Chapter 4
The Change
Nate
Every time I close my eyes, it’s there again: her eyes, that deep green I’d never seen before; the heat of her mouth pressed against mine; the slick sweep of her tongue. And me not stopping her.
I roll over, arm hitting the cold sheets on Robyn’s empty side. We still live separately, but we’re solid. Serious. She doesn’t just have a side here. She has a drawer, a shelf, the snacks she likes. A key. Just as I do at her place. We’re always together, one bed or the other.
Except last night. It was late when I got back, later than I’d planned, so I decided to go home. It felt like I owed her that. Not showing up in her bed with guilt and someone else’s taste. I’d sleep alone, get my head on straight, then face the new day.
It didn’t help.
When I reach for my phone, the screen lights up with unread texts.
A photo of Robyn’s half-empty coffee mug from the hospital lounge.
Her name scribbled on the board. A selfie of her tired smile.
Long raven curls in a high ponytail, blue eyes dimmed with exhaustion, full and lush lips shining from lip balm.
Lips that aren’t the last ones I kissed. Fuck.
She’s in the final stretch of this damn program—rounds, consults, case notes, repeat. Once she’s through, she’ll finally be able to breathe again. And I’ll breathe with her. I want her to get everything she’s ever worked for. She doesn’t need this meaningless distraction.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I rub the heel of my palm against my eyes. Feeling off-balance, I move through the apartment in the half dark and step over a sweatshirt Robyn left. The smell of her shampoo is still faint on it, and my stomach twists.
It was nothing. Just a stupid, impulsive joke—Tessa’s words.
A kiss that meant less than the thought behind it. And it’s not like I kissed her back. Not really.
I crank the shower until the pipes groan, and let water scorch my skin until it goes cold. With my palms against the tile and chest tight, I breathe through the memory as it flickers behind my eyelids again. The scrape of her nails on my neck. Her smile against my mouth.
It’s fine. Like Tessa said, what Robyn doesn’t know can’t hurt her. My girl doesn’t need that image in her head. She doesn’t need to feel betrayed when she wasn’t. There’s no need for her to doubt us. Not when we’re solid. So fucking solid.
By the time I’m dressed and out the door, I’ve almost talked myself down.
I just need to see Robyn. That’s all. To kiss her—really kiss her.
Deep and unhurried until we’re both breathless, with her laughing against my mouth.
Until she’s pulling me by my shirt, her fingers raking through my hair and her thigh hooked over my hips.
I want to feel consumed by her until the world narrows to the brush of her lips, the soft catch of her breath, the tangle of us.
I focus on my work, answering emails, reviewing proposals and floor plans, but by eleven, I’m restless.
If I take a long lunch, we could eat together when her break starts.
And when I kiss her, the love and desire between us will bloom inside me until I’m hard with the need to keep her close and have no room for anything else, certainly not the ghost of another kiss.
On a whim, I decide to rush out. Jogging across Dearborn Street, I slide one arm into my coat.
By the time I’m standing outside Robyn’s hospital staff entrance, I’m sweating at the collar, pulse jumping.
But I’m on time for her lunch break, and I’ve got boba tea and her favorite sushi order.
Any second, she’s going to come out these doors, and we’ll have lunch together on the bench in the hospital garden overlooking the lake.
Now that it’s almost March, in four months and two weeks, her program will be done and we’ll move in together.
She’ll finally get the sleep she deserves, and I’ll finally ask her.
Grandma’s ring is still hidden in a shoebox inside a suitcase, behind a pile of old board games in the hall closet.
That kiss isn’t anything unless I make it out to be.
Fifteen minutes passes without Robyn taking her lunch break, so I text her. A selfie outside her hospital, holding the goods. Her response is quick.
Robyn: Nate, I’m so sorry. I had to work through lunch today. Let me make it up to you?
I rub the center of my chest, trying to soothe the tightness gathering there. I should have known, she’s racking up ‘let me make it up to you’s. And I’m not mad, but I’m disappointed … and not surprised.
Shoulders slumped, I walk back toward my firm, but the thought of eating my lunch for two alone at my desk turns my stomach, so I cross the street and take a seat at one of the mall’s outdoor tables instead. Just as I’m sipping my drink, I hear a familiar laugh.
Standing a few feet to my side, a coffee tumbler in one hand, sunglasses in the other, is Tessa.
Her blonde hair’s pulled in a sleek and glossy ponytail. She’s wearing an open blazer, soft gray, professional. Underneath, a flowery blouse has the first few buttons undone, making it an edgy, bold outfit. For the first time, I have to think about looking away from my friend’s form.
“Hey, stranger,” she says, clapping her hands together.
She gives me a lopsided smile and takes a seat next to me. Her arm slides up mine, with confidence I won’t pull away, and her fingers brush the back of my neck.
“I’m so glad you could make it!” she says, voice bubbling over as she draws me in for a hug.
I circle my arms around her waist, realizing a beat too late that it’s just a hug.
We’ve hugged without me thinking about it for years.
And it’s never meant anything, but this one …
this one feels different. Her side is flush against mine, and the softness of her curves press in on me.
I don’t want to notice any of it, not the slight hitch of her exhale or when her citrusy perfume floods my senses.
I let go, startled.
“I didn’t think you’d see my text in time!”
I’m about to ask what she means when my phone buzzes next to the cupholder—Robyn’s lychee boba and my Vietnamese coffee. Then I check my phone, swiping out of Robyn’s apology.
Tessa: Want to meet me for lunch? My coworkers say there’s a mall with a food court and outdoor tables halfway between your job and mine. Isn’t that great? No biggie if you have meetings!
A stupid coincidence.
“And you ordered already!” she singsongs.
Before I can correct her, she plucks the lychee drink from the tray, takes a long sip, lips closing around the straw, and hums. The sound slinks through the space between us, tensing my already shot nerves.
My laugh is uncomfortable, but she doesn’t notice. “Hey, Tess, I didn’t think you liked boba tea.”
She arches a brow. “I’m evolving,” she says, voice low, teasing. Her arms cross—an innocent enough move—but it pushes her chest up, the neckline of her blouse dipping just enough that I have to drag my eyes away before I get caught looking.
What the hell am I doing?
I cough, pulling myself together to reclaim my girlfriend’s drink. “Actually, that’s—” The imprint of Tessa’s lipstick on the straw, dark red, almost burgundy, stops me.
It’s silly, even wasteful, but I don’t want Tessa’s lips on anything that’s meant to be Robyn’s.
“What do we have here?” she murmurs, leaning over the takeout box and opening it with care.
I cover her hand with mine, and her skin is soft, warm, and familiar even when the awareness is newly dangerous.
“Actually,” I say, trying for easy, steady, normal, “I was taking this to Robyn. She works a few blocks over. Sometimes, I like to surprise her for lunch. Squeeze in a little extra time together, you know?”
I expect her to drop it, but she doesn’t. “Oh, I’m sorry! I thought you were here for me. Am I keeping you?”
I glance at her. “No, not really. It’s good running into you.” I stare into her eyes like I would any acquaintance. Have her eyes always been moss green?
Her lips twitch. “You’re sweet,” she says, tone airy, smiling sweetly. “But why are you here, eating all alone instead of with Robyn?”
“Oh, well.” My gaze avoids hers. “She couldn’t make it, so I just got back.”
“You’re a good one, Nate,” she says the words around a sad smile before her lips turn into a pout. “That must have been hard.”
There’s nothing in the words themselves, but the way she says them, lingers. Her eyes linger too, and I don’t move because it was hard—like a slap on your face.
“Come on. We can keep each other company.” She pats my left arm.
I shift in my seat, ready to say my goodbye and head into my office, but Tessa’s watching me—bright-eyed, wearing that easy half smile.
“I don’t want to eat alone.”
Neither do I. I can’t tear my eyes away from how her fingers curl around my forearm.
She shrugs one shoulder, her perfume catching the air between us. “Besides, you owe me after yesterday.”
My pulse jumps. Yesterday. Same yesterday I’ve planned to scrub from my brain. Same yesterday that should’ve never happened. I start to protest, but she leans a little closer, lowering her voice enough that I need to lean into her.
“Come on. Don’t you know anything about women?” Her hand lands lightly against my chest. She’s done this before, a hundred times, but her touch feels hotter than it should. “You gotta let us down gently or we go a little crazy.”
I shouldn’t.
“You know what, let’s just split what I’ve got,” I say, stuffing my phone into my pocket.
Her grin widens. “You’re sure?”
This is the Tessa I’ve known forever, checking in on how I feel.
I relax and nod. “It’s all good. She can’t make it anyway.”
I tell myself it’s fine. This is just food. Friends do lunch all the time. Robyn’s best friend’s a guy—they grab coffee, text, and no one thinks twice. This is no different. Well, except Robyn didn’t kiss her best friend last night. I blink away the thought. This is totally fine.
Still, when Tessa’s knee brushes mine under the table, I feel it. When she laughs, head tipped back, eyes shining, I track them. And I hate it. Still, they eat lunch all the time. There’s nothing there. Nothing here.
She picks at a roll. “They’re showing Trolls 2, that so-bad-it’s-funny horror movie at midnight this Friday,” she says.
“Hey, that movie’s a cult classic.”
Her laugh sits in her glistening eyes. “We should all go—it’d be hilarious.”
“All?” I echo, though I already know the answer.
“You, me, the whole crew. Maybe Robyn, if she’s not working.” Her smile’s wide, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Robyn’s not working. It’s her first Friday off in weeks. I want to be with her.”
Her smile doesn’t fade, but it does shift, softening at the edges. “Awesome. She should come along.”
“Tessa, no.” I try to keep it even, not sharp. “I want time with just her, you know?”
“You dog!” She smacks my shoulder, then glances down, taking a slow sip from Robyn’s drink. The straw bends slightly, a tiny creak in the silence.
“It’s not that,” I add, quieter now, “Trolls 2 isn’t exactly Robyn’s thing. We get little time together as it is. I want her to enjoy it.”
She hums, noncommittal, eyes on the beads of condensation sliding down the plastic cup. Then, with an unbothered tone, she adds, “Well, if plans change …” Her gaze flicks up, meeting mine. “You know where I’ll be.”
When I stand, putting this lunch to an end, I feel lighter.
A few weeks after I met her, Tessa and I were raiding her kitchen for snacks when her mom’s voice carried down the hall, sharing that her grandmother had passed.
Tessa bolted, tears running down her cheeks, in nothing but a thin long-sleeved T-shirt.
She ran to the park and into the bushes behind the playground.
I was right behind her, having taken just one extra second to grab my jacket.
The heavy snow melted on her skin and hair.
It took me thirty minutes to get her to come back inside and another twenty before she stopped shaking long enough to breathe.
It had felt good then, like I’d done something that mattered. I couldn’t make my dad stay, but I could make her feel safe. Maybe that’s where it started—this warm feeling I get when I fix what isn’t mine to fix.
So, now, though, telling Tessa no comes easy because Robyn is who I want to spend my time with, every chance I get. No matter how few.
As we cross the street, Tessa mentions that since her new office is so close to mine, we should make this a daily thing—lunch buddies. And she walks ahead of me, hips swaying, with her inner thigh visible through the slit in the back of her skirt.
I hate that I notice. That I can’t seem to not notice.