Chapter Thirteen #2
Nate threw back his head and gave a full-bodied laugh that made his dark eyes sparkle. ‘No, Lucy, I’m definitely making you a bed of your own. But I find you interesting, and you don’t give much away about yourself.’
‘Don’t I?’ Being the focus of Nate’s attention in this way was making Lucy feel a little uncomfortable, like he could see into her soul.
Nate started pumping again, but slower this time. ‘No. You and Jonno, you’re a tight unit, you know? You don’t really let other people in.’
‘He’s a good friend,’ said Lucy. ‘I’ve known him a long time.’
‘I know,’ said Nate. ‘I’m not suggesting it’s anything else. Is that why you don’t leave? Because of Jonno?’
Lucy thought for a moment, wondering how open to be. Talking about Leo made her heart hurt, but she’d already told Nate most of it and, all things considered, she had nothing much to lose at this point. ‘OK – honesty time?’
Nate stopped pumping and nodded.
‘I like it in Bristol. It’s where my brother lived before he .
. . died.’ Lucy faltered, then took a deep breath and carried on.
‘After I graduated I bought a place there, to feel closer to him. LUNA is the best agency in Bristol, and Jonno and I are a really good creative partnership. So that’s why I stay. ’
‘Wow,’ said Nate, blinking at her.
‘Well, you did ask.’
‘No, really,’ said Nate. ‘I appreciate you being so honest.’
Lucy shrugged, surprised at how easy he was to talk to. Before today they’d barely given each other the time of day, and yet here she was, telling him her secrets. ‘I’m blaming wine and altitude.’
‘And J?germeister.’
‘God, the J?ger. Whose idea was that?’ Her stomach still felt a bit queasy.
‘Gunther’s, I think.’ Nate knelt down to remove the pump from the second bed and quickly put the plug in as the air started to hiss out. ‘OK, you can do the bedding now.’
‘Are you going back down to the bar?’
‘Yeah, I need some more food. Monica mentioned a load of ice cream that needs eating. Are you coming back down?’
‘No,’ said Lucy, feeling drunk and exhausted and a bit discombobulated by all this soul-baring and heavy conversation. ‘I’m going to put on some of Monica’s ugly pyjamas and try to get some sleep.’
Nate looked at his watch. ‘Really? It’s not even eight.’
‘I know,’ said Lucy, torn between needing to be alone for a little while, and a strange and powerful desire for Nate to stay so they could be alone together. ‘But it’s been quite a day, and I’m shattered.’
Nate looked guilty, clearly thinking he’d been talking too much when Lucy’s head was full of Leo, probably.
‘I’ll be fine,’ smiled Lucy. ‘Just don’t trip over me when you come back up.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Nate with a weak smile. He paused for a second, then tilted his head. ‘I definitely can’t tempt you?’
Oh God, you definitely could, thought Lucy.
Nate’s face was half in shadow with his hair flopping over one eye, making his cheekbones look like razors.
His hands were on his hips, highlighting the definition in his arms. He was unquestionably hot and she was starting to understand him better, but the thing he had going on with Sasha loomed large.
Lucy had worked hard to get her life under control and keep things simple and uncomplicated, so why blow it all on a one-night stand with Nate Lambert?
‘I’m OK here, thanks.’
Nate took the hint and headed down the creaky stairs, leaving Lucy to organise the bedding, then lie on her back in the milky torchlight.
It was warm and peaceful up here, the chatter and laughter from the bar distant and reassuring, and she took a moment to take some deep breaths and enjoy being alone for the first time since she’d woken up that morning.
She wondered fleetingly if Chantal was cosied up next to Nate in what she already thought of as their booth, and then asked herself why she cared.
Maybe if she slept, things would feel clearer in the morning.
When Lucy woke, three things immediately occurred to her.
Firstly, that Nate wasn’t on the airbed next to her – it was still neatly made with a smooth duvet and pillow.
She glanced at her phone to see the time, but the remaining battery was long gone.
So instead she looked at her smart watch, which was also entirely dead and useless.
Apparently nobody in the ‘what’s the bare minimum acceptable battery life?
’ team at Apple had considered the impact of being stranded on a mountain during a power cut.
Secondly, that in her keenness to shut everything out she’d forgotten to clean her teeth or wash her clothes, so her mouth felt like the inside of a charity shop handbag and she was facing the unappealing prospect of putting dirty underwear back on in the morning.
And thirdly, that somebody downstairs was, for some inexplicable reason, listening to Ed Sheeran.
She lay in bed for a few minutes, processing all these new facts.
Without knowing the time, it was impossible to know if she’d been asleep for twenty minutes or three hours, although it definitely felt like more than a nap.
The clothes situation made her feel itchy; she hated not feeling clean, or wearing unwashed clothes.
But clearly Ed Sheeran meant that some people downstairs were still awake.
Her thoughts drifted to Chantal, and an imagined scenario where she and Nate were the only ones left in the bar, having a nightcap in the glow of the dying fire embers, Ed Sheeran singing a smushy love song as they edged closer together . . .
Time to do some laundry, thought Lucy, hurriedly rearranging Monica’s pyjamas where they’d twisted and bunched up in various places.
She stretched a head torch over her bed hair and gathered up her clothes, then tiptoed down the stairs to the bathroom, which also contained the washing machine.
She pressed the power button, hoping the generator might have magically repaired itself, but nothing happened.
So instead she ran some hot water into the bath and threw her clothes in with some detergent.
Once everything was clean, she drained the bath and rinsed each item out under the tap, then wrung everything out over the empty bath until it was no longer dripping.
By the time she’d finished, Ed Sheeran was singing the mawkishly sentimental ‘Thinking Out Loud’.
The idea of Chantal taking Nate into her loving arms made Lucy feel even more itchy, so she gathered up her wet clothes and padded through the corridor to the door that connected Gunther and Monica’s house to the bar.
Lucy turned off her head torch and silently opened the door, praying she wasn’t about to get a prime view of Nate orally servicing Chantal by candlelight, then froze in stunned silence as she took in the scene.
Gunther and Monica were to her left behind the bar, smiling and swaying gently.
Chantal was next to them, her fingers pressed together in prayer in front of her lips, and her expression nothing short of enraptured.
Andrea and Felix were in one of the booths, Andrea’s head resting on Felix’s shoulder.
Alex and Willem were next to them, Alex holding up his phone and apparently filming a video.
Lucy looked around the corner to see where his phone was pointed – Nate was sitting on a bar stool, playing Andrea’s guitar and . . . singing.
Fuck, thought Lucy, as realisation dawned.
It’s not an Ed Sheeran track, it’s Nate.
She could only see his shadowy profile, but his eyes were closed and he was singing with such intensity that she actually gasped.
His voice was uncannily like Ed Sheeran’s, but somehow it was so much more than Stars In Their Eyes-style karaoke – there was a raw authenticity to it, a heartfelt, gut-punching realness.
Lucy watched in awe, entirely breathless and lost for words.
Moving wasn’t an option, because then Nate would notice her and the spell would be broken.
Maybe it was J?ger, exhaustion and the uniquely stressful circumstances of this particular gig, but a song that had historically made Lucy want to puke was now making her want to cry.
Nate stretched out the final notes, then hung his head as applause broke out from every corner of the room.
He held his hand up in thanks, then turned to look at Lucy like he’d known she was there all along.
The smile he gave her set off a cage of butterflies in her stomach, and she couldn’t help but smile back, no longer caring that she was standing in a doorway in floral pyjamas and a head torch, clutching a bundle of wet clothes.
Shit, thought Lucy. The moody guy from my office is doing a candlelit Ed Sheeran tribute act, and apparently I now fancy the pants off him. This is very, very bad.