Chapter 17 – Jules
SEVENTEEN
JULES
I yawn as the credits for Sweet Home Alabama begin to scroll on the screen. I stand up from the couch and turn to Nate. He’s been on his computer the entire time, typing away and barely even paying attention to the television. For a bit, I forgot he was even there.
Until, of course, I looked over to see a tissue box pointed my way, Nate holding it out to me when I cried as Reese Witherspoon found out her ex-husband created an entire business inspired by her.
I mean, really. How could you not sob at that?
“I should get to bed,” I say, low.
Nate’s head pops up, a wide smile pulling at his lips as he shuts his laptop and sets it aside, standing as well.
“I’ll walk you home,” he says.
I shake my head. “That’s really not necessary, Nate.”
“Well, it’s going to happen anyway, so get over it,” he says.
I roll my eyes before silently grabbing my things and slipping my shoes on at the back door. Maybe that’s the key to successfully handling the next month or so while maintaining my sanity: just giving in and letting Nate do whatever he wants but keeping my walls way up high, keeping myself safe.
It’s worth a try, I suppose.
“So, this is me,” I say, standing outside the small cottage, my new key in hand, even though I didn’t lock it before leaving.
He smiles, stepping closer to me. “Yeah, I know,” he says.
“Thanks for…everything. Dinner. The movies.”
“Thanks for keeping me company,” he says. He gets closer to me, and I realize too late that it’s me shifting closer to him, not the other way around. “You should come tomorrow, watch another one. Continue my romance movie education.”
I bite my lip to fight a smile, and his eyes watch, tracing the way my teeth dig into my lip there.
“We should talk, Jules,” he says, voice husky.
“About what?” I ask stupidly, even though I know the answer, of course.
“Us.”
“There isn’t an us to talk about,” I whisper.
His hand lifts, then pushes my hair back over my shoulder. I can tell myself it’s the winter chill that has a slight shiver running through me, but I know it’s the barely there graze of the tips of his fingers on the skin of my neck. His lips tip up like he saw it and knows my truth as well.
“You’re a shit liar, Jules.”
Irritation flares through me, and I step back, snapping at him
“You should know I’ve sworn off men.”
“What?” he asks with a smile as if he finds my irritation adorable.
“I swore off men. And love. And romance.” I purse my lips and put my hands on my hips. Maybe if I make myself seem bitchy and standoffish, he’ll be uninterested. “So nothing is going to happen. We had one night, and that was it.”
“It was two.”
“What?”
“Two nights that changed everything for me, and I know they did for you too. Or else you wouldn’t have kept that matchbook.”
My jaw goes tight, and I try to seem unaffected. I should have just tossed out that matchbook when I found it, but instead, I kept moving it from bag to bag. I don’t like what it reveals about me, not when I’m trying to play it off to protect myself.
“I didn’t even realize that matchbook was in there. It doesn’t mean anything,” I lie, and he smiles. He smiles , the arrogant asshole.
“What about bumping into each other? You can’t tell me that wasn’t some kind of sign. What did you call it then? Some invisible string kind of story, the world pulling two people together?”
My jaw tightens, but my heart skips knowing he remembers that too, a tiny thing I mentioned a year ago.
“That’s just silly movie things. Not something that happens in real life.”
His head tips to the side, assessing me, and I hate it—hate how I can feel him reading me.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“What happened to the Jules who was searching high and low for her movie-worthy romance? Looking for signs and messages everywhere she looked?”
I roll my lips into my mouth and bite, trying to fight the gasp. How much about me does he actually remember? And why?
And what does it mean when my heart skips a beat each time he does?
“She got a reality check,” I say finally.
“Me? Was I the reality check?”
I blink and sigh. I should avoid the question to the best of my ability, but for whatever reason, I don’t.
“Yes. No? I don’t know. It was eye-opening to see how deep I was in my delusion, reading into things and finding signs everywhere. It was a wake-up call that I really needed. I was living with my head in the clouds, and I hurt myself doing it. Now, I’m only focused on myself, my friends, and my business. I…I don’t have time for anything else.” I mostly lie because my business is closing up for the rest of the year, and my friends are all off with their significant others.
The truth of the matter is the last year has been the loneliest I’ve ever felt.
“And me and Sophie,” he adds.
“What?”
“You’re focused on me and Sophie, too. Watching Sophie and helping me out with her Christmas wish.” My jaw goes tight because he’s got me there, of course. Diversion seems to be the only way to go, so I take a page from Ava’s book and turn my sass on.
“Well, you know, I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego, but I’m really only in this because your daughter is super cool. You’re just…a boy who happens to be there.”
He lets out a small laugh and shakes his head before stepping closer to me, closing the gap. We aren’t touching, but with each breath, the bulky material of my jacket brushes his sweatshirt, and I feel it as if it were his skin on mine.
“Are you going to make a single moment of this easy on me?” The words should sound annoyed, but there’s a smile on his lips.
I shake my head. “Probably not. It’s not my specialty.” He stares at me for long moments, and I try to decode whatever he’s thinking before his smile widens further.
“Good.”
“Good?” He nods, then takes a step back. “Wouldn’t want to win you so easily.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, appalled but also trying to ignore the butterflies in my belly. Stupid, idiotic, gullible butterflies.
“It’ll be much sweeter, winning you over my way.”
“You are so not going to win me over, Nathan Donovan.”
“Keep telling yourself that, dollface.” I open my mouth to argue, to yell something to tell him what a pompous, presumptuous ass he is before he steps back and tips his head to the cottage. “Go inside, Jules. It’s cold out here.”
I stare at him and his smug smile and decide at that moment I will not let him win. No way in hell. Even if he gave me the best orgasms of my life, and I haven’t been able to think about much else other than the way he kissed me for an entire year.
I repeat that to myself over and over as he opens the cottage door, and I glare at him as I walk past him into the house.
But as soon as that door is closed and locked behind me, I can’t help but do a silly little excited dance because even if he could totally break my heart if I let him in, Nate Donovan so likes me.