21. Chapter 21
Nick
Sitting in this back booth with Lydia is the most content I’ve ever felt in what feels like forever. The nonstop noise in my head is quiet for once, and I don’t ever want to leave this restaurant.
We talk about everything: the weather, the bookstore, her house, and how she’s settling in. We tiptoe around her divorce, but that’s okay. If she wants to talk about it, I’m here to listen, but I won’t be the one to bring it up. That’s not my place.
I keep catching myself just looking at her.
Studying every feature. Her eyes are the color of the ocean, deep blue with lighter flecks.
They’re framed by thick, dark lashes that curl and fan at the corners.
She’s wearing a little makeup, and the shimmery bronze on her lids makes her eyes stand out even more.
Her cheeks are flushed the prettiest pink, and the glossy sheen on her lips makes them look even softer. More kissable.
When I’m not looking into her eyes, my gaze keeps drifting back to her lips.
I want to feel them again.
Right now, she’s taking another bite of her cheeseburger, and, while she doesn’t mean to, it’s downright erotic.
She lets out a soft moan and wiggles in her seat.
I love how she genuinely enjoys her food.
I’ve been around too many women who treat food like the enemy, ordering salads and restricting themselves until they’re miserable. But not Lydia. And I love it.
I take a big bite of my burger and fries, never taking my eyes off her. Joe really knows how to make a damn good burger.
Lydia catches me staring and laughs, her eyes gleaming. “What? Do I have ketchup on my face or something?” She dabs at the corners of her mouth and chin with her napkin.
“No. No ketchup. You look great,” I say.
She keeps smiling, placing her napkin back on her lap. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Fulsom.”
Is she flirting with me?
I’m not oblivious. Women have flirted with me before, though I’m usually not interested enough to notice. But I like the way Lydia is looking at me. I like the witty, flirty banter between us. I want more of it.
I grin, feeling my heart pick up.
“Careful, Lydia. I might start believing you if you keep talking like that,” I tease, leaning a fraction closer across the table.
There’s a warmth between us, something electric and sweet, that makes the now-busy diner fade into the background.
We sit in weighted silence for a few minutes, each of us daring the other to speak first. Lydia finally breaks, bringing up the subject we’ve danced around all through dinner.
“When I left Simon, I was scared, but I knew it was the right thing to do. I knew him hitting me that one time meant he would do it again. That it would only escalate.” She pauses, taking a deep breath, like she needs a second to steady herself.
“I knew I was leaving behind money, a nice apartment, a closet full of expensive clothes and jewelry, but none of that mattered if I got to keep my life. I knew I deserved better.”
She takes a sip of her water and clears her throat, like she’s willing herself not to cry.
“I had no doubt if I stayed, I would have died at his hands.”
A single tear slips down her cheek, and it guts me. I reach across the table, my hand brushing hers in silent support.
“You’re incredibly brave, Lydia. I know I’ve already told you that, but you are,” I say softly, keeping my voice steady even as her words land like a punch to the gut. “It takes so much courage to walk away, especially when it feels like the world is stacked against you.”
The tension in her shoulders eases just slightly, and she gives me a faint, grateful smile.
“I just knew I wanted to live. I wanted a life that felt like it hadn’t even begun yet.
My whole life I’ve lived under the controlling eyes of my stepfather or Simon.
Never on my own. And while they constantly told me I was incapable, not strong enough or smart enough to be alone, I knew they were wrong.
This is my chance to prove to myself how wrong they were.
” Her shoulders straighten with her words.
I pull my hand back slightly, absorbing everything she’s said.
I can barely hear my own voice. “Do you want to be alone, Lydia?”
I want to reach for her hand again, but I hold back, afraid to intrude on her vulnerability. The truth of her pain lingers still, and yet, I feel honored she trusts me with it. For a moment, I just sit here quietly, wanting her to know her words matter and I’m truly listening.
Then, softly, I say, “You’re not alone, Lydia. If you ever need someone to lean on, I’ll be here. But I don’t want to overstep or become a presence you’re not ready for.”
She reaches across the table, subtly threading her fingers with mine.
“No, I don’t want to be alone, Nick. But coming here and achieving even the small things I have these past few weeks has shown me I’m capable of living on my own. On my own terms. But no, I don’t want to be alone. And you’re definitely not overstepping.”
She looks up through hooded eyes, a small, shy smile playing on her lips. Our fingers intertwine fully, and I swear my heart skips a beat. I give her hand a gentle squeeze, struck by how natural it feels, like our hands are made to fit together.
“If everything goes as well as your sister thinks, hopefully I’ll be rid of Simon sooner rather than later. Then I can finally start living my own life.” Her smile widens.
Can that life include me?
I want Lydia to have the independence she craves, but I also want to be part of her life, in whatever way she’ll let me.
I want to be the one who tells her how beautiful she looks each morning.
The one who brings her coffee and scones just because I know how much she loves them.
I want to be there to encourage her to live life on her own terms and carve out her own space in this world.
I wonder if she could ever trust me enough to let me in. To allow herself to lean on someone again without fear. I don’t want to rush her, but I hope she sees I’m different. I want to be her safe place. Someone she can turn to. Someone who will never make her feel small or powerless.
As I watch her, a quiet determination settles in my chest. Whatever pace she needs, I’ll match it. Every step of the way.
I clear my throat, the emotion making it feel rough. “What are you doing Friday night?”
“Friday night? Nothing, I don’t think. What’s up?” She looks at me curiously, tossing her last fry into her mouth.
“It’s my mom’s birthday dinner, and I’d love for you to come with me. As friends,” I add, even though what I’m feeling for Lydia goes far beyond friendship.
But I remind myself again that while she’s filed for divorce from her abusive, dickbag husband, she’s still off-limits.
“Your mom’s birthday? That sounds like a family thing.
I wouldn’t want to impose.” She wrings her hands together nervously, but I can tell by the look in her eyes she’s interested.
Lydia hasn’t been around many people since coming here, and I have a feeling she might be a little starved of friendship.
Friendship. I can do that. I can do the hell out of that.
“No imposition. You’ve already met Norah, and she’ll bring my niece Abby, who I’m sure you’ll love because she’s the coolest kid on the planet, and Mom loves everyone. A couple of the guys from the shop will be there too. She always insists on making her own dinner, so the food will be great.”
I pause, not wanting to overwhelm her or come off pushy. I’ve lived here my entire life, so meeting new people is rare for me. For her, this would mean walking into a house full of strangers.
I soften my tone and offer her a gentle smile. “But I promise, if it ever feels too much, you can tell me and we’ll make a quick escape. No pressure at all. I just thought it might be nice for you to meet a few more folks and eat some really good cake.”
I search her face for any sign of hesitation, hoping she sees this as an invitation and how badly I want her there.
“Okay,” she says simply, giving a little shrug.
“Okay?” I repeat, making sure I heard her right.
“Nick, I’d love to meet your family. Norah is wonderful, and your mom has great taste in books, and if your niece is the coolest kid on the planet, then I’m excited to meet her.
Plus, I really love cake. I mean, I really, really like cake.
If you couldn’t tell by the size of my hips,” she says with a smirk.
Those hips. I want to squeeze them so hard I leave imprints of my fingertips. I want to hold onto them and—
Dammit, Nick. Just friends.
I let out a low sound at her self-deprecation. “Your hips are fucking incredible, Lydia.” I set my jaw and hold her stare so she knows I mean it. “Incredible.”
Then I wink at her, because apparently I have zero self-control.
The faint blush that spreads across her cheeks goes straight to my dick, and I have to adjust myself under the table.
She smirks like she knows exactly what she’s doing. This girl might be the death of me.
And I’ll go willingly if it means I get to have her.