Chapter 7 #2
To send that message home, I sat on the complete opposite end of the same couch—with around three fountains, fifty coffee cups, and twenty evil geese of space between us. You’d think that would be enough to support my claim, but I’m simply dismissed with the flick of a weathered hand.
“You know, Vivienne, I’d been wondering why you dressed so nicely today, but I get it now—it was for the boy all along! You could have told me about your plans. I wouldn’t have wanted to intrude,” Margaret says, her voice dripping with mock sorrow.
Nate chokes back a laugh—one that quickly turns into a cough when I stare him down.
He’s got no right to be amused.
“What can I say? My girl likes to dress up for me.”
I still, shocked at the words that just left his mouth.
A cup of boiling, no cream, no sugar coffee dumped all over his head seems fitting for revenge.
“She really is a special one, isn’t she?” Margaret swoons. “Now, I have to ask, what are your intentions with her, young man?”
Nate freezes for the first time since getting here, and it’s my turn to smile. Karma’s a bitch, and I’m happy that, for once, she’s on my side.
“Getting to know her, ma’am,” he responds firmly.
“As what? Friends? Lovers?”
“Um…” Nate trails off, unsure of what to say.
I don’t help him out either. Watching the beads of sweat forming along his forehead at this unwarranted questioning might be the highlight of my day.
Eventually, he settles on, “As a potential marriage candidate,” and that's arguably the worst thing he could have said.
“You’re making it sound like you’re the bachelor and I’m competing for your attention,” I hiss in his direction, low enough so Margaret can’t hear.
I’m unsure of my success as a smirk plays along the woman’s lips. “Out of curiosity, is this how the current generation of couples sits?” She flicks a finger to the large space between us before turning to her husband, who sits pressed close to her on the floral couch across from us.
“Gosh, I don’t believe so,” Phil answers casually.
“Just as I thought.” Margaret nods in approval. “Why don’t you guys sit a little closer? We may be old, but we aren’t afraid of PDA.”
Nate looks over at me with concern when I wiggle an inch farther.
“Other way, Vivienne.” Margaret sighs.
I abide by her command, happy to know that one minus one cancels out the other.
The woman in front of me doesn’t seem to agree with that sentiment, the marionette lines around her mouth deeper than before.
To please her, I move an inch closer, and when she doesn’t lighten up, I repeat the process until she’s beaming brighter than the sun.
“Perfection! That’s more like it.”
A warmth erupts along the length of my body, and it isn’t until I look down that I realize I’m glued to Nate. Blue cotton dress on clean black jeans. The side of my chest against his. His leg pressing against mine.
“Arm around her.” Margaret motions.
Nate’s arm casually drapes over the back of the couch, but when that’s met with a tsk, he drops his hand to my shoulder. He pulls me in close, the faint smell of warm vanilla, nuts, and wood infiltrating my lungs.
God, he smells good.
Annoyance floods my veins at the thoughts swirling in my mind, and I look up to find his gaze strictly focused on the elders in front of us.
Jaw tight. Expressionless emerald-green eyes. A strand of hair falling across his forehead. As much as I hate him, it’s hard to deny how wildly attractive this man truly is.
“Tell us a little about yourself, Nate,” Margaret asks, bringing the rim of her teacup to her lips. She sets it down on the coffee table between us just in time for his answer.
“Well, I’m an engineer,” Nate says.
I can’t help the smile that makes its way to my face—look how the roles have reversed! Mr. Engineer is no longer happy to be part of Margaret’s mysteriously wicked plans.
Wait, engineer? My gaze shifts toward Nate, who keeps his eyes away from me.
“I know that already,” the woman answers nonchalantly.
She knows already? My head whips in Margaret’s direction.
“We saw the articles,” she adds. “I may be old, but that just makes me more likely to read the news.”
Articles?
The news?
I think I’m about to pass out.
I’m seconds away from uncovering the truth when Nate’s sharp nudge sends my phone flying across the couch, landing where I once sat.
Margaret nods in his direction, urging him to continue, and for the first time, I’m actually waiting to learn more about him.
I should have asked these questions sooner and found out what he does for work—gotten to the bottom of why he needed this deal.
Clearly, I was too wrapped up in my own world to bother.
“There’s nothing else to say,” is Nate’s most anticipated response.
Unbelievable.
A low hum of amusement slips past Margaret’s lips. “And how did you two meet?” I open my mouth to answer, only to be met with a raised finger. “I want to hear it from him.”
“We technically first met at a street corner.”
I glare at him from my spot on the couch. “There’s no need to lie. We first met at Brews&Bookmarks.”
Margaret’s eyes perk up. “Talk about a home-brewed love story.”
Nate turns to me, making sure to look me in the eyes. “That is false. We met outside when I saved you from getting pummeled by traffic.”
“If you can’t tell my friend—who’s a boy—has amnesia.” I tap his chest lightly. His really fucking hard chest. “He drenched my notebook in coffee, refused to apologize, and proceeded to tell me how he likes to take it—with milk and sugar, if you were wondering.”
“Out of everything said, only that last part is true, and not to mention, of the utmost importance. I was indirectly telling her that once she got to know me, I was sweet, exactly like my coffee.”
“So sweet, the next time we saw each other, we fell into a fountain!”
“That’s how it went!” he exclaims. “We then found ourselves soaking wet.”
“So very wet.”
“I don’t usually engage in premarital acts of love, but at that instant, I made an exception for her.” I choke on my own saliva. “I knew she was the one from that very moment.”
I shoot up from the couch, the heat that once engulfed me gone as I speed walk toward a secluded hall.
Nate quickly follows my lead, looking presumably more distressed than I am. And I can’t even blame the guy—he’d just admitted to a couple of seventy-year-olds that we had pre-marital sex. Something we obviously hadn’t done, and something I never plan to do with him of all people.
“What the hell was that about?” I whisper-yell as he comes to a stop in front of me.
For the first time since he’s gotten here, I really take him in, letting my eyes roam up and down his figure. Black trousers fit him too perfectly, stopping just below his ankles. A white T-shirt clings to his body, displaying strong tan arms riddled with veins.
Flashbacks of his very wet button-down hit me like a tidal wave.
Snap out of it, Vivienne!
“You tell me! You’re the one who brought me here!” He glances back toward the hallway entrance, spotting Phil and Margaret peeking from behind the wall.
They retreat once they’ve been caught.
“I didn’t bring you here. She brought you here.” I point at Margaret, who’s acting as though she’s casually walking by, whistling under her breath.
Nate runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. “We need to get out of here.”
For once, we’re on the same page.
“As quickly as possible,” I agree.
“I say we make a run for it,” he suggests.
My brows lift.
Not a bad idea, but there’s only one exit from the house—the dreaded front door. We’d be caught faster than a mouse in a cat’s gaze, and I’m not too keen on finding out what other tricks Margaret has up her sleeves.
“The only option that won’t draw their attention is the second-floor windows.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.” Nate doesn’t miss a beat as he grabs my hand and heads for the staircase.
I pull back, bringing him to a stop.
Insert a physics question about Superman catching a free-falling civilian before they hit the ground and face their ultimate death.
Nate is an engineer. I’m sure he can actually do the math on that one. But it doesn’t take a genius to know that Superman will inevitably be negative thirteen seconds too late, and the civilian likely won’t survive.
“You want us to die?” I stand in shock.
“It was your suggestion, not mine!” He defends himself while I blow out a breath. “I was going to offer to go first. That way, I could catch you on your way down.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “And they say chivalry is dead.”
“Look,” Nate reasons, “why don’t we tell them that we’ve got dinner plans and walk out the front door like normal, non-suicidal human beings?”
“That could work.”
“That could work?” he repeats. “No. It’s going to work. Come on, let’s get out of here.” He pulls me in the direction of the two people who’ll ultimately determine our fate.