Chapter 20
Nadya
I WOKE TO THE SOUND of someone breathing deep, steady, and right up against my ear.
My brain, still thick with sleep, tried to guess if this was a hangover dream, or was I being smothered by a ninja with sleep apnea?
The delicious-smelling chest was everywhere.
I mean, how big could chests even get? And weren’t ninjas supposed to be smaller so they could climb into windows and whatnot?
And there was an arm under my neck like the world’s warmest python.
It took a second before reality filtered in. I had met Melissa, which brought all those memories right back. Painting and drinking could only go so far in silencing the ghosts, so it looked like I had found a new coping mechanism. Apparently, I’d spent the night using Nick as a security blanket.
My first instinct was to wriggle away and never speak of this again, but my head was tucked perfectly under his chin and the arm around me anchored me in place. And there was that whole thing where I didn’t want to move away.
I waited to panic, for the hot prickle of memory or the sense of being trapped, but it didn’t come. Just the weird, animal comfort of being held.
I almost let myself sink back under. Almost. But then Nick’s body got tense as he registered my presence.
“Sorry,” he said instantly, voice gravelly. He tried to roll away, and by roll away, I mean he jerked back, lost his balance, and flopped off the side in a tangle of sheets, thudding hard on the carpet.
I couldn’t help it— I started laughing. Not a polite giggle but a full-bodied snort that hurt my stomach.
Nick’s head reemerged at the mattress edge, eyes narrowed. “Glad you find my suffering entertaining.”
“I’m—” I choked down another laugh, “—so sorry. Are you okay?”
He propped himself up, rubbing his hip. “No serious injuries. My dignity’s dead, though.” His face was half-shadowed, but I could see the bloom of color on his cheek.
I scrambled up to sit, the sheet around my waist, and tried to look apologetic. “I didn’t mean to— um, snuggle you to the floor.”
He gave me a look that made it clear he didn’t buy a word of it. “You’re a regular menace in your sleep. First the black eye, now attempted manslaughter.”
“Manslaughter? You’re the one who tried to suffocate me with your chest.”
“Excuse me, but I believe this time you tried to suffocate yourself on my chest,” he pointed out.
“If you want to file a restraining order, now’s your chance,” I joked. Well, kinda joked because someone needed to do something so I wouldn’t do the one thing I knew I shouldn’t, like climb into his lap and kiss all his boo-boos better.
He shook his head, the laughter leaking away into something heavier. “I think I’d rather just sleep in a helmet.”
For a minute, we just sat there, the silence comfortable. I didn’t want to move. Or talk. Or ruin what was probably the least traumatic morning-after in my life.
Nick, apparently immune to awkwardness, checked his phone. “We should probably get train tickets before the whole town beats us to it.” He glanced over. “You want to go straight back to New York, or take a detour?”
“Straight back, please. The less time I spend here, the better.” I clutched the sheet tighter at the memory of how close we were to that house.
Nick pulled up the Amtrak app, scrolling one-handed. I scooted closer to see until my knee pressed against his thigh through the sheet. He didn’t move away.
“The next direct train isn’t until five,” he said.
“Gives me time to get my painting, I guess.” It hadn’t been dry enough to move last night, so I had left it in the studio.
He tapped at the screen, then stopped, fingers hovering. “You sure you’re okay after yesterday? You want to talk, or just...?”
“Just coffee,” I said, a little too fast. “Lots of it.”
He finished booking, then set his phone aside. “Then let’s get moving.”
We packed fast: Nick folded his few clothes with military efficiency, and I jammed my jeans and sweater into my backpack without even pretending to be neat.
Nick offered to carry my bag, but I said no. Then he did it anyway, slinging both duffels over his shoulder as if they were weightless.
At the front desk, the woman behind the counter gave us the kind of smirk that said she knew exactly how we’d spent the night, even though we hadn’t. I flushed, hoping Nick wouldn’t notice.
Outside, the air was colder than I remembered. The sun was up, but the wind bit through my sweater. I hunched my shoulders, and Nick handed me his jacket without a word.
“You’ll freeze,” I protested.
“Trust me, a little cold won’t kill me, but you do need the extra insulation,” he insisted.
I took the jacket, pulled it on, and let the collar cover the red on my face. God, it smelled so good. Why did he have to smell so good? Not fair.
We headed to the same diner we had gone to every morning. I loved having breakfast with Nick. It was such a normal thing to do.
Inside, the place was packed. Locals in ball caps, a pair of old women with identical perms, even the same hungover grad students from yesterday. It was loud, warm, and smelled like the inside of a toaster oven.
Nick led the way to an empty booth, and I slid in and tried to soak up the atmosphere.
Something about diners just did it for me.
It wasn’t pompous like expensive restaurants, there were signs of thousands of people coming and going, scuffing up tables and floors, but the food was usually good. It was real, with history and all.
A waitress with a nametag reading “FRAN” poured water and coffee before we’d even ordered.
“Two eggs sunny side up, hash, whole wheat toast,” Nick ordered.
I scanned the menu, pretending I needed to. “Pancakes, bacon and orange juice.” I glanced up at the waitress, daring her to judge.
She didn’t. “Good choice, sweetheart. You want butter and syrup?”
“Both,” I said, and she scribbled it down before shuffling off to the kitchen.
When she was gone, Nick turned to me, arms folded on the table. “You really okay?” he asked again, lower this time.
I wanted to lie. I wanted to say, “Never better,” but his eyes were too kind and understanding. “I just feel... full. Like I can’t cram another thing into my head without exploding.”
He nodded. “That’s fair. The last couple of days were a lot.”
When the food came, I went at the pancakes like a wolf, slathering on butter until it melted into yellow puddles. Nick dug into his eggs with the calm of a man who ate the same breakfast every day of his life.
After a while, he said, “You want to do anything before we catch the train?”
I considered. “There’s an art museum a few blocks from here. I saw the sign on the way in.”
His eyebrows arched in surprise. “You want to go?”
“Why not? We still have that studio for today, so we can leave our bags there and grab them and my painting before the train.” I took another bite of pancake. “Besides, I bet you’ve never been to an art museum.”
He grinned. “I actually have. Part of FBI training. Something about cultural literacy and blending in.”
I snorted. “You’re shitting me.”
He shrugged. “Fine, I lied. But I did go to quite a few galleries for one of the cases I was working.”
We bantered back and forth like that, easy and dumb, until the food was gone and the coffee was refilled twice.
Every now and then, our knees bumped under the table, sending sparks through my entire body.
No man should have this effect on me, yet here I was, with the one guy who really didn’t need my brand of crazy in his life.
When the bill came, Nick snatched it before I could protest. “You can get the museum tickets,” he said.
Yeah, that didn’t make me feel any less like this was a date. I mean... It wasn’t, of course. He was just being nice. But if it was, it’d be the best date I’d ever been on simply because of how easy it was to be around Nick. There were no games, no pretense, no trying to impress each other.
When we emerged from the diner, the sun was higher, the sky scrubbed clean of clouds. The world looked perfect, so much better than when we had first arrived here.
Weird. The way I viewed the world around me usually depended on my mood, so after facing my past, I should’ve been focusing only on the negatives. So why was everything so pretty all of a sudden?