Chapter 21
21
Nick
Food motivates Natalie.
She’s been pretty vocal about her hunger pangs. We all get a little cranky when we’re hungry. But after devouring the food I brought, we remain sprawled out on the floor of the apartment on a blanket. Fed, she’s a whole new person and is back to her usual talkative self. “I love cookies as much as the next person, but can they really land a man? Asking for business purposes, of course.” She laughs and waves her arm through the air expressively. “I sound like Carrie Bradshaw.” Must be one of her friends.
“I suppose it depends on the type of cookies.”
Her gaze hits me, and her lips part. I wouldn’t go so far as to say her mouth falls open, but she is gawking. “The type of cookies?” She repeats me like she must’ve heard wrong. She crosses her legs and leans forward. “Let me get this straight. You would consider dating a woman, exclusively, I might add, by the type of cookies she gave you?”
“I think that’s simplifying things a bit.”
“Maybe, but I need to boil this down to the bare essence of what you’re saying. It’s important research—life or death of my business. Okay, that might be taking it a bit far, but this is valuable information, so humor me while I dig deeper.” She sits, pulling her shoulders back. “What do cookies mean to you?”
“Sugar means I can take her home to meet my parents, but it’s going to be a long wait to take it to the next level physically.” Resting back on the palms of my hands, I cross my ankles of my outstretched legs. “Oatmeal signifies a homebody. It’s a good thing to steer clear of if you like to party. But oatmeal raisin, that’s a whole other story. That’s a girl who likes adventure. Works hard, plays hard type.”
Her chin lowers as she stares at me. “You’re blowing my mind. Also, I think you’re building up to the biggies, and I’m on pins and needles.”
“What are the biggies?” She never ceases to surprise me, so I can’t wait to hear this breakdown.
“Peanut butter, snickerdoodles, and gingersnaps. Chocolate chip being the top dog of the cookie world.”
“Cool,” I reply casually, obviously forgetting about gingersnaps. “We’re on the same page.” So my ego’s large enough to lie a little. Does it really matter in the end that I forgot gingersnaps? No, it does not.
“What do snickerdoodles mean to you?”
I lay it all out in more thought than I realized I had on the topic. “It’s not just to me, but I feel confident enough to speak for men as a whole.” A smile tickles her lips, but she keeps her laughter detained in her throat. “Although they have a place in the biggies list, it’s really just wise to steer clear. Snickerdoodles are for grandmas. Delicious, but those cookies will never get a chick a second date. Not with Grandma’s dentures getting stuck in the soft snickerdoodle.”
“What about peanut butter?”
“Those are tricky little bastards. If there’s not an allergy involved, they conjure good things—like sex in front of a fireplace on a winter’s night or staying in on Sunday morning and hanging out in bed reading the paper and then napping.”
Her brow furrows, making her more adorable than she already is. “Does anyone read the paper anymore or just read the news on their phones?”
“That’s what I mean. Peanut butter conjures reminiscent images of yesteryear. There’s a feeling of peace, of home, with those images. Whether they happen though is still a mystery.”
“This is the best conversation I’ve had in years. I should be taking notes.”
“I’ll wait while you get your phone.”
I’m popped in the leg. “You’re ridiculous. Now tell me about gingersnaps.” Her eyebrows waggle.
“They’re the cookie version of the stereotype of a redhead—fiery, passionate, that sugar taste with a bit of a kick. Great sex and fatal attraction. That’s a gingersnap.”
“Like the movie?”
With a somber nod, I reply, “Boiling rabbits and all.”
“Yikes.”
Clapping my hands together to bring this to a close, I end up startling her. She grabs over her heart. “My God?—”
“You can call me Nick or sexy, even keep the smug in there for your liking.”
“Ha. Very funny. Let’s wrap this up. I’m now craving cookies, thanks to you.”
“I’m not the one who brought this up. I’m just the one letting you into the psyche of a typical American man.”
“There’s nothing typical about you, or I wouldn’t be here.”
“I’ll take the compliment. As for the king of cookies—chocolate chip?—”
“Can’t wait to hear your thoughts on those.”
“Don’t let them fool you. Most will go straight for the chocolate chip, but that’s a trap. Given more thought, you should ask yourself—is it lazy or deliciously insightful? Either way, it’s a risk.”
“Is it, though? I mean, really? Because chocolate is always a win with me.”
“But if they were sent to me, and before I tuck in, I’m asking myself the following questions: One, is this what they like or were they chosen for me? Two, are they the safe bet like the red rose or sending a message like a yellow rose for friendship? And lastly, is it basic psychology to assume everyone loves chocolate chip or reverse psychology to weed out the weirdos?”
As if she’s exhausted, she lies flat on her back. Draping her arm over her head, she says, “This is way more complicated than I thought. Can’t we just take cookies at face value?”
“Trust me, I never knew I had so many thoughts on cookies. I usually just eat them.”
She bolts upright again. “What? Then what was all that fatal attraction and reminiscent imagery about?”
I shrug. “Thought you wanted more context to help save your business.”
Laughing, she drops her head forward into her hands. When she looks back up, she has a cocked eyebrow. “I never said my business hinged on it, but I have a client who thinks she can get a player to commit by sending him a basket of baked treats.”
“I’d say yes.”
She crawls across the blanket, carefully avoiding the empty dishes. Settling in my lap, she leans back in my arms and stares out the window. “And here I thought I was getting insider secrets.”
I wrap my arms around her middle and kiss the side of her head. “Here’s an insider secret for you,” I whisper. “I love you and your baked goods.”
Even through the dim light filling the space, I can see her million-dollar smile. Her arms cover mine, and she says, “I love you and that nonsense cookie advice, too.”
Bending down, I kiss her neck. Her eyes close, and she sighs contentedly. Who needs cookies when one has this? Not me.
We sit like that for a few minutes, enjoying the peace, the night, and being together again. I’m realizing that she’s feeling a lot like home to my soul than when I was just in California, despite the lack of beach.
I’d rather let her roll over me than a wave any day.
Her head lulls to the side, and she says, “My parents are placating me like I’m a child who’s playing house for the weekend.” I’ve learned that given enough time and space, Natalie will share what’s really on her mind. I keep my mouth shut and my ears open. “My business is low priority. If I worked for the company, though, I’d legitimize my career in their eyes.”
I hate that I can hear myself swallow, but there’s nothing I can do to fix such a problem. I would if I could. I’d fix it so she feels proud instead of misunderstood. Instead, I’ll support her in ways that others don’t. “It’s a unique business, but it’s legitimate. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.”
“My brother handles this pocket portfolio of companies. . . my brother who’s still in college, if I’ve failed to mention that previously. He wants to follow in my father’s footsteps. As for the portfolio, they’re investments on their last legs that haven’t made money.” I hold her, and she adds, “My brother is managing my company from the loan standpoint. Reports are sent to my parents, and their input is syphoned through him to me. I haven’t been a priority since they signed the extension.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re not worth their time. It only means that they believe in you enough to continue supporting your dream. And they trust your brother to give him the hands-on experience he needs.”
She turns to look at me, a smile gracing her lips. “That’s a great way of looking at it.”
“Just call me Mr. Positivity.”
“I’d rather kiss you.”
“We can do that, too.” And we do. We kiss until the food containers are pushed to the side and we’re naked in each other’s arms.
Kissing. Loving. Fucking. Holding each other until the early hours of morning come. And I realize why sex with Natalie is out of this world. It’s because of love. It’s not just a moment in time with a hot woman to get off and get her off.
Every moment with her is richer. Every moment feels like a reward. Every moment just makes me want more, and if that means pulling up roots in California, I can see now that it’s a no-brainer. I don’t want to be separated from my girl.
* * *
I pull up in front of her apartment building just shy of five in the morning and take off my helmet, resting it on my lap. She doesn’t make a move to get off, keeping her hands on me, though she isn’t wrapped around me like I prefer. “Do you want to come up?”
“I have an early meeting and my stuff is at the hotel.”
She slips off, and I do the same. I look up at her building. I expected a high-rise when I met her, but this building is smaller and quaint at only ten floors compared to its neighbors. She sets the helmet down and moves against me, not quite touching, but still too far. “Next time you come to New York, if it’s not for good, then I want you to stay with me.” Tugging the hem of my shirt, she asks, “Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.” That brings a smile to her face. Since she won’t do it herself, I take her arms and wrap them around my middle. “Would you like to come with me?”
Her laughter echoes down the quiet block of the street. She grips her hands behind my back, laughing. “Oh, now you ask me.” Thoughts are racing through her eyes. She finally says, “You go to your hotel and get a few hours of sleep, and we can meet up this evening. How does that sound?”
“Lonely.”
She lifts up and kisses my chin. “Good. I want you to miss me so when we’re together, we don’t waste a second not appreciating each other.”
I rub her hips, slow circles over the denim, the urge to be inside her intense, always so strong with her. “Yes, I can’t wait to appreciate you again.”
Pushing off me, she frees herself from my clutches where I would have been happy to hold her all day. “Go. Do great things today, and we’ll celebrate later.” She blows me a kiss just as the doorman greets her.
I pick up her helmet and spin it in my hands. “I love you, Natalie St. James.” I don’t keep my voice down because I want the world to hear.
In the light of the entrance of her building, I can see her cheeks redden. “I love you too, Nick Christiansen.”
The doorman looks back and forth between us, and then says, “I stand here all day.”
“No need. I’ll be seeing my girl later.”
He replies, “Have a good day.”
“You too.”
Natalie backs in, giving me a little wave before turning and dashing toward the elevator. I understand the extra energy despite the hour. It courses through my veins as well—adrenaline, love, anticipation of what the new day will bring. All good things.