35. Nathan
thirty-five
If having a crush, as Aaron so pointedly put it, is what I’ve come down with, further symptoms include the following: Stress cleaning my entire home from top to bottom. Stocking my kitchen with all of the ingredients for a dish I found online, plus a few extras that I’ve noticed Claire eating at school (gummy bears, sour cream and onion chips, and some extra herbal tea). Spending way too much time in the floral section of the grocery store and still being unsatisfied with my bouquet of choice. Showering, shaving, and lighting a candle. Lastly, and my least favorite, my insides are vibrating.
Breaking all the rules.
I have never felt this way.
Of course, I’ve been interested in women before. I took my best acquaintance from English class to the senior prom, and after we lost our virginities to each other in the backseat of my car, we went our separate ways. I can’t say I was entirely heartbroken. I prioritized my brother over making friends after his cancer diagnosis, and when I went to college, I was focused on getting in and out as quickly as possible to be there for Cal as his guardian. I had no interest in courting, limiting most of my interactions in the bedroom to one night stands. Their bedrooms. I never took a woman home, to the place where Cal slept.
Which is what makes Claire’s presence in my home so defining. Not only has she been here more than once, but she wants to come back. She held me through one of my toughest nights in over a decade, and didn’t run for the hills like I assumed she would have.
The fact that I didn’t get to do the same for her made me panic. I want to be there for her in all of the ups and downs too.
I don’t know what to do with any of this information. Instead of analyzing all of the quirky things I’ve done in preparation for her coming over, I set up the last impulse purchase I made in the study, and ready myself by the front door.
Is waiting by the door with my knee bouncing erratically another symptom of a crush?
There’s a light knock on the front door, and my body goes rigid. I close my eyes, take a deep breath in and release it to find my center, and rise to let her in.
After not seeing her for two weeks, and knowing that she spent her first night in a new place coming into today, she still looks radiant. Strength emanates from her, and I stand there in awe for a moment, breathing it in.
“Hey there, stranger. Mind letting me in? It’s kind of chilly out here.”
She says it all with a smile, and I step to the side. She toes off her shoes and places them next to mine on the mat, and something surges within me at the picture of her small shoes next to mine in my space.
I don’t linger on that for too long, because as I follow her into the kitchen, I notice the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. My cock twitches, and I have to will it down, because the last time I had her in my arms, we were so close to the finish line that I could feel the tape at my fingertips.
“Are you sure you’re okay cooking tonight? I don’t mind being in charge in the kitchen.”
She says it with a smirk, fingering the ingredients I’ve spaced out on my countertop in correct measurement and order already. I have to will my dick to stand down at the thought of Claire being in charge, but the rest of my will doesn’t follow. I close the space between us and cup the side of her head, so small in the palm of my hand that I have to stifle a grunt.
But suddenly, at the feel of her skin on mine, just like it had yesterday in the hall, my resolve melts away, and my heartbeat seems to stutter for a fraction before syncing up with her pulse. All of the dirty things my mind just concocted slip away, and in its place comes out, “I’ve missed you.”
I think we’re both stunned. Her, that I’ve said it at all. Me, that I’ve said it aloud. I didn’t even realize that truth until my heart let it slip off my tongue in an exhale of relief.
She squeezes my forearm, pinches a smile and breathes a soft, “Me too.”
We’re silent while I cook dinner. We haven’t addressed the two weeks of silence other than to admit we both hated it, but I feel like neither of us wants to touch that subject yet. Not when we have each other again for the time being. As she watches me cook, her eyes are full of desire, beneath smoky hooded lids that do little to quell the aching in my chest for her.
I had no intentions of making tonight about sex with Claire. I had every intention of seeing her, making her smile, and asking her every question I’ve been storing up over the days we’ve missed—another symptom of having a crush, I presume. We head to the study, after I’ve changed into sweats while she does the dishes—at her insistence—and that all changes.
She stops in the doorway, her manucure-less hand going to her chest.
“What’s… Nathan.”
My name rolls off her tongue in breathy disbelief as she takes in the bottles of nail polish and other manicure supplies I purchased. I press my front to her back, and rest my chin on her shoulder.
“You said that you didn’t have the time or the money to get a manicure. I’ve noticed that your nails usually match the holidays, so I picked a few Christmas colors, but had some of your in between palates as a back up.”
Claire always has her nails painted. If the problem is time and money, I can fix that.
My hands find her hips, and I pull her flush against me before wrapping my arms around her lithe frame, feeling something settle into place when she relaxes instantly against me. I tilt my head, nuzzling my nose along the column of her neck, and find her pulse racing. Her breath hitches, and suddenly, she turns in my arms.
“You bought me nail polish.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“And you keep herbal tea in your pantry, even though I’m the only one who drinks it.”
“I technically drink it.”
She shakes her head.
“And, if I’m not mistaken, I saw an unopened bag of gummy bears in the pantry when you sent me in there earlier for salt.”
“You are not mistaken.”
Her eyes brim with tears, but only for a moment, before a fire washes them away.
“For God’s sake, Nathan, take me to bed already.”