Chapter 3 #2
“Wow,” I say, smiling. “So you really are Saint Nick, and they’re your helper elves.”
He laughs again, and I grin because that sound…I did that.
I push up from the couch. “Wine?” I ask, already heading toward the kitchen.
“If you’re having some,” he calls back, still bent over the bike frame.
In the kitchen, I pour two glasses of wine and bring them into the living room. Nick accepts his with a grateful “thanks,” takes a couple of sips, then sets it safely out of bolt-kicking range. I settle on the floor, close to him.
He goes back to work, biceps flexing as he uses a wrench.
I’m so caught up staring at him that Nick’s next words almost slip right past me.
“What?” I blink up at him, meeting warm brown eyes.
He swallows, like he’s regretting the question even as he asks it again. “I said, what about you? Divorced?” Nick asks gently, then winces. “Am I allowed to ask that?”
I sit back on my heels. “Yeah,” I manage. “You’re allowed to ask.”
Nick doesn’t move, doesn’t push. Just waits, eyes steady on mine, like he’s giving me the choice to stop or keep going. I exhale, pick up my wine glass and swirl it just to have something to look at. The liquid splashes up the sides, then slides back down in slow streaks.
“Married for six years,” I say quietly. “Together for eight.” My throat knots. I hate this part. Saying it out loud always feels like admitting I failed at something fundamental.
But Nick told me about his breakup. I can tell him this much.
“He…” I swallow hard. “He cheated on me. For almost a year, apparently.”
Nick’s brow furrows immediately, deeply.
I stare into the glass, unable to look at him. “You know how everyone says the wife must’ve known?”
He nods, his mouth pressed into a sympathetic line.
“Well, I didn’t. I had no idea. We weren’t…amazing, but I didn’t think he was with her. He hid it. By the time he told me, it was too late. They were in love, and we were over.”
Nick shakes his head before I even finish. “That makes me angry,” he says bluntly. “You don’t give up on a marriage like that. Not without trying. Especially when there’s a kid involved.”
The words hit harder than he probably means them to because that’s exactly what I told my ex when he left. I begged him to stay, not for me, but for Braxton. Tears spring to my eyes, sudden and unwelcome. I duck my head, blinking fast, hoping Nick doesn’t notice, but he does.
“Hey,” he says, his voice gentle.
He scoots closer to me, close enough that the warmth of his body touches mine. When I don’t look up, he places a steady hand on my shoulder and squeezes, firm but gentle.
“Amber,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t your fault.”
I swallow, trying to force the tears back, embarrassed to be crying in front of someone I barely know. “Don’t worry,” I say, voice wobbly. “I’m not going to lose it.”
Nick surprises me. Instead of pulling away or giving me space, he slides his hand from my shoulder to the middle of my back.
One gentle tug and I tip forward, landing against him.
My cheek settles on his chest, warm and solid.
His scent surrounds me, soap, mint, clean and comforting.
His hand drags slowly up and down my arm, sending warmth through me like he’s soothing more than just my skin.
“Go ahead and lose it if you need to,” he says, voice low and husky in my hair. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Nick
She breaks against me before she even knows she’s doing it.
One second she’s talking, her voice steady, and the next…something in her just gives. Soft. Quiet. Brave. Tears spill over and soak through my shirt, and all I can think is who the hell let her carry this alone for so long?
“People don’t cheat because their partner isn’t enough,” I say, keeping my voice low, steady, for her. “They cheat because they aren’t.”
I feel the way those words hit her. Amber’s breath stutters, her fingers clutching just slightly at my shirt.
“It’s just that…” Her voice cracks, fragile enough to make my chest tighten. “I don’t want Braxton to think he wasn’t worth staying for.”
Something hot and sharp flashes through me.
I curse under my breath, a barely audible, furious sound. Not at her. No. Never at her.
At the man who did this. At the hurt he carved into her. At the fact she’s sitting here apologizing for his failures.
I’m not a violent man, but right now my knuckles itch for that bastard’s face.
Before she can shrink or hide or look anywhere but at me, I wrap my arm around her and pull her closer. Protective. Certain. Claiming. Holding her like she belongs right here, pressed against me, where nothing gets to hurt her, not even her own thoughts.
She stares at the floor, blinking fast through tears. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m—”
“Amber.” I stroke my thumb slowly up her shoulder, grounding her. “It’s okay.”
She shakes her head, but her body betrays her, leaning into me even more.
“It’s our first real conversation,” she murmurs. “I hate to cry on you.”
“I don’t mind,” I tell her, holding her tight so she knows she’s safe.
I hold her until her breathing matches mine and settles into something close to calm. Even then I don’t budge because I know, deep in my chest, I’d stay here as long as she needs.
When she finally pulls back, it’s abrupt. Like she suddenly remembers who I am, or who she thinks she’s supposed to be.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flick to my shirt. To the damp patch her tears left.
“Sorry,” she blurts. “I, um—sorry. That wasn’t—I didn’t mean to…leak on you.”
I follow her gaze, then lift a shoulder. “Adds character.”
The startled little laugh she gives me is wet and shaky…and absolutely beautiful.
I shift just enough to give her room but not enough to make her think I’m pulling away. Our knees are still touching. Her warmth is still there. For one selfish second, I let my hand trail from her back down her arm, slow enough to feel the faint shiver that goes through her.
“You really okay?” I ask quietly. Not because I doubt her. Because I want to understand her.
She nods and swallows hard. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t expect…all of that.”
“Please don’t apologize for being human.” My voice is firm, not sharp. “You’re allowed to have feelings.”
“Not in front of a guy I just met,” she murmurs.
I give her the soft, crooked smile I can feel tugging at the corner of my mouth. “We met hours ago on a walkie-talkie. Clearly that counts as emotional intimacy.”
She laughs, a tiny huff.
“We’re practically trauma-bonded,” she says.
“Works for me.”
She takes a deep breath. “I just didn’t want you to think I’m a mess.”
“I don’t,” I say immediately. No hesitation, letting her see every inch of sincerity. “I’m glad you let me be here for you. That you let me in.”
She traces the rim of her wine glass, shy now, cheeks still damp. “That’s…really kind.”
“It’s just the truth,” I say quietly.
I watch her a moment longer, making sure she’s really okay. Once I see she’s steady, my eyes trace over her face and end on her mouth. I stare for one second. One breath. One thought I shouldn’t have but do anyway.
Her lips part, the smallest fraction. An invitation?
My pulse jumps.
Everything in me leans toward her. I get close enough to feel her breath, warm and faint, brush the edge of my jaw.
Her knee is still touching mine, heat slipping through denim.
She smells like wine and something softer beneath it, vanilla maybe.
Something that makes my whole body gravitate toward hers.
I want to kiss her so badly. I want to lose control, but then it hits me. I did lose control earlier, lurking outside her window. A rush of shame, followed by the reminder that she just cried. That she’s vulnerable and I like her, respect her, too damn much to take advantage.
I pull back, ignoring the flicker of hurt in her eyes, and drag my palm down my jeans, smearing a line of bike grease. I clear my throat before my body does something my brain will have to apologize for later.
“Okay,” I manage, voice low. “Should we get back to the bike?”