57. Claire
fifty-seven
“How are things with Boss-Daddy?”
“Ew.” I scrunch my nose at my roommate. “Don’t call him that.”
Penelope smirks over her salad-loaded fork, then takes a bite.
“C’mon. I live vicariously through my own fictional characters and my unmarried friends. Considering the fact that Aaron is like, sixty seconds away from proposing, you are my only victim.”
“Nice try. You just said that your fictional characters fulfill your single status.”
She groans, sets her fork into the plastic container, and lifts her water to her lips.
“They would be. If they’d do anything.”
“Aww, not my babies Finn and Delilah! What’s wrong with them?”
“I think the better question is, what isn’t wrong with them.”
She rests her chin in her hand with a defeated Humph.
“Is this the part where being the roommate who knows the secret author life comes in handy? Because I’ve read way too many fanfictions, and could probably give you notebooks of ideas.”
“Wait. People write fanfiction about my books?”
“Uh. I mean, you could say that.”
“They’re dirty, aren’t they?”
“Only slightly dirtier than what you write!” I fail to cover for myself, and what I’ve read online in my spare time. Penelope sighs.
“I have a deadline to hit by the end of the summer and so far, they have reestablished that they’re enemies, and that’s about it.”
“Have you ever had writer’s block like this before?”
“No.” She shakes her head, her expression softening to desperate disbelief. “No, the ideas have been like, steadily flowing since my first book with Bea and Ezra. It’s like someone threw up a damn wall as soon as I…”
Her lips remain parted, and a kaleidoscope plays in her blue eyes as realization sparks. I see the moment it hits her, the moment her mouth snaps shut, and the moment she has to swallow down the truth that I infer all too easily.
Ant.
I reach my hand across the student desks that we’ve taken over and squeeze hers.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Whenever you want to talk about him, you know we’re all here, right?”
She nods, tight-lipped, then shakes her head.
“Distract me. Tell me about how much of a freak my boss is in the sheets.”
I can feel the blood drain from my face, and she tips her head back in a shout of laughter.
“I knew it!”
“You wanted to know it?!”
I stand to toss my own trash in an attempt to dissipate the awkwardness.
“Not until I found out you were also involved. C’mon. You brought up my tortured past. It’s only fair that you have to make me forget about it.”
I sigh as I sit back down. “I don’t know, honestly. Things have been… weird these past few weeks.”
I pick at the peeling sticker on my Stanley.
“Weird how?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Ever since I told him that you knew…”
I flick my gaze up, watching Penelope’s short breath settle into concern.
“Before you say anything, it’s not your fault. He just has a lot going on right now.”
She blows out a breath and shakes her head.
“Lady, I’ve heard it all before. Please take care of yourself.”
“I am. We just… We haven’t had the time to talk, you know? We were sneaking around, and now that I’m picking up extra basketball games and he’s…” I shake my head. “We just have to find the time to talk.”
“Well, do it sooner rather than later. Do you have basketball tonight?”
I nod. “But it’s a close game. Maybe I’ll just drive myself and head to his place later to surprise him?”
Penelope still looks skeptical about the whole thing, and I guess I don’t blame her. Am I really that na?ve? Has he been playing me this whole time? I can’t exactly lay out everything and get her advice, but I can give her a few pieces.
“Did I tell you what he got me for Christmas?”
“Oh, you two did Christmas?” she asks, crossing her arms and lifting her brow in intrigue. “Do tell.”
“He’s taking me on a trip. During spring break.”
Her jaw drops, eyes widening.
“Okay. I’m just… All sorts of confused now.”
Penelope shakes her head, and I sigh.
Because I am too.
There’s only one way to find answers, and I guess I’ve done enough reading between the lines to last me a lifetime. I’m going to have to tell Nathan how I feel, and take the consequences, good or bad.
I don’t think I’ve been this anxious to leave work since my job started. In between taking down stats in the book for the basketball team, I was prepping my conversation with Nathan in my head.
After my talk with Penelope, the need to clear the air with him has been consuming. She’s right—I am all sorts of confused, but not about my feelings. I think that, with both of us so out of practice when it comes to relationships, we just need to clear the air. I’m done as a River Valley substitute after this current placement, so if the whole boss/subordinate ordeal is what’s making him anxious, that isn’t going to be a big deal soon.
If there are other things making him anxious, then I guess tonight is when I find out.
When I step outside after the basketball game, the glittery snow that had started this morning has intensified. It’s blowing sideways, so much so that I throw up my hood and clutch it around my face. Typical New England winter. It’s nothing I haven’t handled before.
Even so, I send a text to Penelope, Leaving the game! Snow’s disgusting. I’ll text when I get to Nathan’s, before I head out.
The snow is coming down in thick flakes, enough so that I have to pump the wipers on to a consistent tick tick across my windshield. The radio immediately started blasting music as soon as I turned my car on, but I think of Nathan in this weather. Immediately, I turn the radio off, put my phone on Do Not Disturb so that I can concentrate, and fix my phone into its dashboard mount so I can see the GPS.
Taking me straight to him.
I smile as I pull out onto the dark roads, thinking about how he’ll be proud of me when I tell him how I silenced my phone so that I could concentrate.
It takes me almost double the amount of time it should have to get to Nathan’s driveway, with the snow and my careful speed limit. My heart inflates when I turn onto his street and see his wrap around porch in the distance. The porch light is on, and as I get closer, I’m not surprised to find his driveway shoveled, and a bucket of salt on the front porch.
What I am surprised to find is him.
Nathan. Standing on the front porch in his winter gear, arms folded over his chest, nose too pink for my liking. How long has he been standing out here?
I didn’t even tell him I was coming over. It was supposed to be a surprise. My car isn’t even fully over the driveway before he’s stalking toward me. I don’t like the look on his face at all.
He looks horrifyingly broken.
The second my car is in park, his gloved hand yanks on the door handle. I can hear the grunt of frustration when he finds it locked, again, when he yanks the door as soon as I unlock it, only for it to lock again.
“Open the door, Claire!”
I freeze.
This man rarely—if ever—raises his voice.
The moment that he registers that I’ve backed away from the door, he blanches. The pain. The sorrow. Oh God, are those tears? It’s all laced with the snow hammering against his face.
His knees buckle, and his forehead presses against the glass, and even through it I can hear him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for yelling, please open the door, please, Claire.”
I do as he asks. I can’t even piece together how quickly he gets the door open, gets me unbuckled, and gets to me. I am hauled to his chest, feet off the ground, in seconds. He exhales for longer than humanly possible, and when I feel the stutter of his inhale, my heart clenches.
We stand in his driveway, snow falling down around us. Me, in his arms, his embrace so tight that I’m struggling to breathe.
He doesn’t let me down for ages, and I’m okay with that.
Because when he walks me inside and sets me on the chair in front of the fire, when his touch disappears, I fear that might have been the last time I’ll ever have it.