Chapter 6
Nate
Ishould have been ready.
Her face has been in my dreams for the last ten years. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t think of her—how she looked back then, what she’d be like today.
But nothing could have prepared me for the absolute gut punch of seeing Rory on my front porch.
My heart hammers in my chest as I take her in.
She’s changed in a lot of ways—her hair is longer, shinier, with a streak of pink running through it that seems out of character, but somehow suits her at the same time. Her face is more angular, her brows more defined.
But her eyes are the same warm brown, even though they’re lined with black, and her lashes are impossibly long. Her jeans hug her hips, a fitted T-shirt with a picture of a cartoon cat molding to her top half. It’s exactly the same type of whimsical shirt that teenage Rory would have chosen.
Her lips are the same shape, too, and my gaze hovers on them for an extra beat. Light pink, dewy, and they look like they’d be soft.
I wonder if it would feel the same to kiss them now.
“It’s good to see you, Rory,” I say.
And it is good to see her, but the feelings are complicated. She was my first love, my best friend. Losing her cut me more deeply than anything had at that point, and I’ve never completely gotten over that pain.
I’ve never gotten closure, but I’ve never really gotten over her, either. For the last decade, she’s been the one who got away. The one I compared every other girl to.
Seeing her brings that spark of attraction back to the forefront of my mind—fuck, she’s beautiful, even more than she was at eighteen, and in different ways that I’m aching to explore—but it brings back the pain of her leaving, too, and I remind myself to take things slow.
To see if we can reconnect as friends, even if I’ve wanted every inch of her for over a decade.
“Hi, Nate.”
Her voice is different, too. It’s slightly deeper, almost husky in a way I didn’t fully appreciate when we talked on the phone. It’s the voice of a woman, not a girl, and it hits me how long it’s been. How much she’s changed.
How much we both have.
I’m still trying to reconcile the woman in front of me with the girl from so long ago when she steps forward and gives me a hug.
There are so many things to say, so many questions to ask, but they’re all forgotten when she wraps her arms around me, her fingers barely brushing behind my broad back.
This shouldn’t feel so perfect, so comfortable. So right. I shouldn’t want to press my lips to hers and carry her upstairs.
I return the hug before I step back and push a hand through my dark blond hair. I wonder if she likes the style I have now, with it slightly longer on top and shorter on the sides. In high school, it was longer, curling around my ears.
“Come on in.”
She takes a step toward me, and a flash of movement near her feet catches my eye and pulls my attention away from Rory for a second.
“What is that?” I ask, forgetting all of my questions for her as my eyes focus on what appears to be a tiny rat next to her.
The rat lets out a sound so high-pitched it suggests that the ugly little thing may actually be a bird of some sort. Or a hamster, if hamsters wore bedazzled collars around their necks.
Rory blinks at me innocently. “It’s a dog.”
That is not a dog. Ollie is a dog, with muscle and sharp teeth and the ability to bark in a normal register. Not whatever this tiny thing is.
Aside from being the size of a chicken—maybe even smaller—his fur is patchy, and one ear has a nick in it.
It’s clear he was a stray at some point, maybe even recently.
At his size, I worry that I’m going to trample him.
All it would take is one misplaced step of my size thirteen boot, and he’d be squashed like a bug.
He yips again, and I think a hamster may have been better. At the very least, quieter. And similarly squishable.
If I had a choice, I wouldn’t want this sewer rat in my house. But I do want Rory in my house, and the two of them come as a package deal.
I pull on the back of my neck, considering the little runt. He lets out another yip, proving my point. That isn’t a noise that a proper dog makes.
“Quiet, Spam,” Rory says.
She named her dog after preserved meat?
Rory beams at me. The rat sits on his haunches, displaying what I’m assuming is his best behavior.
Fuck.
I let out a long sigh. “Fine,” I concede. “The little guy can come inside too.”
Her face softens into a grateful smile, and something inside me melts.
“Thanks, Nate,” she says. “I didn’t really think it through, but he’s my doggy soulmate.”
She looks down at Spam with the kind of love usually reserved for a romantic partner, or at least a best friend.
The way she used to look at me.
I clear my throat. “So. Do you want to come in?”
Spam takes the invitation, bolting past Rory and me into the living room.
I send up a silent prayer to any God that will listen that Ollie won’t eat the tiny dog. Rory would never forgive me.
“Sure,” she says, stepping all the way past me into the entryway. “Thanks for offering a place to stay, by the way. I know you weren’t really planning on me being up here for more than a couple of days before the reunion, so I’m good just staying at the motel.”
I study her. She’s different. I’m seeing it even more now. Not just physically. I got a hint of it when she called, but it’s becoming clearer. The Rory I knew was rational, methodical. She thought everything through a thousand percent. Somehow that’s changed.
And she’s forgetting something important.
“You know you can’t have dogs at the motel, right?”
She chews at the corner of her lip. “I didn’t actually think of that.
” She glances at the mutt, who’s attempting to climb onto my sofa.
“I stopped by my parents’ house before I came here.
They’re on a cruise or something, but I figured I could stay there.
Anyway, I couldn’t find the spare key. And then I called Dylan, and he’s remodeling, so I can’t stay with him. ”
I stride across the room to remove Spam from the furniture as Rory talks. You have to show a dog who’s in charge. You let them think they’re the master, you’ll never get them to listen. I point my finger at him sternly as I set him on the floor.
Spam takes off with no indication that he’s listening to me or recognizing me as an authority figure in any way.
I look back at Rory, who’s still in the entryway. “You’re more than welcome to stay here. I have a guest room, and I don’t mind the dog staying.” I do mind, a little, but he’s a dog. I love dogs, or at least most of them. “He’s housebroken, right?”
The look that passes across her face makes me think that he’s not, but fortunately, I mostly have hardwood floors.
She smiles brightly, seeming to accept the idea of staying with me remarkably quickly.
When I threw out the idea, I was serious about the offer, but I didn’t think she’d take me up on it.
The Rory I knew would have considered all the angles, overthought the consequences of the two of us in such close proximity.
“If you’re okay with Spam, I’ll take the guest room. Go with the flow and all that, right?”
She really is different. Go with the flow?
I follow her to a Ford pickup that looks like it’s seen better days. She sticks a key into a lock on the tailgate and lowers it. I’m distracted by the rust on the wheel well when she thrusts a laundry basket at me.
It’s not that I care how her truck looks. I just want her driving something safe.
Forcing myself not to comment on the condition of her vehicle, I give her a questioning look. Why did she bring her dirty laundry?
Rory laughs. It’s the same light, bubbly sound that has haunted my dreams for years. “Yeah, I don’t really have matching luggage. It’s the best I could do, and it’s easy to toss things into while I pack. Don’t worry. It’s clean.”
She shoulders a duffel bag and holds a tote bag with a logo and the words Arapahoe County Animal Shelter emblazoned on it over her other arm.
“You want me to get those? Or one of them?” I ask.
Rory shakes her head. “I’ve got it. And both your hands are full. Let’s get in there before Spam pees on the floor.”
Something tells me that letting the dog stay is something I’m going to regret, but it’s too late to back out now. Besides, where is Rory going to stay that will allow this little guy to be there, too?
She shrugs, tucking her brown hair behind one ear, the pink strand more prominent this way. It’s cute on her. Sassy. Different from the straitlaced Rory I remember, but I think I may like this version of her.
“He is housebroken. Mostly. He only peed once in my apartment, but he was smart enough to do it on the kitchen floor.”
Oh boy. I’m not sure peeing anywhere indoors is considered a win.
I decide to let it go for now. I’ve spent enough time working with Ollie to feel fairly comfortable training dogs, and while Spam may not have a future as a police dog, I’m optimistic that I can work on getting him housebroken.
When we’re inside again, Rory looks around, taking in the living room. “I love this house. I didn’t realize you were living in your parents’ old house. Where are they now? Or do they live with you?”
I swallow against the lump that rises in my throat. “Dad died during my senior year of college. By the time they found the cancer, it was too late.”
Rory’s face softens. “Oh, Nate. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
I’m not sure why her parents wouldn’t have passed along the news. Pain stabs at my heart at the thought that she may not have wanted to hear anything about me from them.
I clear my throat. “Thank you. Anyway, Mom didn’t want to stay here all alone, so she moved to New Mexico not long after he passed away. And…I bought their house.” I gesture at it. “Come on in. I’ll show you around.”
Spam follows us through the house, weaving around our ankles in what seems like a calculated attempt to make one of us fall.