Chapter 13 Este
ESTE
“And he was just… naked?”
Sloane’s eyebrows are sky-high. She’s lying on a hotel bed in a bikini, with her chin propped up on a neon pink towel that clashes with the red lipstick I can’t for the life of me figure out why she’s wearing when she spends all day lying by a pool.
“Completely naked,” I confirm. “And reading one of my books.” Every time I’ve picked my Kindle up since, I’ve been haunted (blessed) by the memories.
She whistles. “Damn. That’s pretty hot, right? Even if he is an old man.”
“It’s hot. And he’s not an old man, Slo.”
“He graduated high school before you were conceived. Old.” Sloane wrinkles her nose, like she wasn’t the one who encouraged me to pursue Nico. “So, what’s going on between you?”
It’s a good question. A reasonable question. One I, too, would love an answer to.
“He likes it when I push him. I think he’s looking for an excuse to snap, you know?”
“Like punish you for pushing him?” Sloane hums appreciatively. “Now that is hot.”
She would think that was hot: Sloane has always thrived on being defiant, and though I channel her every now and then when it works to my benefit, that’s never been my thing.
“I don’t think it’s punishment as much as he wants to justify wanting me so much. Nico’s more of a caretaker than a punisher.” Imagining him even pretending to be mad at me is laughable.
“So, you’re stuck in a beautiful cabin with a man who bakes fresh bread and wants to take care of you? Are the blankets too soft? Is mountain water too crisp? What a hardship,” she says, her voice dry.
“Hey, have you heard a single complaint coming out of my mouth?” I laugh. “I love it here. It’s like a sanctuary. The snow can take as long as it wants to melt.”
Concern flickers over Sloane’s face.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she says, quickly. “It’s just… as nice as it is, please don’t pull a Nico and disappear for twenty years. I’d miss you too much.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure by the time the road clears, I’ll be chomping at the bit to be around people again,” I lie.
Right now, it doesn’t feel like I’ll ever be ready.
But I know the longer I hide away, the harder it’ll be.
Nico is proof of that, and not only do I not want to spend the rest of my life shut away, I know he wouldn’t let me.
If I even suggested sticking around for longer than I have to, I imagine he’d drive me down the mountain and deposit me in town without a second thought.
“Good. Because I still have no idea how to take the filter out of the dishwasher to clean it, and I don’t care to learn.”
I ask about their trip and just let her talk for a while.
I’m so used to Sloane just chatting away in the background at home.
Our apartment is never quiet. Nico is not an idle chatter kind of person, and I don’t find I miss it, but there’s something comforting about the normalcy of Sloane rambling away.
Grey is snoring at my feet, and Earl is lying across my lap. I run my fingers through his soft fur, perfectly content and relaxed. If Nico were here, I could easily snuggle into him and fall asleep, but he’s in his workshop working on a credenza for a customer.
Sloane stops talking when our dads come back from their walk and drop down on the bed beside her.
“When did you last eat a vegetable?” Pops says, in lieu of a greeting, scowling through the camera. It’s how he shows he cares—asking when I checked my oil, or took my vitamins, or some other basic life thing that, admittedly, I don’t always remember to do.
“Nico made carrot soup for lunch,” I tell him, and he nods, momentarily placated.
We don’t have much in the way of fresh veggies, but Nico wasn’t kidding when he said he was prepared for this.
He has a cellar full of canned produce, most of which he preserved himself.
It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. My ex didn’t know how to make rice.
Nico has a sourdough starter that’s almost as old as me.
The hottest thing a man can be is competent.
“How are things going with you two?” Dad asks, and Sloane hides her smirk behind her hair.
“Things are good. We get along well, and don’t clash or anything.”
“Can you take us to him so we can say hi?”
“Sure. He’s in his workshop.” Earl isn’t happy about it, but I nudge him off my lap so I can stand. Both dogs follow behind me.
My dads quiz me on what all we’ve gotten up to—mostly reading and relaxing for me, since Nico turns down every offer of help I give. Since I got here, he hasn’t spent a ton of time in his workshop. An hour or two each day, but today, he’s been in there all morning.
“Have the two of you talked about much? I know Nico isn’t the kind of person to open up, but I think it could be good for him. For both of you.”
I’m not sure my dads would understand the little back and forth Nico and I have going, trading scars.
Not without me explaining that we’re sleeping together—literally sleeping—on the couch.
Our dads trust us, but they’re protective, and Sloane and I have erred on the side of not giving them too much to worry about as we’ve gotten older.
“We’ve talked a little, but not much. Like you said, he doesn’t really open up,” I lie as I shove my feet in my boots and open the front door. The boys shoot past me, Grey leaping from the porch and rolling around in the snow.
My dad tuts. “Well, maybe he will more the longer you’re there. You’re so easy to talk to, Es, and he could really use someone to take care of him.”
In the background, Sloane hides her laugh with a cough.
I knock on Nico’s workshop door, and he looks up, eyeing my laptop curiously. “My dads want to say hi,” I tell him, before he can make a comment about my lack of pants.
His eyes widen, and he sets the tool he’s using down on the bench before nodding.
I carry my laptop and set it in front of him, but I don’t hear a word they say as they greet each other.
Nico has a short-sleeved gray T-shirt tucked into his jeans and a tool belt fastened around his hips, and, apparently, I find that hot now.
The workshop smells like sawdust, but he smells warm and spicy. It’s a problem.
I’ve accepted the fact that I’m permanently horny around Nico, but the urge I have just to hug him is new. And not an option. Even if my dads weren’t on the phone, I don’t think I could just ask him for a hug in broad daylight. That’s the kind of thing we do when it’s dark and we can’t sleep.
When I tune back into the conversation, I can tell Nico isn’t comfortable.
His knee is bouncing under the table, his foot tapping on the floor, disturbing the thin layer of wood dust that seems to cover everything in here.
I’m more focused on him than what he’s saying, and I drag over a stool so I can sit beside him and set my hand on the low of his back, out of sight of my family.
He jumps only slightly, but I feel him relax into my touch.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to find a text from my sister.
Sloane
Okay, I can see it. He’s kind of hot in a gruff lumberjack kind of way.
Still old, though.
Sloane.
What???
Also, I was thinking. If pushing him until he snaps is taking too long, you should do the opposite. Push him once, and when he fights it, stop. It’ll drive him crazy trying to figure it out, and he’ll snap faster.
It’s not a terrible idea. And Nico did give me carte blanche to torment him… I could be patient, but I’d rather not be. And he looks really, really good in that T-shirt.
“Earth to Este.” Pops’s voice jolts me out of my head. Shit, was I staring at Nico’s arms? Really, who could blame me?
“Sorry, I zoned out. What’s up?”
“We have to run. Your dad booked us a snorkeling trip because it comes with bottomless mimosas.” That sounds like my dad.
“Have fun!” I say, a little relieved. I miss them, and it’s not that I don’t love talking to them; it’s just hard. Post-crash Este isn’t the Este they want.
“Be good, kid. We’ll talk soon.”
We all say our goodbyes, and I close my laptop when Sloane reaches over Pops’s shoulder to hang up the call because he can’t find the button.
“You okay? You seem quieter than usual,” Nico says, brushing a piece of sawdust from the top of my laptop.
“I’m fine. Just family, you know.”
“I do know,” he answers with a wry smile.
I lean my elbow on his desk, taking him in.
Though we both got a full night’s sleep two days ago, he looks as tired as I feel.
After just a few months of not sleeping, I feel like I need to sleep for two weeks straight to get caught up.
After twenty-odd years, Nico probably needs even more than I do.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Like what?”
“Just so intensely.”
“I like looking at nice things. Sue me.” I shrug, and color floods his cheeks. “My dad’s worried I’m not taking good enough care of you. What do you reckon?”
“I think you’ve taken care of me quite enough, angel.
” His tone is dry, but he shifts in his seat ever so slightly, and his eyes darken a smidge.
I know he’s been trying to come off unaffected by me since I got here, and he’s good at it.
But we’re spending so much time together lately that I notice the tiny changes in him.
“I’m not sure I agree. I think I can take much better care of you.”
He curses softly, closing his eyes. “God, Este. We can’t keep doing this.”
My instinct is to push back, pulling him into the same game we’ve played two days in a row.
But Sloane might have been on to something with her suggestion.
All I’d have to do is keep provoking him until his desire wins out over his self-loathing.
But then we’d be doing this same dance again tomorrow.
So, instead, I say, “Okay. Do you mind if I hang out in here while you work?”
A myriad of emotions cover Nico’s face. Confusion. Worry. Heat. “Okay? That’s it?”
“Mhmm. Because we both know you can say we can’t do it anymore as many times as you want, but we’re going to do it again, anyway. I can be patient.”
Nico opens and closes his mouth several times before sitting back in his chair, frowning.
“So, can I?” I ask, and he blinks.
“Can you what?”
“Be here while you work. I’d like to see what you do.”
Nico gives himself a shake. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”
Oh boy, he is rattled. Thank you, Sloane.
As much as I like teasing him, I genuinely do want to watch him work.
I’ve fallen down many video rabbit holes in my time and watched people building all kinds of things, but it’s different in person.
The frame of the credenza he’s making is finished and resting on a drop cloth with some kind of shiny varnish on it. Now, he’s working on the details.
I can’t help but sit forward to watch. He’s sketching a design on a long oval piece of wood with a pencil.
There’s a notebook with a messy reference sketch on the desk, but he’s barely glancing at it as he draws out the design, his tongue between his teeth.
It doesn’t take him as long as I expect, given the intricate nature of the floral design.
He slides the pencil behind his ear, and I almost lose my mind.
“Is it typical for people to do both detail work and make bigger furniture pieces?” I ask. He looks surprised that I’m interested. Which is weird, because even if it wasn’t Nico, it would be fascinating to watch. He’s making art. But I suppose he’s not used to having people around while he works.
“It can be, yeah. A lot of people focus on one or the other, but I like seeing things through from start to finish.”
I don’t point out the innuendo, and I’m proud of myself for it.
“What’s your favorite part? The bigger picture stuff, or the details?” I ask as he traces the pencil lines with a metal tool—not enough to score the wood, but like he’s learning the shapes of the flowers and vines he’s sketched out.
“I love it all. But this is my favorite part,” he says, sliding open a drawer in his workbench.
There are a bunch of little slices of wood in various shapes.
Most of them look like offcuts from other pieces.
“This is all wood I’ve processed completely by myself, from trees here on my land.
I don’t often use it for bigger projects—I save it for special ones—and I make sure I plant more trees than I process, but I always put a tiny piece somewhere in everything I make.
This place has been my sanctuary for so long, and I like to think even a little slice will bring people a little more peace. ”
I’m sure Pops isn’t the only one to poke fun at the fact that Nico has spent so long hiding away up here, but he speaks of his home with more reverence than I’ve ever heard anyone speak before.
“That’s beautiful,” I murmur, running my pinky over the raw edge of a little block of wood. “What kind of things have you made from this?”
“Stuff for Shay, mostly. Last year, I carved a little boat for her and her girlfriend, Noelle, when they opened their bakery. And I made a bench for Georgie. It’s down in Wintermore, and Shay spends a lot of time there.
I, uh…” He scratches the back of his neck.
“I don’t know if you remember, but I made you and Sloane memory boxes when your dad adopted you.
I carved them from the first tree I cut down up here, actually.
I’d been in a bit of a work slump, but when your dad told me he was adopting you and Sloane, I knew I had to make you both something.
It was my way of making up for the fact I wasn’t there for him, I guess. ”
As if the box wasn’t special enough. “I still use that box. I keep pictures in there, and I write down journal entries to remember the important things and tuck them away. And when I’m struggling with something, I go through the box. I did it a lot after the crash.”
Nico looks up, a surprised smile forming on his lips. “Really?” I nod, and his smile grows. “That… It’s nice to know. I’m glad it helps.”
My memory box has always been a source of calm for me. A source of peace. Maybe because it’s where I store all of my happiest moments. Or maybe it’s that the wood grew here, in a place that’s quickly becoming one of my favorites.
Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the hands that carved it.