Chapter 26
Ella
We crossed the line once.
Just once.
And I still can’t get Nathan Reign out of my head.
It’s been long enough to know it was real. Long enough to know it wasn’t a mistake. Long enough to know I didn’t imagine the way it felt, or the way he looked at me, like something in him had finally exhaled.
And then… nothing.
Not because the spark died.
I can still feel it every time we’re in the same room. In the way his eyes linger half a second too long before he remembers himself. In the way his voice softens and then tightens again, like he’s pulling something back into place.
He wants me. I’m sure of it.
But it’s like there’s a line he refuses to cross.
I want to know what’s on the other side.
I’m thinking about all of this in the shower.
Or at least, I’m trying not to think about it.
By the time I’m done, steam fogging the mirror and my hair piled on top of my head, I twist the faucet off.
Nothing happens.
I twist it again.
Still nothing.
Water keeps running like it’s got a personal vendetta.
I stare at it for a second.
Any normal person would call building maintenance.
I am apparently not a normal person.
I grab my phone.
Me: Hey. Can I ask you a favor?
The three dots appear almost immediately.
Nathan: Yeah. What’s going on?
Me: My shower isn’t turning off properly, and maintenance is gone for the weekend. Any chance you could take a look?
There’s a pause. Just long enough for me to regret everything.
Nathan: I’ll be down in a second.
My heart does something stupid and athletic inside my chest.
Moments later, there’s a knock. I open the door in my towel.
He smells unfairly good.
“Hey,” he says, already scanning past me toward the bathroom like he’s afraid that if he makes eye contact too long, he’ll forget why he’s here.
It takes him maybe ninety seconds.
He twists something. Taps something. The water stops.
He steps back into the room. “Fixed.”
And that’s when I realize I’ve been standing there this whole time, not moving, not thinking, not breathing.
This is the moment, if there is one.
My brain starts chanting.
Do it, Ella. Drop the towel, Ella. Be brave. Just once.
This is not who I am.
But life is short. And time is cruel. And I am tired of wanting things and never reaching for them.
He’s already turning away when I let the towel fall.
He freezes.
Slowly, he looks at me.
He looks like a man trying to remember how to breathe.
“Ella…” he starts.
I take one step closer.
And something in him finally breaks.
He closes the distance between us in two strides, lifts me off my feet like he’s afraid I might change my mind, and carries me toward the bed with a kind of quiet, restrained urgency that feels nothing like hunger and everything like need.
Not reckless.
Not casual.
Desperate.
Like a man who’s been holding himself together with willpower alone.
And for the first time, I feel it — not just his body, not just the tension — but the vulnerability underneath it.
The part of him that’s been fighting this just as hard as I have.
This time, he doesn’t rush.
That’s the strange part.
There’s no frantic scramble for clothes. No sharp edges. No sudden distance.
He just lies there for a moment, forehead resting against mine, eyes closed like he’s memorizing something he’s not going to let himself keep.
Then he shifts.
Gently.
Reluctantly.
He reaches up and brushes my hair back from my face, his thumb warm against my temple.
For a second, I think he’s going to say something.
Anything.
He doesn’t.
He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead.
Not my mouth.
Not my neck.
My forehead.
It’s the kind of kiss that means I care and I’m sorry and I can’t all at the same time.
Then he pulls away.
He gets dressed quietly. Efficiently. Like if he slows down, he might change his mind.
By the time I sit up, he’s already at the door.
He doesn’t look back.
The door closes with a soft click.
I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, my chest doing something complicated and stupid.
Well.
At least I got a kiss this time.
That counts as a win.
…Right?
I want to believe this is more than just chemistry. I need to believe it.
So, I hatch a plan.
My family has a get-together coming up—a small backyard thing, nothing dramatic: burgers, wine, maybe a lawn game or two. I figure, if I can get Nathan out of the shadows, into my world, maybe I’ll finally see the version of him that isn’t half-guarded and quick to disappear.
The thought makes me nervous. But more than that, it makes me hopeful.