I can’t believe he’s actually here. Again. The second time in, what, twenty-four hours?
The difference between how I felt this morning in this kitchen and how I feel now is bewildering.
The butterflies in my torso have multiplied, and now they swarm all over the place, tickling my sides and filling my veins with a lovely, fluttery feeling.
I could worry. There’s a good chance this blows up in my face, even after hearing the conviction in Reese’s voice when she said her engagement was off—even after Nate was crystal clear about his feelings about the breakup. I wouldn’t be entertaining this encounter for a second if I didn’t believe they were done for good.
Still, for all I know, this could be Nate’s final goodbye to me. He just ended his engagement, for crying out loud. I have no expectations, but I do have hopes. I can’t help it. I adore this man. I love how my house suddenly feels happier and more exciting with him in it.
Any other Saturday night, I’m usually working. But tonight, I have excellent company, some high-quality baked goods to enjoy while actually being baked, and nothing on the agenda other than to live in the moment and enjoy. Because the second I start to think ahead, the worry sets in. And I’m so tired of worrying.
So I do my best to allow the happiness and the anticipation beat out the fear. I take off my coat and turn on the oven. I open a good bottle of red wine and take out two of my fanciest glasses, just because, and fill each with a gigantic pour.
I turn on a Juanes playlist—he’s one of Nate’s favorite Latin artists—and pull a pint of hand-churned vanilla bean ice cream from my freezer. Then I pop a couple of slices of banana bread into the oven, taking them out when they’re just warm enough to get the scoop of ice cream I put on top nice and melty.
I don’t realize I’m dancing to “La Camisa Negra,” Juanes’s most famous song, until I twirl around and see Nate staring at me from the threshold.
His eyes are fire, but his smile is pure amusement.
“It’s not the foxtrot,” I manage.
“Thank God for that,” he says. “You’re so fucking hot.”
I give my ass a little shake. “Would Holly approve?”
“Probably not.” He steps into the kitchen. “But I do.”
I get that liquid feeling in my knees again. Nate is barefoot, wearing the joggers and broken-in T-shirt he grabbed from the back of his truck before we left the distillery. The swell of his chest and shoulders fills out the shirt to perfection, and I can just make out his dick poking against the crotch of his joggers.
But it’s his wet hair, neatly combed back, that has my heart swelling with profound pleasure. Wet hair he washed in my shower, with my shampoo, in my house. He’s clean and comfortable.
He’s relaxed and happy.
That has to mean something.
He steps closer, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m going up on my toes and wrapping my arms around his neck, taking a deep inhale of his skin as I bury my nose underneath his jaw.
“You smell like me,” I murmur.
Nate circles my waist in his arms and holds me tightly against him, our bodies melting into one another with an ease that makes my entire being light up. “I dig the coconut.”
“I could eat you.” I fall back on my heels. I want to stay in his arms and feel the press of his solid, warm weight against my chest, but I know that once we start, we won’t be able to stop. “But first, let’s smoke that bowl and eat some banana bread. We need to carb load for all the strenuous activity we’re about to engage in.”
We smoke on my back porch, giggling as we clumsily pass the bowl back and forth with fingers that shake in the cold.
“I feel like a teenager sneaking hits behind someone’s parents’ house,” I say, a familiar lightness settling first in my chest, then in my head. “It’s awesome.”
“It’s the fucking best.” Nate inhales, his breath catching before he tilts his chin back and lets out a steady stream of smoke. He holds out the bowl and lighter. “I take it you haven’t smoked in a while either.”
Taking the goods, I shake my head. “I’ll use my vape pen every so often when I can’t sleep. I’ve just been so busy, and getting high slows me down.”
Nate cocks a brow, tucking his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “And because I haven’t been around to show you the benefits of slowing down . . .”
“I don’t do it.” I grin, gently elbowing him. “Yeah. Something like that.”
He nods, looking up at the sky. It’s clear tonight, the moon a yellow scythe in a sea of blue velvet. The stars seem to pulse in the pine-scented silence.