Page 23 of Fighting Words
“I’d rather continue our conversation.”
Her cheeks heat, and I like how responsive she is, how little it takes to get a reaction out of her. Is she like that everywhere? Pink and flushed?
“You shouldn’t tempt me. I’ve had too much wine. I had a glass while I was cooking, so behave.”
The command makes me want to do the exact opposite. I shift in my seat, and my leg bumps into hers under the table. I wait for her to move. Our eyes meet, and her eyes widen. There’s a suspended longing in the air—something that could ignite.
Bloody hell. What am I doing with this girl?! Have I lost my mind?
I screech my chair away from the table and take my plate to the sink.
“Leave it,” she tells me. “I can clean up.”
I ignore her and wash my dish and wine glass and silverware. I dry everything with a hand towel and replace the wine glass and plate on the shelves above the kitchen fireplace. I can feel Summer’s gaze on me. She’s watching me like she’s a scared little rabbit. She wants to be prepared for what I’ll do next.
She speaks up shyly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to derail dinner.”
The fact that she’s apologizing only makes me more annoyed. I grab my coat off the door and, without looking back, tell her I’ll see her later.
The Red Lion Pub will be open, and if I’m lucky, they’ll have my favorite beer on tap.
CHAPTER 8
SUMMER
I listento Nate’s car drive away and groan.
Well that’s just great. Night two of me being in this cottage by myself. At least last night Nate was upstairs in case I needed him for something. Tonight, it’s just me, myself, and I.
It’s a little eerie being here all alone for the first time. In New York, I’m never this isolated. At any given time, I’m surrounded on all sides by a million people—on the subway, in my apartment, on the street. Currently I can hear an owl hooting outside and wood crackling in the fireplace, but beyond that,nothing.
I let my fork drop to my plate and am tempted to let my forehead follow, but I don’t want pasta in my hair. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong here. Nate has asked me to stay, but he hasn’t warmed up to me at all. I thought making a nice dinner would help him soften a bit, but the whole thing was uncomfortable. Even now, my shoulders are bunched up, my muscles tense. No one has ever affected me like this, hijacking my ability to take a full breath. I’m nervous around him likely because I want to make a good impression, but the more I want to prove myself, the harder it becomes to act normal.
I thought the wine would help me loosen up, but then his leg brushed mine under the table and my stomach swooped low and likelythat’swhy he ran. He probably choked on the damn pheromones wafting off me in cartoonish lines. I’m not fooling anyone here.
I wish I’d had longer to talk to Andrew today. Hearing his voice and being reminded of what we have would make it simpler to set aside these fledgling feelings I’m having for Nate as nothing more than lust. My interest in Nate likely happens toanyonewhen they’re around him. Take Alice, for example! She clearly sees what I see. Big deal.
This isn’t personal. It’s business.
I push back from the table and take my plate to the sink. At least I can busy myself with fifteen minutes of dinner cleanup. After that, though, I’m on my own. Just me and Nate’s cottage and Nate’s Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate bar I steal from the shelf. I know I told him I wouldn’t, but I can’t help but break off a few squares. I need a sweet treat after dinner, sue me. He’s not here to stop me, so who cares? I’ll buy him a replacement the next time I go into town.
I carry the chocolate and my wine into the living room and sit down next to the fire. I wonder where Nate went at this time of night. Is he with Alice? Do they have a standing date every Thursday evening?
If so, they must meet at her place. I don’t see any sign of her laying claim to the cottage. There’s no spare toothbrush in the bathroom other than mine, no lipstick lying around. I stick my hand down on the side of the chair cushion and come away with a button, but no sexy lingerie.
Oh my god. I’m losing my mind. I’ve never had so little to do. I like it but I alsohateit. I can’t believe Nate lives this way. I haven’t been without internet access in years. I know he prefers it, but he’d be better off living on a deserted island somewhere. At least then there’d be no harsh winters.
As someone who loves to read, I’m grateful there’s no shortage of books to pick from in this cottage. Nate has a veritable library, but I decide I’m going to do the practical thing and get some work done. I have all my notes for theCosmostrilogy up in my bedroom: character outlines, plot points, style sheets. It’s at least a hundred printed-out pages I had spiral bound for easy access. I’ve gone through it all so many times I practically have it memorized at this point. The names of the planets and star systems, the crew and every detail of their interpersonal relationships.
Nate hasn’t sent InkWell an outline for book three, so I have no idea where he plans to take the series. I have educated guesses and my own personal hopes, but until he gives me insight into what he’s planning, I can’t really help.
I end up eating every morsel of that chocolate bar, and then I curl up on the couch underneath the blanket, reading through my notes until I fall asleep. In the morning, I wake up with a start, confused until I realize I’m tucked in my bed, nice and cozy under the covers. I lie still, trying to recall how I got up here. Did Nate carry me to bed when he got home? He must have. I don’t sleepwalk.
It makes me feel tingly and weird to know he had me in his arms. Please god, tell me I didn’t rub my cheek against his chest or nuzzle against him like a weirdo.I would.
I look down, worried for a split second before I see I’m still in my clothes from yesterday. He didn’t undress me. Of course he wouldn’t. How inappropriate!
I fling my covers off and accidentally drop them onto Cat, who doesn’t care one bit. He just stays there cocooned in the warmth.
