Chapter Ten
Nate had clocked his error approximately five minutes ago while attempting to warm his damp T-shirt under the bathroom hand dryer and catching his reflection looking smug.
They were tucked into a corner booth, just far enough inside to seem private. A long mirror on the wall doubled the room, but all Nate could think about was the distance between them. The way her knee hovered just inches from his.
Ella had picked the place. “Good food,” she’d said. “But easy.”
This was not easy. This was a goddamn minefield.
She snapped her compact shut, tucking it back into her purse. “So? Presentable, or do I still resemble a drowned rat?”
Nate swallowed. “You, uh, look like you enjoyed all the river had to offer.”
“Hell yeah, I did.”
His gaze flicked down as she leaned back against the red leather banquette. The thin fabric of her top did nothing to hide the outline of her nipples. A sudden shiver traced his spine. Air conditioning, he told himself. Definitely the air conditioning.
A waiter appeared, and wine was ordered. The moment he left, Ella leaned forward, fingers curling against the table. “I’m still buzzing from those rapids, though. Is that normal? Or am I having a delayed panic response?”
“Not sure those ripples qualify as rapids.”
Her mouth fell open. “Excuse you.”
“They were aggressive puddles at best.”
“I nearly died.”
“You floated. While screaming.”
“I did not scream.”
“You absolutely did.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I yelped. It’s different, and you’re enjoying this.”
“I enjoyed remaining upright in my tube.”
The wine arrived. She took a sip and let out a soft “mmph,” eyes closing for a beat. Then her lashes lifted, caught him watching, and her smile turned knowing. “Ask me why we’re here,” she challenged.
Nate exhaled. “Is it the ambiance?”
She thunked her glass down. “Café de Paris butter.”
“The what now?”
“This,” she declared, rapping her knuckles on the table, “is where it all began. That butter sauce on every steakhouse menu? This is its ancestral home.”
“But we’re not in Paris.”
She bobbed her shoulders. “Irrelevant.”
The waiter drifted closer. Ella didn’t bother with the menu. “Deux entrec?tes, sauce Café de Paris,” she said, smooth as silk. “Cuisson saignante. Avec frites, s’il vous pla?t.”
Nate crossed his arms. “I take it you just ordered us steaks?”
“Uh-huh”
“What if I wanted the chicken?”
“You don’t.”
He chortled, and they fell into conversation, wine disappearing from their glasses as they waited for their meals.
She probed about his brothers, and he launched into the tale of the rope swing at the quarry pond.
How they’d all agreed it was a good idea.
How it had gone horribly wrong. A split lip, a chipped tooth, and a frantic huddle afterward to figure out who was to blame and whether they could get away with not telling their mom.
He kept adding details—the taste of dirt, the panic in his brothers’ voices—because she was laughing, and he wanted to keep her there.
She told him about the horse. Fourteen years old. One sharp noise, made purely out of curiosity. It reared, Clara flew, and Ella learned what a clavicle snapping sounded like.
“Crack!” she said. “Months of chores. Plus a lifetime ban on startling livestock.”
“Okay,” he said, as if this were a natural progression and not an excuse to study her freckles, “favorite artist?”
“Easy. Caspar David Friedrich.” She swirled her wine. “His paintings are like standing in the middle of nowhere and feeling… I don’t know. Seen. The fog, the silence, the way the world seems huge but not scary. You know his work?”
Nate shook his head, so she swiped on her phone, showing him a painting: cliffs, mist, a single figure tiny against the mountains.
Nate studied it. “I like it. Lonely, but not sad.”
Plates arrived and hit the table, steam curling into the air. Steak charred at the edges, already melting under a cascade of herb-flecked butter. The fries were stacked high, golden, and crisp, crackling as Nate nudged one free.
“So,” Ella said, cutting into her meat and dragging it through the butter, “why do I get the feeling you’re the family troublemaker? In German we have a word for it. Nesth?kchenprivilegien. Youngest child privileges.”
“You’ve got a phrase for everything, huh?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “Even Ausweichmanover. Dodging the question.”
“Okay, fine. Maybe I got away with some things.” He raised an eyebrow. “But you? The responsible eldest? Apart from the horse incident, obviously.”
She twirled her fork, considering. “I guess I’m the one everyone relies on to do the right thing.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding, “the family’s glue.”
Her cheek twitched. “Something like that.”
Then, with a smirk, she reached across the table, snatched a fry from his plate, and popped it into her mouth.
“Hey—”
“Too slow,” she said, already chewing.
“Dangerous move.”
“Is it?” Her eyes locked onto his, daring him.
Without looking away, he speared a piece of her steak and slid it onto his plate. “There. Now we’re even.”
“I don’t think that’s how even works.”
“No?”
“No.” She tilted her head. “I think you owe me.”
“Oh?” He leaned back, the chair groaning under him. “And how do I pay up?”
Her eyes dipped, brushing his mouth before snapping back. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Ella’s foot grazed his ankle under the table. Nate’s leg jerked as if he’d been kicked by a mule. His inhale was ragged, too obvious, too loud. Of course she’d heard. Fantastic. Just fantastic.
The waiter appeared at his shoulder, all smiles, and oblivious cheer. “How’s everything so far?”
Nate blinked up at him, then back at Ella. She was watching him, lips pressed together, eyes alight with something: amusement, maybe, or something worse. God, he hoped it was just amusement.
“Yes,” he managed, nodding once. “Everything’s good.”
Lies. His pulse roared in his ears, his body still humming from the ghost of her foot against his.
Damn it. This was exactly the kind of moment that spiraled into regret.
His grip on the fork turned white-knuckled.
He’d promised himself he’d be better than this.
Less careless. Less him. Ella didn’t know.
She saw the facade, not the guy who’d rented out pieces of himself.
Whose face and body were floating around the internet, tagged and archived and endlessly searchable.
She didn’t know how easily he could step out of his own skin. The way he’d groaned “oh baby, yeah” so often he wasn’t sure he remembered what real pleasure felt like. Whatever that had done to him wasn’t fair to put on her.
He needed to shut it down. Before her adorably perfect toes reached for him again. Before he forgot, even for a second, that he wasn’t safe.
Nate straightened his spine and grabbed for humor like a drowning man lunging for a life preserver.
“Alright,” he said, patting his stomach. “I surrender. Completely annihilated by butter and beef.”
Her eyebrow lifted.
“A tragic end,” he rushed on, because momentum was key here, “for someone who was, up until recently, absolutely crushing the suave dining partner role.”
She glanced at his plate. “You haven’t finished.”
“Ah, but you see,” he said, gesturing, “I’ve crossed the threshold into eating for pride, not pleasure. So maybe we call it a night. End on a—”
“Dessert?” the waiter cut in.
Nate’s eye twitched. Motherfucker.
“I really shouldn’t,” Ella said, lips pursing.
“We could skip?” Nate suggested.
She rolled her eyes. “This is the part where you say, ‘Actually, you absolutely should,’ and I cave and order the chocolate tart, which, let’s be honest, I was going to do anyway.”
Every alarm in Nate’s head blared bad idea, but he heard himself say, “You absolutely should?”
Her smirk was all triumph. “Fine. Tart it is. But for the record? You’re a terrible influence.”
“I’ve been told,” he muttered, surrendering completely and ordering the tart and a crème br?lée for himself.
A few minutes later, the waiter returned, sliding the desserts between them.
“Ooh, let me try some of yours,” Ella said, eyes sparkling.
Nate’s fork stalled midair. “Uh, I mean…” Dessert is safe, his brain chanted. Dessert is innocent. Dessert is something you share with a nun. He scooped up a bite and held it out to her.
Ella leaned forward, lips parting as she took it, her lashes fluttering shut. When they opened, her grin was pure devilry. “Mmm. So smooth.” A dab of custard clung to the corner of her mouth. She swiped it with her finger, then slowly, deliberately drew it between her teeth.
Nate’s laugh came out choked, heat flooding his face.
He realized his knee was jammed against the table leg, as if he were physically bracing against the moment.
Forcing himself to unclench, he scrambled for neutral thoughts: basketball statistics, Ikea manuals, the alphabet backwards.
Anything but the way her tongue had just moved.
By the time the bill arrived, Nate was still off-kilter. They paid up and stepped outside, where the street was quieting as evening settled, the air cooler now, lamplight painting soft halos around the buildings and Ella.
“Walk me back to my hotel,” she said, not quite a question. “It’s in Paquis. Just a few minutes from here.”
Nate’s mind ran in frantic circles: Make an excuse. Go back to your room. But when he finally spoke, his voice delivered a single, fatal word.
“Sure.”
They fell into step, the city folding around them.
Narrow lanes spilled into hidden squares where café tables clung to the edges of the pavement, laughter and clinking glasses drifting into the night air.
Somewhere, a street musician played something slow and melancholy.
Nate had the absurd thought that the universe was laying it on a bit thick.
“Well,” Ella said, slowing to a stop as they reached her hotel. “This is me.” She rocked back on her heels. “Today was really great.”
“It was,” Nate agreed.
They lingered by the sliding door, too close. The kind of close where his imagination supplied a crystal-clear image of how easily he could dip his head and kiss her.
“So,” Ella said, “I was thinking, you’re leaving soon.”
Nate’s heart slammed into his throat.
“So am I,” she continued, her fingers brushing his collar. “So, I was wondering, would you maybe want to come up?”
“I, uh…” He let out a nervous laugh. Why the hell did he laugh? “No.”
There was a beat. Ella’s expression shifted, like a light flickering out. “Oh,” she breathed.
“I mean, not no like no no,” he rushed on. “No like… I’m really tired, you know?” God, that sounded worse.
Her voice wavered. “It’s fine.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “What I’m trying to say…” He stopped, took a breath. “I think you’re incredible. And today was perfect. I just…” He shook his head, frustrated. “I can’t.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” she said quickly, waving a hand. “I overstepped. Forget it.”
“You didn’t,” he said immediately. “I just… this is a me thing.”
The silence between them was brittle.
“But maybe,” he added, scrambling, “we could meet up tomorrow? If you’re free. Coffee or something?”
Her smile was slow to arrive and quick to fade. “That would be nice. I guess.”
The hotel doors behind her slid open with a bright chime, letting out a rush of cold air. Ella glanced toward the lobby, her eyes already distant.
“Good night, Nate.”
She turned and stepped inside before he could respond, the doors sealing shut behind her.
Nate stood frozen, staring at his reflection in the glass, wondering how something could be so near and yet so impossibly out of reach.