13. Chapter 13
Lydia
Well, shit. I haven’t really thought this through, have I?
When I asked Nick if he wanted to make a mad dash to my house to escape the rain, I half expected him to say no.
I didn’t want him to, but I also didn’t consider the fact I basically have zero furniture except what I dragged in from the shed last night, which still needs more cleaning and to be painted.
We make it inside, both soaked to the bone. Luckily, Sharon left towels behind, and I’d washed and dried them yesterday, so they smell fresh and clean.
There’s something undeniably electric between Nick and me, a current just beneath the surface as we cross the threshold, rainwater streaming from our clothes and pooling on the worn entry mat.
I can feel my cheeks flushing, maybe from the sprint, maybe from something else.
And the way Nick keeps looking at me, shy but lingering, sends warmth through me that has nothing to do with the towels in my hand.
As I hand him one, our fingers brush a second longer than necessary, and I know he feels it too: the tension, the possibility, like we’re both hovering on the edge of something neither of us fully understands yet.
As I rub the towel through my hair, stealing glances while he dries off, I realize whatever happens next isn’t just about escaping the rain.
It’s about seeing where this unspoken thing between us might lead.
“Holy crap, it’s a freaking deluge out there. I didn’t even know it was supposed to rain this morning,” Nick says, running the towel through his soaking wet hair again.
If it didn’t sound too presumptuous, I’d ask if he wanted a hot shower, but I don’t want to look like a crazy lady trying to get him naked.
“I’d offer you some coffee, but I think something died in the pot I found in the cabinet. I really need to buy a new one.”
Nick shrugs, still attempting to dry himself off. “That’s alright. I’m still wearing the last coffee you offered me.” He smirks, and I can’t help but laugh.
“I really am sorry. I was born clumsy, and I fear it’s only gotten worse with age. Most days I just trip over my own two feet. I don’t usually take others down with me,” I add with a defeated shrug. “I really would like to buy you a new shirt, if you’ll let me. I’m certain that one is ruined.”
Nick steps closer, lightly brushing my cheek in a gesture so tender I’m not sure he even realizes he’s doing it. Without meaning to, I lean slightly into his touch.
“Lydia, it’s just a shirt. I have plenty more. I’m not worried about it. And if getting coffee thrown on me meant I got to run into you this morning, then I’m happy to have ruined a shirt.”
Once again, goosebumps bloom across my skin from where he’s touching me. I can’t help but lean in a little more.
“It’s a nice shirt. That green looks great on you. Very handsome,” I say, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel.
“You think I’m handsome, huh?” The words are just above a whisper. He takes another step closer. “Well, I think you might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Yep, that’ll do it.
Our lips crash together, and for a moment it’s all lips, tongue, and teeth.
Almost instantly, it deepens and slows, his hands at my neck, thumbs grazing my cheeks.
My hands grip his waist before sliding up his back and into his hair, drawing a small groan from him.
He slides his tongue slowly across my bottom lip, and I open a little more to welcome him.
A small moan escapes me, and I’m snapped into a reality I don’t want to face.
I step back, instantly feeling cold at the loss of his warm touch. It takes every ounce of strength not to get lost in his embrace again.
“I-I can’t do this,” I stutter.
Nick’s eyes are crestfallen as he stares at me, lips swollen from what has to be the best first kiss ever.
“Shit, Lydia. I’m so sorry. I had no right to—”
I cut him off with a hand to his chest. “No, Nick. I absolutely wanted you to. God, I wanted you to. I still do.”
“Yeah?” He starts moving forward, but I gently place my other hand on his chest.
“But before we go any further, I really need to tell you some things about my past and what brought me to Whispering Hills.”
I take a deep breath, certain what I’m about to tell him will make him never want to speak to me again. And definitely never want to kiss me like that again. Damn. It was a great kiss too.
Fuck my life.
“Okay, here goes. Up until I came here, I lived in Texas.”
He smirks at me. “You’ve told me that, darlin’.”
That was the easy part, Lydia. Keep going.
I glance around the room. Why haven’t I bought a couch yet? This would be easier if we were sitting. Preferably with liquor in our hands. Yes. Liquor would be good.
But I have no couch, it’s too early for a cocktail, and I’ve already committed. I grip Nick’s arm and pull him down to the floor with me, cross-legged and facing each other. I take a deep breath and continue.
“I left an abusive relationship.” Nick starts to say something, but I raise my hand, asking for him to wait.
“He had been verbally abusive for a few years, mostly backhanded insults and talking down to me, but the night he hit me for the first time, I knew it would only continue to get worse. So that night I waited for him to fall asleep, and I threw what I could into some bags, and left. I drove until I couldn’t anymore, only stopping for fuel and snacks, because you know, necessities. ”
I shrug, trying not to let my voice shake, but I’m starting to spiral. I think Nick notices because he reaches out and lightly touches his fingers to mine, grounding me and encouraging me to go on. His breathing quickens, and I can tell he is raging at the thought of someone hurting me.
Another deep breath. “I was raised by an abusive stepfather, and I swore I would never allow another man to put his hands on me. I tolerated the way he spoke to me because I believed I deserved it. It had been drilled into my head from a young age that I would never amount to anything and, if someone ever took pity on me enough to want to be with me, I should just be grateful. And I was. Simon was successful and said all the right things in the beginning. But the new, sweet, shiny version of him wore off quickly.”
I take a breath and dare to look up into Nick’s eyes.
What I see there is a mix of anguish and fury.
“He hit you?” he whispers, holding my fingers a little tighter.
“He did. That was the bruise you asked me about. I’m sorry I lied.” I lower my head, embarrassed, but not entirely sure why.
Nick leans back. This time, he’s the one who needs to take a deep breath.
As much as I don’t want to, I push forward. This is the most important part, and he deserves to know.
“I’m married to Simon, the man who hit me.
” I’m on the verge of tears, unsure how long I can hold them back.
“I’m so sorry I kissed you without telling you this.
It wasn’t fair of me. I understand if you want to walk away and not deal with any of this.
” I say it all so quickly, trying to get it out before I start to full on cry.
“I like you, Nick. Like, really like you. It’s crazy because we just met, but I feel like I’ve known you much longer.” I stop before I say anything else embarrassing.
Nick is silent, unmoving. Is he breathing? I watch his chest for several beats. Yes, he’s breathing, but it’s heavy and labored. I wait, figuring I’ve said more than enough.
Just when I’m sure he’s not going to say anything at all, he asks, “Are you going to divorce him?”
I let the words settle, feeling the raw honesty between us, then finally say, “I made up my mind before I was even a mile away, Nick. I want a real chance at starting over, and I’m meeting with an attorney next week. There’s nothing left for me there except memories I’d rather forget.”
My voice trembles, but I hold his gaze, hoping he can see how serious I am. I try to lighten the mood, offering a weak smile. “Besides, Whispering Hills feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever been. And honestly, the scones alone are worth staying for. And I really, really hate my husband.”
The tension shifts slightly as Nick processes everything, his features softening as he searches for words.
I finally find the nerve to take in his expression fully, and I’m unable to read it. It’s like a dozen emotions are at war on his face. He hesitates before letting go of my hand and standing. I follow after him.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Lydia. I really am.
I will never understand how a man can raise his hand to a woman, and the idea of someone hurting you has me thinking about taking a drive to Texas and committing a felony or two.
” His breathing is heavy, and I immediately regret giving him this burden to carry.
Nick’s words hang between us, raw and protective.
I can feel the anger simmering beneath his gentle exterior.
For a moment, I almost wish he would storm off and do something reckless, just to prove someone cares enough to fight for me.
Instead, he stands his ground, jaw tense, eyes filled with an ache that matches my own.
I sense his struggle. He wants to comfort me, wants to reach out, but is wrestling with where the line should be drawn.
The air feels heavy, charged with everything I’ve confessed and everything we can’t quite say yet.
“Thank you, Nick. I appreciate that,” I say, my voice shaky.
“Of course.” He goes to reach for my hand again but stops. I hate that he stops himself.
His hesitation lingers between us, a gentle ache where his touch almost was.
I swallow the disappointment, grateful for the care in his eyes even as he keeps his distance.
The moment stretches, silent and bittersweet, before Nick sighs and offers a sad, reassuring smile.
It’s as if he wants to say more, to bridge the gap, but the boundaries we’ve drawn hold him back.
I watch him struggle, torn between wanting to comfort me and honoring the lines he refuses to cross.
Even without words, the kindness in his gaze tells me he wishes things could be different.
Then the shift comes. A deep breath, the soft slump of his shoulders, and that inevitable “but” I’ve been dreading. The air grows even heavier, thick with what’s unsaid, as Nick gently exhales.
“I think you’re great, and I was serious when I said you were possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. But…”
Dammit, I knew there was a “but” in there.
“But I can’t be with a married woman. Even if you are planning to divorce him. I can’t be that guy.” His shoulders slump under the weight of the words.
He lets out the words like a confession, his voice rough with remorse.
The distance between us seems to stretch even wider, filled with everything we both wish could be different.
I nod, my throat tight, forcing myself to accept his boundaries even as a small part of me aches for something different.
The room feels charged with longing and restraint, every heartbeat thudding with what might have been if circumstances were different.
He drops his gaze, struggling with the pain of letting go, and I realize how much courage it takes for him to honor his principles; how much it costs us both to do the right thing, even when it breaks our hearts.
“I understand,” I reply quietly. I really do. I just hate it.
Here is a man who could have been my person. The kind of man who could love me and treat me the way I’ve always wished to be treated. I know without a doubt Nick is the kind of man who takes pride in how he loves.
He’s solid. Faithful. Kind.
And because I married a douchebag, I must let him go.
“I understand,” I say again, the words meaning as much for me as for him.
Repeating them feels like an attempt to convince my own heart to accept the reality of his decision.
It speaks volumes about the kind of man he is.
His integrity is clear and unwavering even when it hurts.
Yet, despite knowing this, I can’t help but fucking hate the circumstances that force us apart.
Nick clears his throat and turns to leave, his movement gentle but full of finality. Desperate to not let the moment slip away, I brush his hand, barely touching his fingers, a quiet plea before he’s gone.
“Nick?” I whisper, my voice so soft I’m not sure whether I said anything at all.
He pauses, answering just as quietly, “Yeah, Lydia?”
Mustering the courage, I ask, “Can we be friends?”
The question hangs between us, vulnerable and uncertain. I hold my breath, bracing myself for rejection, knowing he has every reason to say no.
Nick hesitates, clearly torn, before offering a small but genuine smile. “Of course. I’d love to be your friend.”
Relief washes over me as I realize I’d unknowingly been holding my breath, waiting for his answer.
In this moment, everything about Nick pulls me closer, drawing me into his orbit, a place I desperately don’t want to leave.
The thought of only being his friend is painful, yet I know I would choose this over losing him entirely.
There is something about him that is pure and good, a light I want to stay close to for as long as I can.
We’ve only known each other a short while, but I feel as though it’s been longer.
He turns to leave, and the room already feels colder. He shuts the door gently behind him, and I watch as he runs back out into the rain.