16. Rory
Rory
“Not that one.” Allie leans into the camera, shaking her head.
I shrug and lay the dress back on Stacey’s bright-white comforter. I have no idea how she keeps it clean.
“I don’t have that much in the way of skirts, though. And I only brought a couple of options over here.”
“You can borrow something of mine!” Stacey hops up from the bed’s edge and heads for her walk-in closet, her socks padding across the carpet that matches her white of her comforter.
The walls are a shade darker than the floors, a pale gray, but together they make a perfect canvas for the colorful array of pillows scattered across the bed. The paintings, hung on the walls in artful clusters, add another pop of color.
If Stacey wasn’t a teacher, she could have had a great career as an interior designer.
“See if you can find something casual. Like jeans and a cute top,” Allie says.
I reach for my glass of wine, needing something to calm my nerves. “Why did I agree to this again?”
“Because you two belong together,” Allie says.
She lifts her glass in a toast through the screen. It’s filled with sparkling water since she’s still working, although we both know that she’s been known to have a glass of wine during a work lunch.
I, on the other hand, left work at two o’clock to meet Stacey as soon as her day was done, and both of us are halfway through our wineglasses. These, unlike Allie’s, are filled with actual wine.
“Not to mention, you two need to talk. I think you should hear him out,” Stacey says. “How about this?”
She holds up two tops for Allie’s approval.
Apparently I don’t get a say in what I wear tonight.
I sip at my wine. It’s probably just as well. I’ve always picked clothes based on comfort and function rather than how they look.
But then, the last time Nate saw me, I was covered in hay and dirt and manure, so anything would be an improvement.
“Perfect,” Allie says. “Try the black one, then the pink.”
I take both tops into the bathroom, where my jeans lay puddled on the floor. I hope Allie’s right with going casual.
One, because it’s how I’m most comfortable.
But two, and perhaps most importantly, because I’m already stressed about seeing Nate, about talking to him. If I have to be in a fancy outfit to hear him explain how he ruined all my past relationships, I’m not sure I’ll make it through the night.
I toss the last of my wine back like it’s a tequila shot before I shed the dress and pull my jeans back on.
Both of the offered tops are cute. I’ll give them that.
The black one catches my eye first. Its short flutter sleeves and lacy overlay that levels it up from a T-shirt to something you want to be seen in. It makes a statement, as they say.
I pull it on, checking out my image in the mirror, then open the door.
“What do you guys think?” I ask. I turn in a circle so they can get the full effect.
“Ooh. Love it,” Allie says. “But let’s see the other one.”
Stacey nods her agreement.
I duck back into the bathroom and switch tops. Even before I step out, I know this second option is the one.
The black top was comfortable and sexy. But this?
The fuchsia is a few shades darker than the pink streak in my hair, and it somehow brings out a rosy glow in my cheeks. The material is soft and silky, and it wraps around my body like it was made for me.
Somehow it falls just right, accentuating my chest without giving me true cleavage and dipping in at the waist to create the illusion of an hourglass shape.
Damn, I look hot.
I’m all smiles when I display the outfit for Stacey and Allie.
Stacey lets out a whistle of approval, while Allie claps her hands.
“Yes. Perfect. You’re going to knock him dead.” Allie looks at something off-screen. “Shoot, I have to run. Call me later. I need details. All of them.”
She signs off, the screen going black.
“That’s the one,” Stacey says, nodding. “Perfect timing on Allie’s part because you don’t need to try on anything else. That’s the one.”
“Are you sure I can borrow it?” I don’t own any shirts like this, and I’m not sure how pricy they are.
I run my palms over the material again. It’s smooth, luxurious.
I feel like a million bucks.
Stacey waves a hand in the air as though the idea of me borrowing her fancy clothing is a foregone conclusion. “Of course. In exchange for details of your date. Tomorrow night at High Times?”
I chew on my lip. Neither of the bars are safe now, if I’m looking to avoid Nate, not since he showed up at High Times that night.
“The details, you’ve got. But…not sure where I’ll be at in terms of potentially running into Nate. Maybe we can hang out here at your place?”
“Perfect. I should be home around…four? I have a meeting after school.” Stacey glances at the clock on her bedside table. “What time is he picking you up? Do you need to shower or anything first?”
“He’s picking me up at five.” I look at the clock, too, realizing that somehow, almost an hour has passed.
I’m going to have to hurry if I want to wash my hair before this date.
“Ooh, you should get going!” Stacey says. “Don’t want to rush. Have fun. Tell me everything. Make good choices.”
I can promise I’ll tell her everything.
Fun? Not sure yet. It depends on what Nate has to say and what he has planned.
And good choices?
If there’s anything I know for sure, it’s that where Nate’s concerned, I never make good choices.
It feels like I’m getting ready for a first date.
The butterflies of anticipation dance in my stomach as I apply another coat of mascara.
It shouldn’t be this nerve-racking. I’ve known Nate for years—for almost my entire life, really.
We’ve been on dates before. Lots of them.
But with Yvonne’s revelation upending our relationship, I feel like I don’t know him at all. In my wildest dreams, I never would have imagined that Nate would do something to mess with my life.
It still feels like a gut punch when I let myself think about it.
I’m torn. On the one hand, thinking of him meddling in my love life makes me want to cut him out of my life altogether. To not give him another chance and force him to deal with the consequences of his own actions.
But on the other hand, I really don’t know exactly what happened. Maybe there is more to the story.
And then, there’s my mom.
Allie and Stacey.
Dylan.
All of these people who I trust and care for are pushing for me to give Nate a chance.
So this is for them. I took their advice.
Now we see what happens.
I blow out a breath as I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if the makeup is too much.
The thick eyeliner makes my eyes stand out and the cream blush adds a layer of pink to my cheeks.
I add another layer of mascara, then flutter my lashes at my reflection.
I like this look, and that’s what matters. Plus, it’s too late to redo my makeup or to back out of this whole thing.
Nate should be here within half an hour.
I twist the mascara tube to tighten it. The doorbell rings, startling me, and I drop the tube with a clatter.
Jeez. Jumpy much, Rory?
I shake my head and rescue the mascara from the sink.
Deep breaths.
It’s probably just a neighbor being nosy.
“How are you guys doing?” The voice filters through the bathroom door, and I know that voice.
It’s deep and soft and oh-so-sexy, and I nearly drop the entire makeup bag into the sink.
It’s Nate.
Wait a second. What’s he doing here so early?
I peek at my cell phone, wondering if I’m running later than I thought.
But nope, I’m not going crazy.
He’s half an hour early, sexy voice and all.
Darn him.
I press my ear to the bathroom door, trying to hear the conversation.
Nate and my parents must have all moved to the living room or kitchen, though. Somewhere in the house that’s farther from the bathroom than the front door.
I’m not sure what kind of information I’m hoping to pick up from eavesdropping anyway. If anything, I’m just wondering what Nate’s reaction will be when he sees my mom.
I don’t remember just how long it’s been since he’s seen her. She’s changed a lot in just the last week or so, getting thinner and weaker, and compared to a month or more ago? She’s an entirely different person. The illness is starting to take its toll.
She didn’t tell me she’d met with Nate or talked to him, but from what she said, it sounds like she knew something when she told me to give him another chance.
So maybe there are things I don’t know about yet.
The thought is both intriguing and unsettling.
I turn from side to side, looking in the mirror one last time.
Stacey and Allie were right. This top looks great on me.
I debate which shoes will go best with the outfit and finally settle on a pair of ankle boots with a heel.
They’ll give me a couple of extra inches, which I definitely need next to Nate. Plus, they’ll keep my feet warm.
I check my outfit one last time and then crack the door open. Faint voices filter down the hallway.
I follow the sound to the kitchen. But as I get close enough to see into the room, I stop short.
My parents sit at the weathered kitchen table, paper napkins on their laps.
Nate stands at the counter, his back to me.
Even though I can’t see his face, my body starts to respond, my pulse thrumming faster in my veins.
I’m still mad at him, and he has a long way to go to earn back my trust. And that’s assuming I ever decide to offer it again.
But my ovaries don’t seem to have gotten the message. They’re bringing up memories of Nate’s body weight on top of me, of his length sliding deep inside me.
And fuck. I can’t think about that right now. My parents are right there, for God’s sake.
Even if they weren’t, the physical aspect of my relationship with Nate has never been an issue. It’s not where I should be focusing.
It’s the emotional aspect. The trust between us. That’s what needs attention.
I manage to look away from Nate’s broad shoulders for a moment to take in the rest of the kitchen.
The trash has recently been emptied.
A vase of fresh flowers sits on the table, the reds and yellows and oranges brightening the space.
A delicious scent hits my nostrils as I breathe in.
Italian food, maybe?
My mouth waters.
“Nate?” I finally say, stepping into the kitchen, mostly spurred by the promise of pasta and marinara sauce. “What are you doing?”
He turns, and his face softens when he sees me. “Rory.”
His voice changes when he says my name, too. Like my name is an expensive wine that he wants to hold in his mouth for as long as possible before swallowing it down.
Reverent and hopeful and a million other things all at once.
And for some reason I can’t explain, I’m nervous.
This is the furthest thing from a first date, but the butterflies in my stomach don’t seem to have gotten the message.
Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me, holding me on a metaphorical pedestal.
I take in a breath, hold it while I count to three, and then let it go.
It may feel nice to be revered like that. But when you’re on a pedestal, the only place to go is down.
“Can I…” Nate takes a few tentative steps toward me.
He doesn’t seem nervous, though, not completely. If anything, his demeanor calls to mind the careful steps of someone who’s approaching a frightened animal.
As he gets close, he holds his arms out, a question on his face.
I understand why he’s staring at me like this. Because while I want to tuck myself against his chest and hold on tight to his embrace, I can’t let myself do that.
I need to touch him, though, so with my heart beating fast, I nod and let him wrap his arms around me for a quick hug.
“Thank you for giving me a chance,” he murmurs against my ear.
He embraces me for a few extra seconds before he releases me.
When he steps back, the loss of him is cold, dizzying.
I swallow hard, trying to steady myself. Hoping he can’t see the effect he still has on me.
“Anyway, to answer your question,” he says, his tone conversational, like he didn’t just ignite a fire in my belly, “I came by a little early because I picked up a lasagna from Mountain High. They’re doing prepackaged pasta dinners now too.
It’s in the oven. I figured I’d have a little time before you were ready, though. ”
“Oh. I didn’t know you were going to cook. I thought we were going out.” Shoot, that didn’t come out right. “I mean, it’s fine to eat here. Whatever you want to do. I wasn’t even sure what to wear, but this is okay if we’re staying here, right? I guess I don’t need shoes, then, too, so that helps.”
I can’t stop rambling until Nate sets his large palms on my upper arms. The slight pressure steadies me.
“We are going out. And there’s no reason to stress, Rory. This is supposed to be fun.”
“Then what…” I’m not even sure what to ask.
Nate smiles, the kind that transforms his whole face into an expression that tells me everything is going to be all right. That he’s going to take care of me.
My muscles ease as he runs his hands along my arms.
“I’m making dinner for your parents, Rory. That’s all. I figured they need to eat, too, and I had some extra time to pick this up so I can make it for them. That’s why I’m early.”
When he gives me that look and pairs it with that reassuring voice, those soothing words, it’s hard to remember why I’m mad at him in the first place. Why I left.
He has this way of making me fall under his spell.
I take a step back, putting space between us.
This was the reason I avoided Nate for so long after our first breakup. Why I’ve been trying to keep from running into him in town.
Because when I’m around him, I can’t keep myself from falling in love with him all over again.
And that’s what terrifies me the most.