Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RACHEL
W e wait for Tanner to get home so there’s someone at the house to make sure the simmering chili doesn’t burn the place down, then take Nick’s truck over to my house. There are a million plot holes in our story that I silently obsess over during the ride.
If we’d been out on a date, why are we back so early? Why did I leave the house in my car, then come home in his? And later, once we make the cornbread, why will we both leave again?
“You okay?” Nick asks, reaching over to briefly touch my arm.
A few weeks ago, I would have shied away from the simple touch, but I actually find comfort in it now. Then again, we spent the whole time making chili practically in one another’s lap with how cramped the kitchen was.
“I’m fine,” I say, smoothing out the skirt of my dress. I’d worn something nicer than my usual fare on the off chance he agreed to this asinine plan. “Just rehearsing in my head.”
“Right. Tell me how it goes again?”
I glance over at him as I repeat Jae’s script, absent-mindedly noting the way his hands grip the steering wheel of his truck. They’re steady, strong, capable. Just like him. Hands that continually help the people of this town. Hands that have helped make cookies and washed dishes for me.
Hands that are going to pretend to be on me in a few minutes as I giggle that the neighbors will see.
The butterflies in my stomach escape their cage again, and I swiftly stuff them back in. This isn’t for real. We’re not actually doing anything.
My gaze moves to his forearms, exposed in the shirt he’d changed into before we left, saying he should wear something nicer to match how good I look.
It’s a button-up, the sleeves rolled up, and though it’s covering more of him than the plain tee he was wearing earlier, the way it’s fitted seems to reveal more.
Stretching over that broad chest, the fabric hugging his muscles…
I force myself to look out the window, willing my heart to settle down. It’s just Nick.
“I think I can remember that,” he says, and it takes me a moment to even recall what we were talking about.
“Good. It’s okay if we ad-lib, too. I don’t want either of us to get tripped up if we can’t repeat it exactly.”
He nods as he pulls into my driveway. “Can the camera see us from this angle?”
My mind goes blank. “I can’t remember.” Oh God, I can’t remember any of it. What I’m supposed to do or say. Why I listened to Jae at all. Why I suggested this to Nick when it could have died a quiet death after Jae left my house.
“Let’s assume it can,” he says as he gets out of the truck.
He rounds it and opens my door, holding a hand out to me. I stare at it for a second before I take it, his hand calloused and rough and so warm, I nearly shiver with sensation.
Time is moving so fast, we’re already up my porch steps and in front of the door before I realize it. Nick angles himself exactly where he’s supposed to, his back blocking me from view of the camera entirely.
He looks at me expectantly, and I blink at him stupidly until I remember I’m starting us off.
“Nick.” It comes out breathlessly, and though it’s not a giggle, even I have to admit it has a certain quality to it that’s hard to deny.
Surprise and pleasure and longing twisted together in a single word that conveys exactly what it needs to.
I clear my throat, unsure how I pulled that off. “The neighbors are going to see.”
“Sorry, I can’t keep my hands off you.”
His hands flex by his side as he says it, and I think of them back in his truck, confidently resting on the wheel.
I had no idea then how rough they’d be. How did they feel when he tended to my arm the other day when I burned it?
I can’t remember, the memory already slipping. I wish I had savored it.
“Well, we have all night for that,” I say, just as breathless as before.
His gaze is on me now, a weightless caress I didn’t know I wanted, stopping on my lips, my chest, my waist. “You know how much you turn me on.”
I inhale sharply as a sudden spear of lust shoots through me. That wasn’t part of the script. But the intense way he said it…
I step closer, meeting his eye. This was supposed to be lighthearted. A secret joke we’re playing out for the camera.
But he’s stone cold serious, something electric in his gaze.
“I do?”
He nods. “I’ve always had a thing for you.”
I swallow roughly, forgetting everything about the prank as I move even closer, completely in his personal space.
He twists to make room for me, a question in his eyes now, but I’m focused on his lips. Are they as hard and calloused as his hands? Or soft and pliant and willing to show me just how much I turn him on?
I brace my palms against his shoulders as I lean on tiptoe to kiss him. It’s obvious I take him by surprise based on the quiet noise of shock he makes in the back of his throat, a dazed expression on his face as I end it as quickly as it began.
What the hell did I just do?
I whirl around, realizing too late we’re angled within view of the camera with how he moved, and I blindly search for my keys in my purse, praying my face isn’t as hot as it feels.
Holding the door open for him, I wait until we’re both in the house and the door is shut to quickly say, “Oh my God, I am so sorry. That was completely out of line. I…” I fumble for an explanation that isn’t how I forgot we were acting for a moment.
“I thought a kiss would be good for the camera and then I realized we never talked about that and it was terrible of me and I can’t believe I—”
“Rachel.” His hand reaches out to encircle my wrist, stopping my pacing. “It’s fine. No harm done.”
His fingers are hot against my skin, flames licking up my wrist and through my veins. I gently tug away, unable to take any more.
“It was acting,” I say, needing him to accept the justification. Otherwise, I have to admit what an idiot I am. “We were both acting.”
“It was acting,” he repeats, even as his gaze searches mine, like he hasn’t decided if he believes me.
“I’m so sorry.” I stare at the floor, hoping he doesn’t find the truth in my eyes.
That I got caught up in a moment that wasn’t anything.
That I kept thinking about his hands and the sudden urge of wanting them on me.
For him to have kissed me back, tugging me close, those calloused palms running over my bare skin, leaving tingles in their wake.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. Mission accomplished, right?”
“Right.”
He didn’t mean that about me turning him on. About always having a thing for me. It was acting.
Even if the look in his eye felt so real for a moment there, I forgot myself.
God, he’s being nice. Why isn’t he running for the hills at all the craziness I’ve been putting him through?
“Did you want to make the cornbread?” he asks, gesturing to the kitchen.
He seems relaxed on the surface, but I’ve been around him enough by now to recognize something else lingering underneath the calm facade. The way he’s shifting his weight, his shoulders stiff looking, his expression flickering before he schools it back in place.
When did I become able to read him like this?
I shy away from the reminder of how much I’ve been paying attention to him. Is he freaked out by what happened? And why wouldn’t he be? I kissed him unexpectedly, then flipped out.
Running a hand through my hair, I grab onto his offer. “Yes, let’s make the cornbread. And thanks for understanding about… everything.”
He nods and thankfully doesn’t give me a chance to slide back into awkwardness as we make the food, asking me questions about the bakery, my sisters, Jae—anything and everything until my earlier mishap is forgotten.
Well, not forgotten. I won’t ever fully forget it. But I can move on from it.
Once the cornbread is in the oven, it feels natural to keep talking, and I discover we have a mutual love of Italian food and refusal to step on sidewalk cracks.
“It just feels wrong,” he says, giving a mock shudder.
I grin, knowing exactly what he means. “Do you believe in bad luck?”
His lips twist. “I wouldn’t say I believe in it. But I also don’t not believe.”
I laugh at his nonsensical answer.
He laughs, too. “I mean, why risk bad luck if you could help it, right?”
I nod in agreement. “Sydney and I had run out to get something at the store one time and she was making fun of me for the whole sidewalk crack thing. So I purposely stepped on one and she made a big deal about how the world didn’t come crashing down, blah blah blah.
Well, when we got back out to my car, guess what? ”
“What?”
I keep my smile to myself at how invested he seems in my story. “Car battery was dead. She’s never made fun of me since.”
“Oooh. I have chills. Seriously.” He’s grinning, so I know he’s not serious, but it’s funny all the same. “You have to respect the sidewalk rules,” he says. “Again, not that I’m superstitious…”
“But maybe a little stitious?”
He nods. “How do you feel about wishes?”
Wishes? “What do you mean?”
“You know, birthday wishes. New Year’s wishes. Eleven-eleven wishes.”
“Oh, I love eleven-eleven wishes. I’m never up at that time of night, but I love catching it during the day.”
“You’re not up at eleven?”
I shake my head. “Baker’s hours. Early to bed and early to rise.”
“What do you wish for?”
I make a tsking sound. “You know I can’t tell you that. Then they won’t come true.”
He playfully smacks his forehead. “Duh. What am I thinking?”
I smile, placing the dirty bowl and utensils we used for the cornbread in the sink. “You make those wishes, too?”
He nods. “Eleven-eleven wishes are for everyday kind of things. But birthdays and New Year’s are for special ones since they only come once a year.”
That makes complete sense to me. “Not that I’m asking what you wish for,” I clarify, “but are your special wishes for things that have a good chance of coming true already, like something you’re working toward? Or do you wish for once in a lifetime things, like winning the lottery?”
He considers my question seriously, as if this isn’t a ridiculous conversation. “I do a mix of both. Gotta cover my bases.”
“Have any of them come true?”
“I’m sure some of the smaller ones have. But the once in a lifetime ones…” He trails off, his gaze seeming to linger over me. I feel it in a physical way, the same as I did out on my front porch. “Maybe someday.”
I look down at the dishes to hide my expression. I’m not sure what he can see there. “When’s your next big wish?” New Year’s is half a year away.
“My birthday is in a few weeks.”
“Oh, really? Well, happy almost birthday. Twenty-eight?”
He nods. “There aren’t any exciting birthdays after twenty-one, are there?”
“No, I guess not.” Thirty is approaching for both of us in a couple of years, but I’d rather not think about that if I can help it. “Do you have plans?”
It’s only then I realize I don’t know much about his day-to-day life. Who he hangs out with. What he does in his free time when he’s not at the fire station.
I only discovered today he has a roommate. I guess during the times we’ve talked, it’s mostly been about… me. Am I that self-centered? Or has he always redirected the conversation that way? Does he not like talking about himself?
That’s certainly a change from Kyle, who never failed to find a way to shift a topic back to himself.
Nick shakes his head. “No plans. I might even be working that day. Not sure yet.”
He doesn’t seem sad about not having any birthday plans. Is that because it’s normal for him? I don’t think he’s close with his dad. And from how messy Tanner was, I don’t think he’d be the type to be on top of party planning.
“Can I make you a cake?” I ask.
His brows lift. “Yeah, I’d love that.” He looks down at the counter, tracing a nonsensical pattern over it with his fingers. “I can’t remember the last time someone did that for me.”
My heart swells in my chest, that something so simple could have such an impact on him.
When the cornbread is finished, Nick carefully retrieves it from the oven, as if he’ll ruin all our hard work by dropping it, and I transfer it to one of my insulated casserole carriers to keep it warm.
As we head down the front porch steps to Nick’s truck, he looks over at me and intertwines our fingers.
I’m caught off guard for a moment, nearly dropping the cornbread myself, until I remember we’re on camera. That’s why he’s holding my hand.
He’s just as warm as before, his fingers deliciously rough against my skin. I didn’t even know that was something I craved until today. I’ve never held a man’s hand that felt like this. Someone who works with their hands enough to make them calloused.
I squeeze his hand in return, allowing myself a moment of pretend. It’s acting. If Kyle’s watching us right now, he’ll see two people who finished a passionate encounter, still wrapped in an afterglow.
Nick knows exactly what to do, pausing before opening the passenger door for me and bringing our joined hands up to his mouth, pressing his lips softly to my knuckles.
My breath catches in my throat, willing myself not to think anything of it. It’s acting. Even if he’s looking at me that way again. Like I’m the only thing he sees.
But as we head back to his house to eat the chili and cornbread we made, it’s never brought up again.
Because we’re only acting.