Nate’s gaze follows my arms, and he grins. “You’re one of those women, aren’t you?” A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“I don’t know what you’re implying by those women. Yes, I’ve watched Outlander. And I’ve read the books. It’s really a brilliant storyline with rich historical references. The show has stunning scenery and some quite impressive battle scenes.”
“But you’re not attracted to this Jamie character?”
“Listen, James Fraser is a fantastic character. I enjoy watching him because he’s a superb actor.”
“Hank said his girlfriend watches the show, and it’s filled with graphic sex scenes.”
“Pfft … filled is a bit of an exaggeration.”
“I see. So … what’s up?”
I rip my gaze from his chest and narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You’re here. Is there a reason? Or did you want to have coffee with me? I’m hot at the moment, so I’ll probably have some water, but I’ll make you some coffee.”
“Well …” I jerk my head in the direction of my place. “The kids are over there.”
“That’s fine. They don’t drink coffee. Let me go put on a shirt.”
Yes. Please put on a shirt.
He runs up the stairs, and I … okay, I won’t lie. I watch him run up the stairs. Then I sigh, closing my eyes and replaying those last five pull-ups.
“How’s Gabe doing? I’ve been meaning to ask.” Nate jogs down the stairs a few seconds later.
“Oh. He’s good. I think. I’m not entirely sure. He sees a therapist every other week, but I have no idea what they discuss because he doesn’t want to talk about it with me.”
“It’s hard to deal with losing someone—or in his case—the two most important people in his life. Maybe your role isn’t to be his therapist. Leave that role to the actual therapist. You should let yourself be his friend. His break from thinking about them or talking about them.” He hands me a cup of coffee and sits at the table across from me with his glass of water, an apple, and a knife.
It’s hard to imagine that cutting an apple could feel like a slow seduction, yet … Nathaniel Hunt with his muscular, veiny hands cutting an apple kinda does it for me.
Apple porn.
What’s next? Will my legs start to shake when he sips his water?
“Honey Crisp?” He offers me a wedge of the apple.
I close my hanging jaw and swallow the pooling saliva from his apple porn while relinquishing a small nod and a weak “thank you.”
“I’m sorry about your hair.” I nibble the edge of the apple slice.
Nate smirks. “Why? Does it look bad?”
“No. You look good—fine, I mean … it—your hair—is okay.”
Nice, Gracelyn. Super smooth.
He pauses his glass of water an inch before his lips and inspects me through intense eyes. “Have you ever been married?”
Okay. We’re going there. I did not see that coming so quickly. Does he know I’m fantasizing about him?
Is this a date? Are we having a coffee and apple date?
“Almost.” I absentmindedly run the apple along my lips.
After a few seconds, I notice his gaze is affixed to the apple—or my lips.
It drops from my hand because he does weird stuff to me with a single look. This draws a tiny chuckle from him as I snatch it from the table and shove as much of it into my mouth as possible, which happens to be the whole apple slice.
It’s more apple than I can handle, but now I’ve demonstrated just how much I can shove into my mouth. Is he thinking what I’m thinking? God … I hope not. Men don’t go through weird hormonal kidnappings in their forties like women do. Or do they?
“Broken engagement?” he asks.
I chew.
And chew.
Swallow. Swallow. Swallow.
My level of awesomeness is off the charts this morning. I shake my head a few times. Then I nod an equal number of times. “Good question,” I mumble with my hand in front of my mouth while I clear the last of the apple from it.
Smooth like the grittiest sandpaper.
“He left me at the altar. So technically it was before we were married.” I twist my lips. “I suppose that’s a broken engagement.”
“Damn.” He winces.
“Yeah, I think the minister whispered the same word right after Michael closed his eyes for a few seconds, opened them, leaned forward, kissed my cheek, and whispered in my ear, ‘Sorry. I just can’t,’ before taking long strides out of the church.”
“Wow … that’s …” He eats the last piece of the apple and shakes his head slowly.
“Third strike.” I blow out a slow breath. “It was the third strike. Three men have crushed me. I’ve officially retired from dating. I call it a man ban.”
If he has any illusions that this is a coffee and apple date, I think I just crushed those.
“No explanation? Just a sorry, I can’t?”