Chapter 13
Thirteen
Sunlight streamed through Nolan's bedroom window. I awoke disoriented for half a second before everything came rushing back.
The kiss in the hallway. The ties.
Holy shit.
I'd slept with Nolan.
My best friend. The guy who knew I hated mornings almost as much as I loved coffee. Who'd been there through every breakup, every triumph, every mundane Tuesday for the better part of two decades.
And now I was naked in his bed.
The sheets smelled like him—cedar and soap and something indefinably Nolan—and I pulled them higher. My sundress was somewhere on his floor. My bra dangled from the doorknob like a flag of surrender.
"You're awake."
I turned my head to find him propped on one elbow, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. No regret, thank God. But not his usual easy confidence either.
"How long have you been staring at me?" I asked, my voice rough with sleep.
"Long enough to memorize the way you look in my bed." The corner of his mouth lifted. "Debating whether I should be a gentleman and make you breakfast or keep you here all day."
Heat flooded my cheeks. This version of Nolan, who said things like that without blinking, was going to take some getting used to.
"Coffee first," I said. "Then we can negotiate."
He laughed, that warm familiar sound, and some of the tension in my chest loosened. This was still my Nolan.
"Deal."
Twenty minutes later, I sat at his kitchen table in one of Nolan’s t-shirts and my underwear, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee made exactly how I liked it. Two sugars. splash of cream. He'd been making my coffee for years.
The normalcy of it should have been comforting. Instead, it made everything feel more surreal. Nolan set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me, then took the seat across from me rather than beside me. The distance felt deliberate.
"So," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee.
"So."
"This is the part where we're supposed to talk about what this means, right? That's how it works in your books?"
I nearly choked on my eggs. "You really did read them."
"Three of them, actually. Figured I should do some research." He paused, his expression turning more serious. "So. Are we dating now? Because I'd say we definitely skipped a few steps."
Laughing, I nearly choked out some eggs. Leave it to Nolan to be practical even about this.
"I don't know," I admitted. "What do you want?"
"You. However I can have you." He reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine. "But I'm not interested in casual, Lena. Not with you."
My pulse quickened with implications. "Neither am I."
"Good." He threaded his fingers through mine, and the simple touch sent warmth spreading through my chest. "Then we're doing this. For real."
"For real," I echoed, testing the words. They felt right. Terrifying, but right.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, but I could feel his eyes on me. Studying. Waiting.
"What?" I asked finally.
"You're still holding something back."
The bite of toast turned to ash in my mouth. Of course he knew. Nolan always knew.
"I'm not—"
"Baby." He squeezed my hand gently. "I've known you since seventh grade. I can tell when something's weighing on you. You've been somewhere else for days now."
I opened my mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. The book was still by his front door. Father Simon's chronicle, with its impossible magic and even more impossible truths.
How could I tell him? Where would I even start?
I've been traveling through time by reading a cursed medieval manuscript, and oh by the way, you're apparently some kind of soul-mirror that exists across multiple dimensions, and that's actually how I figured out I loved you.
Yeah. That would go over well.
"It's complicated," I said finally, hating how inadequate it sounded.
Nolan was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. The same gesture from last night, grounding and familiar.
"Okay," he said.
I blinked. "Okay?"
"I'm not going to push. Whatever it is, you'll tell me when you're ready." He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "I trust you, Lena. That doesn't change just because we're … whatever we are now."
Guilt twisted in my stomach. He trusted me, and I was keeping the biggest secret of my life from him. But how could I explain something I barely understood myself?
"Thank you," I whispered.
I could see the questions in his eyes. The concern. But true to his word, he didn't push.
"Come here," he said instead, pushing back from the table.
I went to him without hesitation, letting him pull me onto his lap. His arms wrapped around me, solid and sure, and I buried my face in his neck.
This was real. Nolan was real. Whatever was happening with the book, whatever impossible magic had shown me versions of him across time … this moment, right here, was what mattered.
"I'm scared," I admitted into his skin.
"Of this? Us?"
"Of messing it up. Of losing you."
His hand came up to cup the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair the way I loved.
"You're not going to lose me. I'm not going anywhere, Lena. I never have been. I love you too much for that.”
This was a different kind of love but I was as sure about it as I was our friendship. “I love you too. And I will tell you," I promised. "I just … I need to figure some things out first. Make sure I'm not losing my mind."
His brow furrowed. "Are you okay? Like, really okay?"
"Yeah." And surprisingly, I meant it. "I think I'm finally starting to be."
He searched my face, then nodded slowly. "Okay. But if that changes—"
"You'll be the first person I call."
"Good." He stood abruptly, taking me with him, and I wrapped my legs around his waist with a laugh.
"Nolan—"
"Shh. I'm doing research. Very important research on what makes my girlfriend scream my name."
Girlfriend.
The word settled over me like a warm blanket, comfortable and thrilling all at once.
I could worry about the book and impossible magic I didn't know how to share, later.