I nod.
“Can we have one more book club night?” she asks.
I smile against her cheek. “We can have a whole week of us, if you’re up for it. Until you move, if you want.”
“Yeah.” She sniffles.
I can’t get a lifetime, but I’ll take what I can get.
CHAPTER 37
The Endgame
Robyn
Without discussing it,we’ve spent every free moment we’ve had together, soaking up every second of us before my interview. I know once I leave the hurt will sink, and even when I come back to grab my things… it’ll all hurt. Today’s Saturday brunch is just another “last” we’ve added to our collection.
The café is loud with everyone around us overcaffeinated and pretending they’re not still tired from the week. Silverware taps against ceramic plates, and sunlight spills through the tall front windows onto the small square tables pressed together.
Nate sits next to me, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a mug of coffee cradled loosely in both hands. His hair is still damp from the shower and falling down his temples and past his ears. He looks… at ease. When I think I am too, he slides his arm down, hooking his hand under my knee, and drags me closer until my thigh is on his. We laugh when he prods at my side after I steal some roasted potatoes off his plate.
“Those were clearly on my side,” he says.
It’s something we used to do. Place the food we weren’t willing to share on the side of the plate away from the other. It meantoff-limits.I chuckle skeptically and eat it anyway; he steals a piece of cantaloupe frommyoff-limits side of the plate. He smiles around the bite, and for a moment we just look at each other. He caresses my thigh under the table, slow and absentminded, intimate and not sexual. We’ve been together but nothing about this week has been about sex—there’s more to us than fucking and napping the way there once was.
Nate talks about the settlement he’s entitled to since the concussion was due to unsafe working conditions. All he really wants is for that foreman to be fired. He waves the whole thing away and points up at the crown molding on the ceiling. The plaster is painted a soft green against the cream walls, and it brings attention to the leaves and ridges around the room.
“See that?” he says.
I follow his finger, then glance back at him. Of course he would rather talk about molding than money. I take a sip of my coffee and glance at the chalkboard menu on the wall.
“Oh,” I say suddenly.
Nate pauses mid-sentence. “What?”
“They do this thing here in October.” I nod toward the board. “A whole fall menu. Pumpkin ricotta pancakes, apple cider mimosas, this ridiculous cinnamon thing they bake in a skillet.”
His mouth tilts. “Sounds amazing.”
“You’re going to love it.” I smile, already picturing it. “We should come when they start it. Time your mom’s visit around it.”
The words come out so easily, I don’t even register the misstep. Because during our first go around, there was never a question that we would be together way beyond a seasonal special.
Nate doesn’t say anything. His smile stays on his lips, tension curling subtly around them. The skin right above his cheekbones, below his lower eyelid, trembles, and he’s quick to smooth it with the pad of his thumb. I would have missed it before—he hates this.
I cup his face in my hands and brush the same area underneath his eyes, the corners damp. Nate’s eyes lift back to mine, softer now.
“Nate—”
“Yeah?” he says quietly.
My brain scrambles, already trying to correct the misstep, but before I can say anything, he takes my hand.
He threads his finger with mine, kisses the back of my palm. “I’ll make sure to bring Mom,” he says.
He stands, tugging gently until I do too. Plates clink and people talk while Nate pays. Once outside, he brushes slow circles with his thumb, then leans down and kisses me. My body recognizes the exact shape of his mouth before my brain has time to process it. And I rise on my toes, sliding my hand up his chest, while everything narrows to just this—his lips, the warmth of him, the quiet steadiness of his hand at the back of my neck. And I almost taste what October and November and many forevers with Nate could be like.
Every day this week, at least once an hour, I remembered not that I may be leaving, but that I was leavinghim, and I struggled to breathe through the choice.
