CHAPTER 28 #2
Eyeing his giant bed and biting my lip, I couldn’t help myself. His sheets were twisted and rumpled, with a dent in the middle where he slept. I knew they’d smell like him. Something this comfortable would haunt me if I didn’t try it out—like Goldilocks trying all the beds in the house.
I crawled in, wrapping his blankets around me and cocooning myself in the scent of him. What would he do if I just fell asleep here? An evil, daring part of me wanted to find out.
Bill jumped up beside me and curled down, letting out a huff of breath in companionable agreement. Mr. Beans soon followed.
???
There was a tight compression squeezing all around me; the embrace enveloped the dark little fort of blankets I’d built.
I took a moment to orient myself, recognizing the scent around me and remembering where I was.
The compression, I realized, were arms, and there were hands trying to find their way through the many folds of fabric, tickling me as they went.
A giggle burst from my lips.
The hands found me, unveiling my head as light flooded in.
A dramatic fan of my hair flew, snapping with static.
Pushing it away from my eyes, I met Nash’s gaze.
He grinned with a piece of my bread clamped between his teeth.
A deep purr rumbled from his chest, the warm smell of butter and bread greeting me.
He removed the bread from his mouth. “You have no idea what coming home to freshly baked carbs, and a beautiful, curious woman in my bed does to me.”
I laughed despite my mortification at having fallen asleep in his room. It was clear I’d gone snooping about, but it’s good he found it endearing. He offered me a bite of the bread, and I took it with a smile. It felt like he was always trying to feed me.
He’d taken off his suit coat from the morning, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows. His forearm flexed as he took the bread back from me and tossed the remaining piece of crust in his mouth.
I tried to make sense of his tattoos, peeking just below the sleeve. They were abstract curls, dainty and thin, filled with line work and patterns almost like lace, but less feminine. It wasn’t something I’d seen before, and I burned to know what the rest of it looked like.
“I have to admit,” he began with a sigh, weight relaxing around me, “I was a little afraid you’d run away from us when I couldn’t find you, Bill or Beans.”
As I finished chewing my bite of bread, I inhaled. The smell of his immediate presence calmed my nerves. My mind felt clear when I was around him, unlike ever before—that second half of me back where it belonged.
“What time is it?” I asked on a yawn.
“Does it matter?” he replied.
My stomach rumbled, rudely interrupting with a demand for more food now that the bite of his bread had awakened it.
He laughed. “Hungry little thing, are we?”
I giggled, trying to wriggle free, but he only held tighter. I relented, relaxing into his hold.
“Bee brought home some steaks. Do you like steak?” He tucked a loose strand of my hair behind one ear.
I shrugged.
Steak wasn’t something I cooked. If I had beef at all, it was usually ground and cooked into pasta.
It was a tricky meat for me to cook. All the steak recipes measured a steak’s doneness by color.
Obviously, that would not work, so why bother?
Besides, it’s not something someone living alone thinks to cook for themselves.
“Well, she makes a great steak, so you’re in for a treat.”
He released me. I pushed back the comforter, letting out a burst of static along with it.
Nash motioned to the room. “Do you like it in here?” He sat on the edge of the bed now.
“I do. It’s really cozy.” I smirked. “You’re kinda messy, though, no offense.” I pulled my knees up to my chest and held them there, hiding my mirth.
He shrugged and laughed. “Life of a bachelor, I guess.”
My gaze wandered. “It’s nice, actually. Doesn’t make me feel like I have to be careful or on my best manners, or something. Neat people are psychopaths, anyway.”
He grinned. “I kind of thought, with my room being on the fourth floor and all, that you’d be scared to be this far up. You know, since the fire.”
I rested my chin on my knees, tilting my head from side to side. “Meh; it’s weird. It’s like actual death doesn’t terrify me, but feeling trapped, or in a room full of people, does.” I puffed out a single half-laugh. “It makes absolutely no sense.”
He reached forward, placing his giant hand around my ankle and massaging it. “It makes sense. I mean, death is the end; it’s over, but being judged, or teased, it’s prolonged pain and torture.”
I exhaled. “Exactly. I spent fifteen years with my parents, and I think death would have been easier. Not trying to be dark, but living with them was torture. They were just awful people.”
His head tilted, gaze scanning my face. I could tell he was trying to decide what to say. It’s the first time I’d mentioned my parents at all. “What did they do to you?”
My head swayed from side to side. “I don’t think they liked me. I wasn’t the child they’d hoped for. They were never around, and I barely knew them. When we did talk, it was usually to criticize me or tell me I wasn’t living up to their expectations.”
He nodded, but gave me the space to keep talking.
“Nannies raised me, and there were many of them. They quit often. My parents were assholes to anyone they considered beneath them, and I wasn’t exactly an amiable child. I acted out a lot for attention, or with anger.” I laughed to keep the otherwise heavy conversation light.
“That sounds like a lonely life,” Nash whispered under his breath.
I agreed. “They told me I was an embarrassment to them, constantly pointed out my shortcomings. My education suffered because my parent’s schedules were unpredictable; they’d often forget about signing me up or simply didn’t prioritize it.
When my anxiety spiked because of all the uncertainty, I stopped going to school altogether because I began having these awful panic attacks. My life felt incredibly unstable.
Around age twelve or thirteen, the state investigated my absences and began berating my parents.
It was then my parents decided I was unmanageable, and somehow Dr. Catherine entered the picture.
They thought she’d talk sense into me, or something, but she became my savior instead.
She got me into a stable homeschooling situation.
I could catch up, and I wouldn’t have the stress of classes with kids. ”
His expression held pain and justified horror. “I can’t imagine not being able to feel safe in your own home like that—not being able to trust your own parents.”
I shook my head, the memory of it causing a lick of panic to trail down my spine and settle in my gut, but I hid it behind a fake smile. “I… it’s—they just—”
He squeezed my ankle to stop me. “It’s okay. You don’t have to justify yourself. Remember, you get to decide what you do and don’t want to tell me.”
I looked at him, my smile dying as my eyes rimmed with tears. How was he so good at this? In this new technicolor world with Nash, I felt like I could tell him I was a serial killer and he’d still look at me the same. I held his gaze, despite my emotions.
He reached forward, catching a tear on my cheek that escaped.
“My mother always told me that nothing before this moment, right now, really matters. Every moment from here on out is ours to control and shape. It’s up to you what you want them to look like.
” He grinned. “It’s easier said than done, of course, but still a comforting thought. ”
It was a comforting thought. Cat had told me something similar before, but hearing Nash say it was different.
He leaned in, easily wrapping his arms around me. I felt his lips press against the top of my head. I’d give anything to kiss him like we had this morning, but this wasn’t the time.
He pulled back. “Come on, hungry monster. Let’s feed you.”
???
Nash set the largest piece of meat I’d ever seen in front of me at the dining table. It would have fed me for a week.
The dining room was next to the kitchen, in a small space between the kitchen and front room. It housed a small but extendable round table with four chairs.
Bee was in the kitchen, handheld mixer whizzing in her hand. “Let the steak rest for a bit while I finish whipping the potatoes,” she yelled over the clattering sound of the whisks against the side of the glass bowl. “It’ll taste better, trust me.”
Nash set another plated steak beside mine, and a third he’d balanced on his forearm directly across from me. Bill had his head in my lap, keeping me company while I navigated this new and only mildly frightening experience of a sit-down dinner with friends. I tried not to think too much of it.
Mr. Beans plopped down in the chair across from me, his nose practically touching the steak. I stretched out my leg and foot, shifting in my seat to kick the chair opposite, hoping to scare him off before he could swipe the meat.
Nash watched me, a smile on his face. He sat in the chair next to me. I crossed my legs back into my own seat, feet off the floor. His long legs meant that when he sat back, one knee brushed against my thigh. He put a hand on my knee, then reached for his napkin, spreading it across his lap.
Bee brought over an enormous glass bowl and set it down with a thud in the middle of the table. She stuck a serving spoon in the center, just like putting a candle in frosting. The bowl was piled high with potatoes—a mountain of them, easily enough to feed twenty people.
I half coughed, half laughed at the enormity of it.
“Blame this guy,” Bee said, pointing at Nash with a steak knife in hand. “He loves potatoes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he put down half of that.”
My brows rose, watching as Nash reached for the potatoes, scooping three huge loads onto his plate beside, and on top of, his steak.
Mr. Beans jumped into Bee’s lap when she sat, eyeballs enormous and locked on the steak once more. I glared at him, but Mr. Beans didn’t cower at my authority anymore. He started licking Bee’s steak, and to my surprise, she didn’t seem to care.
“Oh, is that yummy?” she cooed at him, petting his head.
I’d completely lost him to the charming powers of Betty.
Nash pointed at my steak with his forkful of potatoes. “I hope you like medium-rare steaks. That’s just how Bee cooks them,” he said, loading the fork into his mouth. He looked so childlike in that moment, and it was cute.
I shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”
He smiled, looking charmed by my naivety. “When you cut it open, it’ll be a little pink, and… um, in the middle,” he added, but then coughed, shoveling more potatoes in his mouth like a starved raccoon.
I bit at my sleeve, answering nervously. “Oh, right. Yeah. Totally. I’ve seen that in my cookbooks before—pink.”
The table fell silent, and I felt heat rush to my cheeks. Too close for comfort, we needed a new subject.
“Um, yeah,” Bee said, cutting into her steak with more focus than I felt necessary. “Yep, pink middle. Medium rare. It’s good,” she rushed out, showing it to me.
“Yes! Yes, just like that. Pink in the middle,” I agreed. This was painful.
“Yep.” She had her eyes on her plate as she brought the piece to her mouth, avoiding Mr. Bean’s fast attempt to intercept it with his paw.
I picked up my steak knife and fork, cutting my piece.
Nash shifted in his chair. “So, uh. There’s a big auction on Friday at Beaumont. Bee and I will be out late working it.”
Hallelujah, a new subject. I tried to look super engaged. Eager to move past the pink meat topic.
Nash was looking at his plate when he spoke. “I thought if you wanted to, Bee could bring you along. We could set you up somewhere offstage, quiet and safe. Bee will stay with you the whole time—you can even bring Bill.” He looked at me then.
I held the piece of steak balanced on my fork, thinking.
This was why being around people was good for me.
They provided challenges. My immediate reaction was a hard no, of course, but the thought of being away from Nash all day sounded awful.
I let myself consider it. I’d never done anything so public before.
My stomach twisted and flipped. “I don’t want to be a burden, or cause you any extra work.” I took a bite of the steak. It was salty and rich, utterly amazing. I was annoyed with myself for not figuring out how to make it sooner. I could have just used a thermometer.
Bee shook her head. “Not at all! We can make it really easy for you, and this way I’m not bored backstage like I always am.
It’s my job to oversee the flow of the auction items on and off stage and ensure they come and go seamlessly.
I know the perfect dark corner for us to set up in. It’s right near the bathrooms, too.”
She was convincing me with that.
Nash chimed in, “It’s not overwhelmingly noisy either. Our auctions are quiet except for the auctioneer. People take it pretty seriously. There will be some sizable jewelry pieces you might find neat, and some Bauhaus furniture…”
God, for the first time ever, I could feel myself wanting to say yes. “Well,” I began, feeling brave. “Maybe I could?” I gave a slight, shaky smile.
“Yes?” He sounded so hopeful, I knew then I’d do anything to make him happy.
I nodded with determination. “Yes. I’ll go.”
“I hoped you might say that,” he said, his gaze dropping to his mountain of potatoes and picking up a forkful. “It’s also the first time they’re auctioning a PERL.”
I choked, covering my mouth as the steak lodged itself in my throat.