24. Claire
twenty-four
In the biggestplot twist of the century, I am on my way to Nathan Harding’s house on a Friday night. I guess all of the horror stories about not getting into a van with a stranger didn’t work, because all the man had to tell me was that he had a big leather chair in front of a fireplace and that I could read my book there.
I guess my parents never warned me about what to do when a stranger treated you kinder than you get at home.
In this moment, I’m the most glad that I keep an emergency kit in my purse, stocked with extra deodorant, body spray, and all sorts of mouth refreshers.
Chillax, Claire. You’re not going there to make out. You’re going there to catch up on faerie smut.
All the same, I haven’t stopped thinking about his lips and his hands tracing every inch of me, haven’t stopped thinking about the lines we’ve been tap dancing across. I even tested the waters tonight, just to see what would happen underneath that table in the gym. Wouldn’t you know it? He didn’t once shy away when I pressed my knee against his, didn’t pull away when I got just a little bit bolder and pressed us together from the thigh down. In fact, I’m pretty sure there was a point where he adjusted his seat to be closer to mine.
I shake my head, reminding myself that a relationship is so far off my radar that the signal doesn’t even get picked up. He offered me a place to read and relax because he pays attention and wanted to do a nice thing. That’s all.
And yet, here I am, following behind him, and giving myself one last fantasy of his hand beneath that table on my thigh, creeping steadily closer between them, flashing back to being on my knees for him in his office, wondering what he would have done on Halloween if we hadn’t gotten interrupted, until I roll over the bump of his curb to snap me out of it.
Nathan’s house is…beautiful.
I park in the three-car driveway as he pulls inside, and step out to take in the quaint, two-story Cape Cod. It’s washed in a light blue, with three peaked windows framed in white. The front door is a bold red, and the porch is massive, a wrap-around that houses two cushioned Adirondack chairs with a table beside each. My mouth salivates immediately at the thought of a quiet morning spent in one of those chairs, a steaming mug of tea on the table beside me while I curl up to my Kindle as the sun rises. I don’t startle at the image of Nathan settling into the chair beside me. Not at first.
“Did you pack for the weekend?”
His question jostles me from my intrusive daydream. I discreetly swipe at the corner of my mouth, relief washing over me when I don’t find any drool there, and adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder.
“This is just my normal purse. Kindle, water bottle, snacks. The usual.”
“First aid kit, too?”
“Reading can be super dangerous,” I quip. “Paper cuts are no joke.”
He cracks a smile.
“Enjoying the view?”
I nod. “This place is gorgeous. Holy house porn.”
He clears his throat, and I cringe at the fact that I just said that out loud.
“Thank you.”
Suddenly, I remember that we’re outside in the Massachusetts late fall. A chill zips up my spine, and I follow him inside.
If the outside of the house made me drool, the inside might as well be orgasm inducing.
Old, mid-century hardwood runs the length of the place. The kitchen is state of the art, equipped with sleek, black appliances and a freaking double oven?! Oh, the meals I could make for my siblings in this place.
I shake that thought, remembering that he invited me here for me. I have no obligations here. I run my hand along the smooth granite countertop.
“Okay, Top Chef. Do you just live in this kitchen or what?”
“I uh... Don’t cook much, actually.”
I turn, facing Nathan, who has been trailing me.
“You what?!” I gape. “With a kitchen like this?!”
“It came with the house,” he says simply. “I’m a pretty simple man when it comes to my tastes.”
And just like that, I wonder if we’re still talking about food. His eyes rake over me in a slow perusal, like all he wants out of this kitchen is to eat me in it. My jaw, still felled from his admission, shudders with the silent moan that escapes. My mouth wells up like the Sahara, and I find my hand resting over my heart, the rate thumping like a rabbit’s foot beneath my touch.
I wonder, briefly, if he’s going to kiss me. If he’s going to storm around this vast island with the built-in sink and burners, hoist me up onto the sparkling countertops, and make love to my mouth.
But then, he clears his throat, and I am reminded that I am here for a purpose.
To read. You are here to read.
“I’ll show you to the study.”
I snicker. He lifts his brow at me in question.
“You would have a study.”
“Where else would I study?”
He says it so seriously that my head tilts back in laughter on its own as I follow him.
Here. Nathan Harding’s study. This is where they can bury my body.
Nathan doesn’t have a study. He has a library.
Every wall is covered in built-ins that sit atop oak cabinets. His books are well worn and loved, and I have the sudden urge to run my fingers down every spine and know their stories.
As promised, a large fireplace dominates the center wall. With the flick of a switch, it ignites, and my breath catches along with it. There is a desk along the back wall, and is that a?—
“You have a window seat?!”
I run to it. The chill from the window doesn’t stop me from perching atop the cool leather and gazing out on the back lawn. It’s too dark to make out the view, but I just know that, if he keeps inviting me back, I could get used to this. With my legs tented, I tilt my head back against the wall, close my eyes, and inhale.
“I thought you’d like the armchair better, but I can turn up the heat, if you’d like.”
I tilt my gaze toward Nathan, and my breath catches again.
He looks nervous. It’s so sweet that my heart clenches, like a fist is wrapped around it, reminding me of what makes it beat. He tugs the collar of his River Valley staff polo, and I gaze over him.
“Oh, I’m definitely calling dibs on that chair. I just didn’t know I had options. Put a few pillows and a comfy blanket over here and I would move in.”
I have got to stop saying these things out loud.
He swallows thickly, and I wonder if he’s about to show me the door. Instead, he says, “I’ll keep that in mind,” and leaves the room.
I don’t know what I expected, but I kind of hoped that Nathan would be joining me. I tense at the fact that he’s now somewhere off in his home doing his own thing. I feel like an intruder as I slink over to the big brown leather chair and cozy myself in. There’s a blanket draped over the back, and I lay it across my legs before firing up my Kindle. I’ve been wanting to dive into this series, but even with the quiet crackling of the fire and the prospect of this whole room to myself, I find myself struggling to begin.
It’s not the story—any book that begins with a badass female wielding a bow and arrow is right up my alley. It’s the fact that, alone in this room, I wonder if I’m imposing on his space.
He invited you here, numnuts. Relax and enjoy your book.
I sigh at my subconscious—who is honestly right most of the time—and settle in for chapter one. By the time I’m beginning to grow annoyed with the heroine’s bratty sisters, a light rap on the door rouses me from the story.
It’s Nathan. Taking up the doorway with his imposing frame. He’s changed into sweats, and is holding two steaming mugs, with a book under his armpit—and did he also apply a fresh spritz of cologne?
I simultaneously melt and become flame all at once.
I didn’t think the man owned anything but business casual attire. I assumed he slept in ties. But here he is, wearing a pair of grey joggers and a black form-fitting T-shirt, and I want to snuggle the crap out of him.
“I wasn’t sure if you liked tea or not. I hope hot cocoa is acceptable.”
He sets a nondescript blue mug into my hands, then sets down his own on the desk before dragging a side table between the chair and the matching couch. Then, he sets his own mug down and settles into the corner of the couch closest to me before cracking open his book.
It’s a worn, battered copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. My heart is a flame.
“You’re going to read with me?”
“It’s better than reading by myself.”
Nathan Harding is a strait-laced man. Somewhere within, I know that he’s being genuine. Reading with me is better than reading alone. Somehow, I know that’s significant.
I trace his profile, from his slightly mussed, dirty blonde hair, over his studious frames and straightnose, pausing on his full lips. He turns to the middle of the book where an old receipt falls out. Before he gets the chance to start, he blinks up at me.
“Do you prefer tea? I’d like to make note for next time.”
“Next time?”
It comes out as a whisper, because this time hasn’t even begun, and already, he wants me back? He nods, then clears his throat, which I’m beginning to understand is a tell that he’s nervous.
“If you’d like.”
I offer him a tight-lipped smile and nod rapidly.
“Yeah. I’d really like that. Cocoa is fine, but I like herbal tea. No need to pick it up special though. I’m pretty low-maintenance.”
His lip tilts up as the lines around his eyes crinkle, and we settle into our books.
I don’t even notice the silence this time around. I’m nearing page one-hundred, and between the crackle of the fire and Nathan’s errant page turns, I think I have a new favorite soundscape. I’m so lulled into my story, cozied down into his big leather chair, that his chuckle startles me out of a near trance.
“What? What happened?”
His amused expression is one I don’t think I’ve seen before. He has his chin in his thumb and pointer finger, and the slow stroke reminds me of when he had that hand on me.
“You’re amusing when you read. Something exciting happening over there?”
I swallow, blink a few times.
“Yeah. The story is starting to pick up. It’s a lot of world building, but that isn’t slowing down the pace at all.”
“You’re liking it then?”
I nod. “I’ll definitely pick up the second one.”
“How far are you in the first one?”
“Uh, hold on, let me check…” I thumb over the bottom corner of my Kindle a few times. “Twenty-four-percent. It says I have four hours left. By the time I leave here, my parents will probably be asleep, so I can sneak back to bed and read the rest in peace without any problems.”
His brows bunch together inquisitively as his gaze travels from my face to my device. He shakes his head slowly.
“I don’t get how you can read on that thing.”
“You’re not the first,” I smile. “I do love a physical book. But when the series starts at over four-hundred pages, and only gets bigger, I don’t want to be lugging them around. And besides, I’m on the go so much, this just makes my books easier to carry.”
“And when it dies?”
“I never let Bertha get below forty-percent,” I say seriously. “I have a backup charger in my bag, and one in my car, for such purposes.”
“Bertha.” Nathan’s smile widens, and the short puff of laughter gives me butterflies.
“Don’t worry,” I say, lifting my tote from the ground and rifling around before I come up with what I’m looking for. “I also have my emotional support paperback just in case.”
He guffaws, and the tightness in my belly cinches.
“The Shining is your emotional support paperback?”
“At least it isn’t about to disintegrate!” I jab back, indicating the book in his hand with the torn cover and dogeared pages. “I’m surprised moths didn’t fly out of that thing when you cracked it open.”
He licks his lips around his smile. “This is the oldest book I own. We’ve uh… we’ve been through a lot together.”
Suddenly, the light mood between us vanishes. A darkness washes over his eyes, like a shield dropping into place. I’m reminded of the man I see walking the halls at school, the fa?ade he puts on for others that for some reason, he drops when I’m around.
Sometimes. Right now, I wonder what journeys he has shared with Frodo and Bilbo, and if he’ll let me in on them one day.
He clears his throat, and a little color returns to his face from the dim glow of the fire.
“Alright, Ms. Speedy Reader. I have some catching up to do.”
With a smile and the tip of an invisible hat, he returns to the worn pages of his novel, while I do my best not to wonder what’s going on in his head.
We read for hours. I offer to grab us a refill on drinks, and he gets the third round. It’s cozy. Quiet. So far removed from my normal, everyday life, that I’m beginning to wonder which is more of a fantasy: this night, or the book I’m reading.
I don’t realize that it’s nearing midnight until Nathan tells me that my phone has been buzzing incessantly in my bag. There’s half a dozen missed texts from my mom, wondering where I am, when I’ll be home, and telling me that my Saturday morning has now been taken by various extracurricular runs for my siblings, because she and my dad had a late night and won’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.
I sigh, closing the cover to my Kindle right as it was getting to the good part. No finishing this baby in a night for me.
I stretch my arms above my head, crack out my neck from side to side, and relish in the coziness of the forest green knitted throw that I’ve been bundled in all night before standing from the chair.
Nathan’s eyes are glued to me when I adjust my sweatshirt that’s ridden up. I expect him to look away, but he doesn’t. Instead, the fire from the hearth has now transported itself into his eyes, and I wonder what kind of kindling I could add to stoke it higher.
“I should get going. Early morning duty calls.”
He nods, but we take our time. In the few hours I’ve been here, I’ve spun Nathan’s home into my sanctuary. And I don’t want to go. I wonder if he meant what he said when he mentioned a next time, and squeeze my eyes shut to keep it a secret.
Suddenly, I feel his hand beneath my chin. I peel my eyes open, and see that stoic, serious expression warring with something else. Something akin to hunger lights in his eyes. I latch onto some of the boldness I’d harnessed back at the game and tentatively grip his forearm.
“Thank you for inviting me to your home. I had a lovely time, Nathan.”
His eyes soften.
“I did as well. Thanks for keeping me company.”
We stand there in silence. A sound I’m just now growing accustomed to. The beating of his heart and mine fill the space between us. Neither of us moves. Neither of us wants to break the spell.
I’m about to though. Because if I stand here any longer, I’ll drown in the deep wells of his eyes, and there’s no telling what it will take to bring me back to the surface. But before I can pull away, he leans forward. His lips press to my ear, and I squeeze his forearm harder.
“I meant what I said about next time, Claire. You’re welcome here any time the noise gets to be too loud. Just having you here in my space makes my own bearable.”
I thought his lips on my temple were too much, but now, he drags them across my forehead, and it’s like I can feel the fires blazing a trail in their wake. Nathan seals a soft but punishing kiss to the center of my forehead and stays there, one hand beneath my chin, the other sneaking its way unexpectedly behind my head.
The juxtaposition of tender, barely-there lips with the intensity of his words just moments before have my body alight. My nerves are wrapping themselves around him, and there is nothing in my power that I can do to stop it from happening. I simply lean forward, hoping that this kiss will intensify. Hoping that he clings to me harder.
My wish is granted when he grips my hair just a little bit tighter. I inhale sharply as he breaks the pucker of his lips and replaces them back immediately. Lingering. Unwavering. An anchor before I have to swim back out to sea.
It seems like both lifetimes and the snap of my fingers when he pulls away. The light pop of his lips against my forehead feels like a brand, and I have to remind myself that it was just a forehead kiss. His fingers beneath my chin flex, and I’m heated again by the simple touch of him. I blink, and find his eyes both as blown and as hazy as mine. Our chests heave like we just crossed the finish line at the Boston Marathon. Even though our hands start to pull away and our grips begin to loosen, he holds my gaze as strongly as I hold onto his.
“Please text me when you get home.”
As I look back, to Nathan leaning against the door jam, I don’t even try to stop the vision of us sitting on that front porch from flooding my mind.