Chapter 21 #2
“I guess?” He repeats my words in disbelief. “You’re doing well, Vivienne. Good things take time. Don’t be too harsh on yourself and stop bringing yourself down—it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
“I know,” I admit on a sigh. “I’ve been trying to make an effort to break that thinking pattern, but it’s so hard when nothing ever works.”
“I get where you’re coming from, and it’s especially hard in academia, but this is a good start. You’ll get there in no time. I know it.” Nate turns to me with a genuine smile.
I perk up from my seat at his words, clinging to his encouragement. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. I have no doubt about it.” The conviction in his voice is so strong that it feels like it’s already come true. “I do have a confession to make, though, but you first need to promise me you won’t get angry.”
“I’m making no promises.” Nervous laughter spills out of me. “What is it?”
“You had a stick up your ass when we first met.”
I elbow him, my jaw dropping in shock. “I can’t believe you said that!”
Nate can’t contain his laughter, one hand steering the car while the other hides his smile. It’s adorable. I only wish he’d move it so I can see his dimples.
“You aren’t wrong,” I admit reluctantly, with a playful roll of my eyes.
“I know, I’m not wrong.” He glances away from the road and back to me, dimples on full display. “But you’re changing.”
“Good or bad?” I ask.
“Good,” he confirms.
And this time, when I look into his eyes, it feels like time stops. The noise, the commotion—they all fade into nothingness until there’s just him. Deep like a forest. Luminous like algae drifting beneath the water. Mossy. Alive. I feel the most alive when I’m with Nate Archer.
I once told him I didn’t have a favorite color, but I’m starting to think otherwise. Green—like the color of his eyes.
I shift my gaze to the side, coughing away the thoughts that overtook my mind. The water bottle sitting in the cup holder calls my name, and I chug the contents faster than I thought was possible.
Is it only me, or is it suddenly hot in here?
“Can I turn the AC on?” I ask, crushing the plastic flat before dropping it into my lap.
Nate looks over at me in concern. “It’s the end of October.”
“Is that supposed to mean something?” The question slips out, threaded with confusion.
“The heat is on.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah…” His concern lingers. “But we can stop at the nearest gas station if you’d like. Get some fresh air. Go to the washroom or something. You drank a lot of water, and we’ve got a long way to go.”
“Sure,” I rush to say.
He takes the next exit off the highway, and in no time, we’ve made it.
The smell of coffee lingers in the convenience store, but as always, it can never compare to the aromas at Brews&Bookmarks. Not to mention, it smells stale—just a little too old, and mixed with the pungent smell of gasoline. Either way, I grab two cups—one with milk and sugar, and the other black.
It isn’t hard to guess which one belongs to whom.
“Here you go.” I hand Nate his cup when he stops right in front of me. He presses his lips to the spout, quickly coughing following his first sip. “Too hot? I ask.
“No, it’s just so damn awful.” He winces as he pulls back, opening the lid to see the light brown liquid.
I take a sip of mine and have a similar reaction.
“Super stale,” I conclude, and way too bitter for my liking. I leave out that part. We may have made up since that day, but I refuse to succumb to the supposedly witty comment he made.
“It’s not even about that. It’s too sweet and diluted with cream.”
I tilt my head to the side in genuine confusion. “What do you mean? There’s only one cream and one sugar in that.”
I take another sip from my cup, wanting to confirm it’s not the awfulness of gas station coffee when he says, “I take my coffee black.”
The liquid flies out of my mouth in shock. “What?”
Nate’s eyes dart from side to side. “What?”
“I thought you drank your coffee with milk and sugar!”
Nate lets out a confused laugh. “Why would you think that?” There’s a playful lilt to his voice before it all falls into place. “No,” he denies.
“‘You’re as bitter as your coffee.’ ‘I take my coffee with milk and sugar.’ Are you forgetting what you said to me?”
His hand rises to stifle his laughter, but he fails miserably. “It was a joke!” He struggled to wheeze the words between gasps, but all I can think about is the lie I’ve been living for the past three months.
“That was no joke! I’ve been drinking black coffee since that day because of the trauma you gave me.”
“Vivienne.” Nate stills, biting back his smile, when another choked-out sound betrays him. “Have you actually?”
Nate takes my silence and the rapid blinking of my eyes as his answer.
“Oh no.” He puts his cup out for me. “It’s okay. We can do a coffee switcharoo, if you'd like?”
I shake my head from side to side.
The last thing I’ll do is accept an apology from this guy, especially after the poor-tasting coffee I’ve been drinking every day.
“I would not like that. I feel conned. That was very rude and very disrespectful.” I angle my body away from him, cup tucked by my side.
His amusement only grows higher as he motions with his free hand to hand it over. “Come on, Viv, hand it over. The faster we get our respective coffees, the better we’ll both feel.”
My heart stops at the sound of the nickname on his lips. There’s something so nice about it. So sweet. So personal. People usually called me by my first name—that’s how I liked it—but there’s something about the way he says it that I like way more.
Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that I got bamboozled.
“I’d rather get a new cup of coffee. Your lips touched that, and I don’t want them anywhere near me.”
“Funny enough. I think that’s the reason I want it,” Nate says with a smirk.
I turn around in shock, so caught off guard by what he’s said that I don’t realize he’s pulled the cup out of my hands and replaced it with his. He takes a long sip, sighs in satisfaction, winks, and walks away all within the blink of an eye.
“Gosh, I feel so much better already,” he says loudly enough for me to hear.
Me? I don’t respond. I can’t—not when I’m still shocked.
Instead, I stand in the middle of this convenience store, surrounded by rows of colorful chips as I watch broad shoulders, a tall frame, and a firm ass walk away—as if he hadn’t just implied he wanted his lips on mine. Again.