
“Why did you switch my job for Lauren’s two yearsago?”
The question catches him off guard. His mouth opens and then closes a couple of times. Then he withdraws hishand.
“You can tell me the truth,” I whisper. “If you think Lauren is sharper than I am. Or more skilled at handling the bigwigs who call you. I won’t be offended.”Not much, anyway. “But it’s always bothered me that I didn’t knowwhy.”
“It has?” He looks oddlymiserable.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I didwrong.”
“Fuck,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. That was never myintention.”
I feel a wave of relief I didn’t even know I was waiting for. “Itwasn’t?”
“Jesus, no. You didn’t do anything wrong. Not a singlething.”
“Then why?” My voice cracks a little—it’s the sound of the question breaking free from my heart. I guess I’ve needed to ask this for a longtime.
“Because I’m a goddamnidiot.”
That’s a lot of cursing for a mere personnel issue. I feel like I’m on the verge of learning something important. I wait for him to go on, but he doesn’t say a word. “Aren’t you going toexplain?”
“Not if I can help it,” hemumbles.
“Nate!” I turn and rise up on my knees just so we’re the same height. “Just tell me,okay!”
“What if you don’t like the answer?” he firesback.
“But maybe you owe it to me anyway. I think you’re being illogical rightnow!”
“No kidding!” he fires back, turning to face me. We’ve squared off. “I can’t be logical when it comes to you! Can’t do it. Not foryears.”
The words just sort of hang there in the dark between us. I don’t really understand them. But when he lifts a hand to cup my cheek, I don’t feel so confused anymore. His fingers are so gentle on my face that everything grows quiet insideme.
This isn’t how we usually touch each other, but for some reason it’s not weird, even though I’m not exactly wearing clothes. I stare into his kind eyes and I swear nobody even breathes for a long time. “Why?” I whisper one more time. And then, “Please.”
He closes his eyes, and his thumb sweeps over my cheekbone. I didn’t know I had so many nerves in my face. I have the urge to lean into his hand and beg for more. But then he starts talking. “It was two years ago in March, and you had just started dating that…guy. The artist. He liked to come by the office to talk before you lefttogether.”
What?For a long beat, I can’t even conjure a memory of dating an artist. “Wait… That kid who was a courier, and also painted? Why would he matter?” I dated him for the emotional equivalent of about tenminutes.
