Chapter Fifteen
“Come to my place tonight,” Nate said, his voice easy and matter-of-fact.
I nearly lost my grip on the box I was carrying, almost letting it tumble and scatter its contents across the aisle. “What?” I asked, the surprise wobbling in my tone.
“I want to cook for you,” he repeated, not missing a beat.
He watched me. Waiting. I couldn’t help the skeptical eyebrow I raised in response. “You want to cook for me?”
He laughed, not bothered at all, and took the box from me. He reached for his pocketknife and sliced the tape, opening it up in one quick motion.
“Jackson got a deal on some duck,” Nate said, pulling out a couple of brand-new hardbacks and handing them to me so I could start stacking the display shelves.
“Picked some up for me, too, since he knows I like to cook. There’s this recipe I’ve been dying to try, but I want a second opinion.
Plus, it’s Thursday night, and you shouldn’t have to sit at home alone. ”
He lined the books up on the display, neat and orderly, his words drifting along like he’d been thinking about this for a while. “Unless you already have plans,” he added after a beat. “But I know Rachel is going out with Jackson tonight, so I thought…”
He didn’t finish. Just gave me a look, both hopeful and a little awkward.
“Yeah, why not,” I finally said. “As friends, of course.”
“Of course,” he replied, and the smile he gave me was all boyish charm and dimpled cheek.
I had to smile back at him, just for that.
There was something infectious about the way his whole face lit up, the dimple carving itself deep in his skin.
Then my phone went off with a little ping and I dug it out of my jeans, thumb swiping the screen even though I already knew who it would be. Cam.
I can’t make our lunch date, babe. I’m sorry. A last-minute client meeting came up.
I sighed as I read the words. He’d been canceling a lot, lately.
Ever since the trip to the aquarium, Cam just felt…
distant. Quieter. Standoffish in a way he never used to be, like each text took more effort than the one before.
He was staying at work late almost every night now.
I’d been turning over what happened that day in my mind, wondering if I’d managed to screw things up for good, if I’d just pushed too hard this time.
Okay, I understand. I’ll miss you.
Shockingly, he texted back so fast the phone vibrated in my hand before I’d even put it away.
Miss you too. Love you.
My breath came out a little shaky but I clicked off the screen and stowed the phone in my pocket. No use staring at it the rest of the day. I turned my attention back to the shelf and started stacking the new travel mugs next to Nate, trying to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary.
“The hubs?” Nate asked, voice low and not quite teasing, just curious.
I glanced over at him, narrowing my eyes. “How’d you know?”
He shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You get this look when you talk about him, or hear from him. Sort of sad. Guess I picked up on it.”
A sad look. That was a new one for me, and it made me want to hide behind the shelf.
Was it really that obvious how my marriage was going—or not going, as the case may be?
I turned away and started rearranging the mugs again, chewing that thought over.
Was I really unhappy? It was a question I’d never let myself ask.
I felt good when Cam was around, when he actually paid me attention—it was like every little scrap of affection filled my whole world.
But as soon as we were apart it felt like there was this giant hole where he should be.
Maybe if I just glued myself to his side our problems would go away. The mental image made me snort.
Fat chance.
∞∞∞
Nate’s apartment was on the third floor, tucked into the corner with a heavy black door and a little brass number on it. At six on the dot, like he’d told me, I knocked. The door swung open, and there he was, grinning wide enough to show both dimples this time.
“Welcome to my abode. Please make yourself at home.”
He took the bottle of wine from me, glancing over the label. “Vintage,” he announced, eyebrows hopping up. “Very nice.”
I laughed. “I didn’t even know if you liked wine, really. I just didn’t want to show up and eat all your food without bringing something to trade.”
He stepped aside, waving me in. “You can come over and eat my food any time. No contribution required.” I could tell he meant it, too.
Stepping inside, I was surprised. I guess I’d half-expected superhero memorabilia or stacks of comic books, but his apartment was nothing like that.
The living room was put together in all dark, elegant colors—a deep black leather couch anchoring the space across from a massive flat screen, a mahogany coffee table between them.
Two matching recliners, spotlessly clean, and abstract art on the walls instead of action figures.
Even the plants in the corners looked healthy and intentional.
A foosball table was set up against the far wall, ready for tournaments.
Honestly, the whole place had Cam’s name written all over it.
Sleek and masculine. Not a nerdy knickknack in sight.
“Your place is nice,” I said, trailing after him.
“Thanks.” He led me through the living room and into the kitchen.
This room was even better, decked out in dark granite countertops and a refrigerator so shiny and high-tech it almost looked like something from a spaceship. The door glowed with a screen full of apps.
He set the wine on the breakfast bar and reached up to grab glasses from the cabinet. He popped the cork and poured, giving us both a healthy amount before handing one to me.
I swirled it the way I’d seen people do on TV and brought it to my nose. “It smells great, thank you.”
He grinned, already turning back to the stove. “Tonight, we’re having duck breast with apricot chutney. Been wanting to try this recipe for a while.”
“You really like to cook?” I asked, a bit surprised—I’d never heard him mention it before earlier.
He nodded, shoulders relaxing as he stirred something in a hot pan. “Always have, since I was a kid. My mom used to let me help in the kitchen. Some of my favorite memories.”
I remembered what Rachel had said, that Nate hadn’t exactly had the happiest childhood. I wanted to ask about it, but didn’t want to make him sad.
He pulled out another pan, sloshed in what looked like orange juice, and started whisking. Clouds of steam rose up as he added sugar, apricots, and a bunch of spices I couldn’t name. He moved around the kitchen without any wasted motion, so confident it was almost hypnotic to watch.
“That looks fancy,” I said, unable to keep the awe out of my voice.
He snorted. “It’s not, not really. Just different. Do you like Indian food?”
“I do. I’ve tried chutney before, and I liked it,” I admitted.
He flashed a quick smile. “Then you’ll definitely like this.”
He sipped wine with one hand, stirring with the other, then finally scraped the apricot mixture into a bowl and added a squeeze of lemon. He mixed it quickly, not bothering to let it rest, and I could tell we were both too hungry to wait.
Normally, I would have lost interest in what someone was doing by now, but I found myself transfixed.
I even liked working with Nate at the shop, even though I knew he was giving up his real job time to do it.
It was like we were friends now, real friends, the kind you were always happy to see.
I still didn’t know why he bothered coming in, but I hoped he never stopped.
He opened the oven, and the smell of roast duck poured out, thick and rich. My stomach actually growled—it was embarrassing.
Nate grinned as he plated the food, putting little piles of vegetables around the duck and drizzling sauce on top. It looked exactly like those fancy TV shows where you think there’s no way the food tastes half as good as it looks.
We sat at the table, me where he pointed, and he went ahead and overloaded my plate. He did the same for himself, took the chair across from me, and raised his glass.
“Bon Appetit!” he said, already shoveling in green beans. I almost burst out laughing.
I cut into the duck, tried it with the chutney like I’d seen him do, and I couldn’t help it—I made a noise, actually moaned a little. It was that good.
Nate definitely noticed, but he didn’t tease. He just looked pleased.
“This is incredible!” I said after my first bite, already going in for another. “You could be a chef!”
He shook his head and laughed. “No, thanks. I like cooking, but not enough to make it a career. I’d rather keep it fun.”
“Well, if you ever get tired of your day job, I’d eat in your restaurant every night.”
He glanced up at me, eyes bright. “What about you? Any hobbies?”
I shrugged and picked at my vegetables. “Reading, I guess. Nothing very exciting. I’ve never been able to stick with anything for long. Which is probably why I don’t have a career. I can never make up my mind.”
“Except Cam. And reading. That’s something,” he mused.
“True. But I will say, I love working at your grandfather’s shop. I honestly do. I didn’t expect to last more than a week, but now I can’t imagine not going in. I want to buy one of those fancy coffee machines for my house. If Cam would let me.”
He smiled again, dimple showing, and this time he looked a little shy.
“I’m glad you like it there. Pops is obsessed with you, you know. Tells me all the time. I never liked it much myself, until you…” He trailed off, looking away, like he regretted saying that.
I put my hand over his, squeezing. “You’re one of the reasons I love it, too.”
He just smiled, softer now, and changed the subject.
“What do you think of the green beans?”
“Fabulous. Like the rest of this dinner.”
He chewed, swallowed, pointed at my wine glass. “This is good too. Where did you get it?”