“I never said I wasn’t interested,” she reminded him again. “But I think we need to take this very slowly and cautiously if we’re going to try to change our relationship.”
“Slow and cautious?” This time his amusement was a bit more pronounced. “That doesn’t sound like the Nic Sawyer I know.”
“Yes, well, that Nic Sawyer’s been burned more than once. And this time there’s a lot more to lose if something goes wrong,” she added candidly. “I didn’t mind so much when things fell apart with Cow—with Brad. But if anything happened to ruin things between us…well, that would be hard for me to accept.”
His expression completely hidden in the darkness, he reached again for the ignition key. “We’d better get back. It’s getting late.”
Wistfully acknowledging that the awkward discussion was at an end and wondering if she could have handled it better, she sat back in her seat and looked out the window as he backed the car out of the parking space. It was so pretty here, she thought, her gaze lingering on the rippling, moonlight-streaked water. He couldn’t have chosen a more romantic spot to bring her to.
She couldn’t help but wonder if this had been a place where he’d often brought Heather.
Though she and Lou had already turned in, Elaine had left a few lights on downstairs for Joel and Nic’s sake. Joel turned them off behind them as he escorted Nic through the kitchen and up the stairs toward their bedrooms.
They reached her door first, and he paused there with her. “Good night, Nic. Sleep well.”
As if that were going to happen now. She doubted that she would sleep a wink. But she said only, “Thanks. You, too.”
She reached for the doorknob.
This time he was the one who reached out to stop her movement, his hand covering hers on the brass knob. The metal was cold beneath her palm, his skin very warm on the top of her hand. The contrast made a funny shiver run down her spine, and she swallowed hard before looking up at him in question. She didn’t say anything because she didn’t quite trust her voice to remain steady.
He held her eyes with his own. “What you said in the car—that you didn’t want to do anything to mess up our friendship? I just want you to know that I feel exactly the same way.”
“So you don’t think we should—”
“What?” he asked when she hesitated. “Do this?”
He bent his head and kissed her. There was more confidence this time, more familiarity. Less tentative exploration and more heat. She wanted to grab him by the tie and drag him into the room behind her, letting them both find out exactly how much more they could have than platonic friendship.
It was a long time before he lifted his head, and when his eyes met hers again, she saw a similar sentiment mirrored there.
He lifted his hand to cup her cheek. “Nic, I—”
“Joel?” Elaine stood at the end of the hallway, just at the top of the stairs, looking their way with a frown. Neither of them had heard her approaching, and they both froze at the sound of her voice.
Joel dropped his hand, though he didn’t immediately step away from Nic. “What do you need, Mom?”
“I was just making sure you got home okay. Um…do
either of you need anything?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Brannon. I’m fine,” Nic replied, proud that she’d managed to keep her voice steady despite her tumultuous emotions.
“We’re good, Mom. Good night.”
“Good night.” But she didn’t move, and Nic got the feeling she didn’t intend to until Nic and Joel were safely closed into separate bedrooms.
To make it easier on all of them, Nic took the initiative. “G’night, Joel. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, she stepped backward into the guest bedroom and shut the door.
Maybe Nic had questions about whether she and Joel should even try to go beyond friendship, but she knew Elaine had no doubts at all that it would be a horrible mistake.
Chapter Ten
Nic didn’t usually wear much makeup for daytime, but she donned a bit more than usual Sunday morning in a vain effort to hide the shadows beneath her eyes. Sleep had been elusive, and the results of her restless tossing and turning were visible in her face. An extra dab of concealer and sweep of blush had little effect, she noted in discontent, studying her face in the mirror.
The vivid red sweater she wore with gray slacks and black boots was another attempt at optical illusion. The bright, cheery color—the one she should have worn to the football game, she thought ruefully—should draw attention away from her face. At least that was her intention.