Shut Up and Kiss Me (Happy Endings 2)

My stomach craters.

“No,” I say, with a gulp.

Nolan climbs in and shuts the door, then he takes my hand in his, covers it. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Oh God.

Honey.

Nothing is wrong now.

Everything is butterflies.

I dip my chin, my hair curtaining my face. He brushes it back, cups my jaw, and gently turns me toward him. “What’s wrong?” he asks again.

“I just . . .”

“You’re worried everyone else is doing better?”

I nod. “It’s stupid. It’s so stupid.”

“It’s not,” he says, then presses a kiss to my forehead. “But you have to try to let it go. Okay?”

I nod, a little shaky. “I just want it, though. For us. For you.”

His eyes do something I’ve never seen before. They tighten with something like pain.

“Are you okay?” I ask, turning the question back on him.

He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I will be.”

I sense there’s something he wants to tell me, but the car pulls up to the cereal joint. It’s time to focus on the job and not on this kernel of worry that’s sprouting and digging roots inside me.

18

Complex Math

Nolan

* * *

I can’t keep a stupid secret from Emerson any longer. After she declares the cereal shake a nine point two and I give it a six, I grab her elbow and guide her to Abingdon Square Park, a triangular patch of grass and playground at the edge of Chelsea, a secret in the middle of the city that never sleeps. Abingdon Square Park feels like New York is breathing quietly, away from the restless masses.

We sit on a green slatted bench, and I turn to Emerson. “I don’t owe money on a student loan,” I say.

She tilts her head, her eyes question marks. “What do you mean?”

I blow out a breath. My bones tighten like I’m a Jack-in-the-box. It’s a little painful, but after what she said in the car—I just want it, though, for us, for you —I know TJ and Easton were right. It’s time.

“I don’t have student loans for cooking school,” I begin, trying to release the strangling tension.

A line burrows into her forehead. “I know that. You’ve told me Jason wanted to pay for it. I thought you had a small student loan from college. That your dad wanted you to pay for some of college,” she says. Her face is a complex math equation. Mine is probably a portrait of shame.

I wince to hear my lie repeated back to me. “That’s not true,” I admit.

She blinks. “Oh. Okay.”

“My dad is, well, you know. He’s well-off. So’s Jason.”

She nods. “Right.”

I rub a hand along my chin. “I don’t owe anything from college. I . . . made that up.”

Emerson jerks back her head. “What?”

Hell, this is harder than I thought. “I lied to you. I didn’t want to tell you, or them, the truth.”

“Nolan, you’re freaking me out. What is it?”

“The bistro I opened with Inés? In France?”

“Yes?”

“She put up most of the initial cash, but I helped with the rest. Used basically all my savings. And I co-signed on her loan. When we split up, she said she’d cover the payments,” I say.

Emerson sighs sadly, easily doing the math now that she has the numbers. “She didn’t take over?”

I shake my head. “A few months ago, she defaulted on the loan I co-signed. That’s how I ended up with the debt for her failed restaurant.”

Her expression falters; her jaw falls open. “Oh, Nolan,” she says, soft and sympathetic.

But I don’t deserve sympathy. “It’s embarrassing.”

She reaches for my face, cups my cheeks. “Don’t. Don’t be embarrassed. I get it.”

“You do?”

“You didn’t tell me because you had to keep it from your dad and Jason. Because they’d pay the debt, and you didn’t want that. So, you kept it to yourself.” She clasps my face tighter. “Am I right?”

My heart spasms. How the hell did she figure that out? “You are a detective,” I whisper.

She shakes her head. “No. I just know you. I get you.”

“You do,” I say, then tell the rest of the story. Now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. “They didn’t like her. They told me not to move. Not to follow her. They were right. I didn’t want to disappoint them. And I guess I didn’t want to disappoint you either.”

“I’m not disappointed. And I won’t be. Ever,” she says gently. Then, she lets go of my face like she just realized she was holding me.

“You don’t have to stop,” I offer.

A soft laugh falls from her lips. “Is that so?”

“That is so,” I say, then take a beat. “You’re not pissed I lied?”

She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t tell you the truth about my loan. Why on earth would I be mad you didn’t either?”

“But yours was for something good, something noble,” I point out.

“Maybe yours was for something good too. Self-preservation,” she says with a knowing shrug. “But I’m glad you told me.”