22. Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“So, who takes care of you?” I ask. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my gaze dips to my wine. The damn culprit. Why would I ask him something like that? It’s fine though. Nash doesn’t judge. In fact, he laughs. That rough, husky sound that makes my stomach warm and twisty.
“I’m thirty-six.”
“That wasn’t my question,” I add, reaching for my wine. May as well. I haven’t felt this loose in a while. Maybe I should drink wine more often.
But… he’s thirty-six? I guess I assumed he was around that age, but some things about him feel younger while others feel older. Guess it makes sense to meet in the middle.
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” he adds as he reaches for his wine.
“We all need someone to take care of us, Nash.”
“Who takes care of you?”
I take a deep breath and lean back in my seat.
“No one,” I say softly. “The person who did is gone, and I’m trying to figure out how to do it myself.”
“That’s the trick, unfortunately.” His plate is as clean as mine, but the glass of wine is still half full. “You learn from the beginning how to take care of yourself, not rely on anyone, and that’s how you don’t get hurt.”
I shake my head. “If you don’t allow yourself to be vulnerable with someone, you’ll never know what true love is,” I say, bringing the glass to my lips.
He gives me a soft, understanding smile. “This conversation sounds familiar.”
I smile behind my glass before taking the final sip. It does, and I wonder how we keep getting into these intimate conversations so easily.
“And your answer hasn’t changed,” I comment.
He shakes his head once, that small smile still on his face. My eyes dip to it without my permission, and I take in his full lips and his dark mustache and beard. My eyes slowly make their way back up to his, and he’s still watching me carefully. Like he’s trying to understand something.
“No,” he says. “It hasn’t. But maybe one day it will.”
“Do you really think that?”
He shrugs. “No, but I’m open-minded enough to admit that it’s possible.”
Nash pays the bill. We get into the car and he starts the drive to my house. It’s comfortable this time. I feel light. Free. Happy. Thank you, wine.
“Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas comes on, and I immediately raise the volume to sing along.
I feel Nash’s gaze on me; a smile on his face like I’ve never seen before.
I know every word, hitting it at exactly the right time. My key is off, of course, and I’m sure I sound like a dying cat, but I don’t care. Not now.
When the song ends, I don’t lower the volume, but I don’t know the song that comes on next.
Nash’s mood seems lighter though—same as mine.
We pull up in front of my apartment and he turns the truck off.
I watch him carefully as he opens the door, wondering what he’s doing.
By the time I step out, he’s already around my side.
“Let me make sure you get upstairs okay.”
“I only had two glasses of wine.”
“It’ll make me feel better.”
“If you insist.” I sway my arm out, gesturing for him to lead the way.
Nash plays with the door handle on the front door of the building when he notices it doesn’t turn—meaning it doesn’t lock.
“This isn’t safe.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” I say as I move for the stairs. He hurries after me.
“We aren’t taking the elevator?”
“Hell no.” I push open the door for the stairs, the door that also doesn’t lock. “Got stuck in that thing the first month I moved in. I’ll never step foot in it again.”
Nash chuckles as he follows behind me, quickly coming up in step beside me.
We get to my apartment and I fumble with my keys, but eventually get the door unlocked and open.
I don’t step inside. I turn back to Nash and lean against the doorway, looking up at him.
This feels… a lot like the ending to a date, even if the dinner itself didn’t feel like a date. It was comfortable.
Looking up at Nash, I can’t help but feel…
something. I always had a thing for tall guys with a bigger build.
It makes me feel small, which in turn makes me feel protected.
That’s important to me. Always has been, even before I met Ryan, but especially after.
It’s probably something that goes all the way back to my parents, but I have enough trauma to work through, I don’t need to add that to my list.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say.
“Thank you for coming with me. I… needed this today.”
I bite my bottom lip and smile up at him. “Yeah, I could tell. Glad I could help.”
“You did,” he says, and I swear he just took a step closer to me. He did, right? Yeah, he definitely did. Because he’s so close I can smell him. This spicy, musky scent. “Thank you.” His voice is lower, quiet. Soft. Gentle. All the right things.
“You said that,” I respond.
“Did I?”
“Yes,” I breathe out.
Nash leans in a little closer, and his hand comes up toward my face, the backs of his fingers brushing along my cheek.
My eyes fall closed as the heat of his skin burns mine, and I lean into the touch.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt something like that, but it’s gone as soon as it’s there.
My eyes pop open. Realization hits us both at the same time. Nash steps back. So do I.
“I’ll… see you,” he says quickly.
All I can do is stand there and watch him walk down the hallway. I should go inside, break whatever spell this is, but my eyes are glued to him until he disappears behind the elevator doors. Brave bastard.
I step into my apartment, close and lock the door.
I like this version of Nash. The version I get. The one other people wouldn’t believe exists. There’s something special knowing that I get something the rest of the world doesn’t.
That’s not what has my head spinning, though, I realize.
No, what has my head all extra fuzzy and slightly dizzy is that I really wish he hadn’t stopped just now.