Chapter Thirty-One
I shrieked, laughter tumbling out of me, as I wriggled under Nate’s grip. He wasn’t letting up. His hands found every ticklish inch of my sides, my stomach, that awful spot under my ribs—the one he’d discovered weeks back and exploited ever since. And he knew it would make me shriek.
“Nate! Stop! I can’t breathe!” I squealed, gasping, even as I snorted and howled at the ceiling.
Finally, mercifully, he backed off, though his arm stayed locked around my waist. He tugged me into the curve of his chest while we sank deeper into his unmade bed.
I burrowed against him, the steady sound of his heartbeat and his warmth helping me catch my breath.
“I told you there’d be consequences if you tried to escape the bed,” he said, nose pressed into my hair.
I grinned into his chest, stretching. “I only wanted coffee. I need it if I’m going to survive today, you know. You kept me up almost all night.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Is that a complaint?”
I shook my head, letting myself savor the soreness lingering in my thighs. He’d woken me up three separate times in the night, and it showed—in the aches, and the delicious exhaustion, and the soft glow of satisfaction winding through my muscles. “Of course not. Last night was… perfect.”
“Good.” He gave a gentle slap to my backside, just a playful tap. “Go on. Get your coffee. You’re going to need it, I think you’re right.”
I made a face at him, but untangled myself and peered at him over my shoulder. “You want some?”
“Sure, I’ll take a cup. But you’re flying solo at the bookstore today. I’ve got a ton of work to catch up on. No skipping the shift and hiding in my office.”
“Oh.” My voice fell a little. I always felt a stab of guilt when he spent his days at the shop, putting his own job on the backburner just to help out.
He’d started working from his apartment more often lately, probably because, intentionally or not, I’d more or less become a roommate.
The lines were blurring; I hadn’t moved in, not exactly, but it was happening right under my nose.
It hadn’t started out that way. I’d just started spending more and more nights here, especially after things at Rachel’s got…
awkward. Walking in on her and Jackson on the couch had been traumatizing enough that I’d practically sprinted straight to Nate’s.
Rachel and Jackson never minded, but I could feel the shift—they deserved their own space.
Somehow, though, I still hadn’t found my own place.
I’d looked at apartments, but anything in the ballpark of affordable was one disaster after another.
Nate was “helpfully” sending me listings, steering me toward the super-nice places, the ones with rents that made me physically ill.
I had a suspicion he was doing it on purpose—a gentle nudge to get me to make things official and move in with him.
He’d asked directly twice, and I’d gently refused him both times. It was tempting, God, so tempting. Still, I knew I needed to be on my own for a while. I didn’t want to leapfrog from living with one man to another, not without proving to myself I was capable of being alone. Not this time.
But Nate was sneaky. He kept buying me toiletries, little by little, until a whole shelf in the bathroom belonged to me. On top of that, every time I stayed for a weekend, a little more of my clothing ended up in his closet. It made me smile, even when I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening.
I drifted into the kitchen and went straight for the drip pot, ignoring Nate’s fancy coffee contraption on the counter.
He’d bought that for me, of course; he didn’t even drink the stuff unless I was around.
Cam still had my old coffee maker, but Nate insisted I didn’t need to go back for it.
He’d rather buy a new one than have me step foot in Cam’s place.
I knew the truth, though: the less time I spent around Cam, the happier Nate was.
But that was ancient history. The only time I’d called Cam in weeks was to tell him I was making an appointment with a divorce lawyer.
He’d answered the phone in a waiting room, a woman’s voice in the background—a nurse or a doctor, then Lacey herself.
That stung. I’d listened as he scrambled to explain, trying to insist he was only there for the ultrasound as moral support.
As if that changed anything. Hearing it out loud, in real time, had been a shock, as if someone had reached into my chest and twisted.
After that, I hung up. I hadn’t answered any calls or texts from him since.
I hadn’t even scheduled the appointment—I wasn’t ready to face it, not yet.
As long as I delayed, it was like the reality couldn’t quite catch me.
But I knew, deep down, there was no turning back.
Lacey’s pregnancy had to be far along by now, and I’d rather have the divorce over and done with before that baby arrived.
That probably wouldn’t happen, though. It should be straightforward.
I didn’t want anything but my own stuff and the little money I’d earned; everything else could go to Cam.
Nate knew I was dragging my feet. Cam’s messages still lit up my phone, and it drove Nate up the wall.
Every time, he’d glare at my screen, jaw tightening.
Twice, I’d had to pull the phone from Nate’s hands so he wouldn’t answer for me.
He’d also snooped through my messages twice, which I hated.
But I tried to see it from his side. He was trying to build something with me, and instead of a fresh start, he had Cam’s shadow on every text alert.
I poured two mugs as the coffee finished gurgling, fixed them up like usual (splash of cream for Nate, sugar and cream for me), and set the mugs on the counter.
Nate appeared a second later, bare-chested and wearing nothing but sweats, his skin still cool and damp.
My eyes trailed down him, a hot little shiver running through me.
If I didn’t have to work, I might have dragged him straight back to bed.
“Thanks,” he said, grabbing his mug and taking a long sip. “You going to make that appointment today?”
The question clipped my daydream. The desire fizzled out, replaced with irritation.
He’d been on me about the divorce every single day for weeks.
And, all right, I understood why, but the more he pushed, the more stubborn I became.
I wanted to do it. I knew I had to. But something about Nate’s impatience triggered my own heels-dug-in instincts.
I heaved a sigh and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll call them on my lunch break.”
His face broke out in a smile, bright and proud. Without thinking, I smiled back.
“That’s great, baby. The sooner you get this done, the sooner we move forward.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Move forward? We’re already living together ninety percent of the time. There’s no rush, Nate. We have all the time in the world.”
He set his mug down, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen. “But I want you to be completely mine,” he said, his voice a little hard-edged. “I want us to be real, without the marriage still hanging over our heads.”
I didn’t flinch from him. I just leaned back against the counter, the steam from my mug fogging the air between us. “I am yours, Nate. The marriage—it’s like you said, it’s just technical. Only on paper. It doesn’t mean anything. I wouldn’t betray you. Not even for Cam.”
He stared at me for a long second. Then, suddenly: “If Cam called today and said he was walking away from it all—that he wasn’t going to raise the baby, or see her, or anything. Would you go back to him?”
I didn’t hesitate. “No, Nate. There’s too much between us that’s broken. And I couldn’t be with someone who’d just walk away from his own kid. That isn’t in me.”
His jaw worked. “Do you still love him?”
That question made me pause. My gaze flickered from his eyes down to my coffee. I didn’t want to say it, but it was true.
“That’s a yes,” he bit off.
I didn’t try to deny it. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. It’s just—we have history. We spent years together. I can’t turn it off like a switch.”
“Even after the way he’s treated you?”
“Even after.” The words came out small.
“Do you love me?”
This time, I met his eyes. He was deadly serious, almost brittle. The word “love” hadn’t come up between us before, but it hung there now, pulsing in the space between us.
Did I love Nate? I cared about him; that was obvious.
I wanted him. He made me laugh, made me feel wanted in ways I’d never imagined.
I pictured a future with him, the two of us growing old, sipping tea on some porch while the world went by.
He was safe, and sweet, and generous. I wanted to be with him.
But, if I was honest, touching him didn’t light me up the way Cam used to.
When he kissed me, I wanted it—but it didn’t leave me dizzy and breathless, swept up in sparks, the way it did with Cam.
My feelings for Nate didn’t burn; they simmered, steady and gentle.
If I compared it, it was more like the love I had for Rachel, but with more complications and a dose of lust.
I took Nate’s hand, tangling my fingers through his, and squeezed. “I care about you, Nate. I want to be yours. I am yours. Nothing’s going to change that.”
“But you don’t love me.”
I swallowed. “I do love you. Just… not the way I still love him. But that will change. I just need time, Nate. I need to heal. You’re helping, every single day. Don’t give up on me.”
His grip tightened around my hand, and his smile was small but real. “You’re it for me, Livi. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”
I leaned in and kissed him before heading off to get ready for work. Just a gentle brush of lips, nothing too heated, but it lingered with me as I pulled on my clothes and combed through my hair.
∞∞∞
“You sure have been spending a lot of time with my grandson,” Mr. Porter remarked, breathing hard as he set down a heavy box with a dramatic thud.
“Mr. Porter, you should have let me do that,” I said, already sliding over to take his place and slice open the carton of books. “And yes, I guess I have. He’s been very good to me.”
“Nathaniel has really come a long way,” Mr. Porter continued, shaking out his hands before shuffling a much smaller box closer and tugging at the tape. “Therapy did him a world of good.”
The word snagged my attention like a hook. “Therapy?”
He cut his eyes at me, lips pursing, and I could see the moment he realized he’d maybe gone too far.
“I shouldn’t spill his business,” he said, lowering his voice so only I could hear, “but I trust you to keep it private. You won’t repeat anything I say, right?”
“Of course.”
He nodded, satisfied, and handed another stack of books over for me to shelve. “I know you know a little about his past.”
I listened closely, lining up the hardcovers one after another.
“I do,” I said. “Well, a little. That his father used to hurt his mother, and it ended with her death. That he’s in prison for it now.”
“That’s about right,” Mr. Porter said, pausing to catch his breath. “But what you probably don’t know is how much all that scarred my grandson. It did a real number on him.”
My heart ached just hearing it, and I let myself picture the younger version of Nate, haunted and hurting.
“He carried so much guilt.” Mr. Porter sounded tired, and maybe a little sad. “He blamed himself for not protecting my daughter. It just ate him up. He started numbing himself as a teenager, and it only got worse as he got older.”
“How do you mean?” I asked, already knowing, but still needing to hear it spelled out.
“He got in with the wrong people. Started drinking, dabbling in drugs. The drinking was the real problem, though. He drank like it was the only thing keeping him standing. It’s why he works from home.”
I stared at him, hungry for more pieces to the puzzle.
“He’s brilliant,” Mr. Porter went on. “They needed him at his job, but he was either drunk, hungover, or just didn’t show up. It finally exploded when he got into a fight at the office and was fired—they had no choice.”
“So he can’t go back to an office?” I asked.
He shook his head, passing another handful of books into my arms. “No. It’s better that way, especially after what happened.”
Mr. Porter closed his mouth, lips pressing together. “This is really not for me to say.”
I raised my eyebrows without meaning to, and he let out a rough chuckle.
“I suppose none of this was, really,” he said, “but, Olivia, I like you. I respect you, and since you came to work here you’ve felt more like family than staff. I’m telling you this because you’ve gotten close to my grandson, and I just… want you to be careful.”
“I am,” I assured him. “I want to take things slowly, but it seems like we’re speeding up anyway.”
“And that’s all fine,” Mr. Porter agreed. “Just know Nate’s got shadows, and even though he’s doing great, it might not always stay that way. He can get triggered. Therapy helped, especially after his last relationship, but it’s always possible that he’ll slip back.”
“With the drinking?” I asked. “I mean, Nate’s had a glass of wine with me, but I’ve never seen him act drunk.”
“I wouldn’t label him an outright alcoholic,” Mr. Porter admitted, easing into a chair. He looked pale and worn out under the overhead lights, his face more lined and weary than ever.
“But he got his father’s temper, for better or worse.
The fights started young, and the alcohol just brought it roaring out.
He can stop drinking if he wants, but when he does drink, that’s when the trouble comes.
The therapy made all the difference, honestly.
He’s never seemed better than he does now, especially after meeting you.
I just want you to promise me you’ll be careful.
If anything ever feels wrong or unsafe, don’t think twice.
Just go. Get out, wherever you need to go—to a neighbor or friend.
Go home to your own husband if you have to.
Or come here. Come to me. Just don’t give him a second chance if you feel threatened, Livi. ”
“Nate’s been nothing but kind to me,” I said quietly.
“As he should be. And I want it to stay that way.” Mr. Porter hesitated, then added, “He means the world to me. He’s all I have left of my daughter. But I know his faults, and I don’t want you getting caught in the middle if things go bad.”
I crossed the room and hugged him without thinking. He seemed so fragile in my arms, smaller than he’d looked from a distance.
“Thank you, Mr. Porter,” I said, voice thick. “I appreciate how much you care.”
He patted my arm and tried to smile. “You’ve been here long enough, Olivia. I think you should call me Richard now.”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little.
“Thank you, Richard.”