“What do you want me to do?” My voice is soft but steady. “You know I don’t have control over this.”
He exhales, his knee bouncing. “It’s four more months till this is over. That’s a long time.” His gaze flickers up, brighter now, almost eager. “What if—what if you just moved in now? Why are we waiting? I’m certain I want this. Move in with me.”
My heart stutters, and I reach for his hand. It’d be easier; we’d at least always come back to each other. It’s on the tip ofmy tongue to say yes. “Nate, I want to. You know I do.” Then I remember I may not get an attending job in this city, and living together would be even harder, even more pressure for him to move with me. So I bite my tongue and go with what’s less scary, safer. “When I got selected for this, we agreed it made sense to wait. So I could focus. Soyoucould focus on your own project too.”
“I know, I know.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just…” He stops, looking away, muscles tightening again before he forces a nod. “Yeah. You’re right.”
I wait, hoping he’ll say more, but he doesn’t. He only squeezes my hand, smiling faintly, and I lean into him, pressing my cheek to his shoulder. We don’t have to talk through everything. We love each other; weunderstandeach other.
Eventually, the conversation drifts, and we put on a show neither of us really watches. Later, as we clean up, I notice he didn’t have the rest of his food. It’s a small thing, the leftover lasagna on his plate, but it settles uneasily in my stomach.
CHAPTER 6
The Lull
Nate
The apartment is too damnquiet. The way it’s been every Friday and Saturday for longer than I care to admit. I shut the thought down. Robyn does important work and deserves my support through it.
She’s not done with her weekend shift until Sunday morning, so my thoughts wander from how I miss her and how good she feels beneath me and on top of me, to her sense of humor and work ethic. Then down a darker path to the reality that by the time she sleeps and wakes up, I’ll be winding down—trying to look functional for Monday. I shake my head.Stop the pity party and do better, Leighton.
I warm up a piece of leftover lasagna and chase it with a sip of wine I shouldn’t have opened alone. Some random show’s on the TV, not holding my attention. After twenty minutes of switching apps and another ten of zoning out, I give up.
Everything sounds louder when you’re waiting for someone you know isn’t coming—the occasional car passingoutside, the hum of the fridge, the hollow clatter of ice dropping into the tray. My phone vibrates against the coffee table. Once. Twice. Two more times.
Robyn:Join our bet.
There’s a picture attached: her and Julian grinning, each holding a paper cup with the number 1 Sharpied on it.
Robyn:How many cups of this do you think we’ll need to get through the next 32 hours? Also, this coffee is worse than usual—it could mean we need more, or it could mean we have to forgo it altogether. Julian’s bet is 13. Mine 8. Yours?
Robyn:Also, how dumb is this? A bachelor party just made it into the ER. The groom had an allergic reaction to the stripper’s glitter oil. By mid lap dance, the swelling wasn’t where he’d hoped.
The phone buzzes in my hand again.
Robyn:Ugh. Now Bridezilla’s here, and she’s pissed. Wasn’t cool about strippers at the party. Apparently, hubby lied.
Robyn:I’m pretty sure the whole thing was livestreamed. How embarrassing.
Yikes.
Robyn:FYI, I’m okay with strippers. Just don’t be shady about it.
My spine straightens like I’ve been doused with iced water. That’s Robyn for you. Hates being blindsided. I shake it loose.
Me:Don’t worry, sweet thing. Julian can organize the whole thing. Make sure it’s above reproach.
The three dots immediately pop up.
Robyn:I think that’d get you the opposite.
Another buzz.
Robyn:This coffee truly is the worst.
I swipe to the food app and order her one of those syrupy lattes she likes with an extra espresso shot. Actually, two of them, one delivery in the middle of the night and another onefirst thing in the morning. Each order has a second one for Julian because… why not?
We text for a bit—more sordid details come through about the ER drama. It’s kind of dark but hilarious in how she tells it, and I marvel at how she can make me laugh out loud from miles away. Then she sends a photo of her and Julian fake pouting. The conversation takes the edge off, but my apartment still feels like a waiting room. ExceptI’mthe only one waiting for the life we promised we’d start that keeps getting delayed.
