Instead, I scoot closer to Zac on the loveseat, knee bumping his thigh, offering warmth instead of wounds. He turns his head to me as the weight shifts.
“Does this change anything for you? My ex being in town?” I ask.
“No, certainly notyourex being in town.”
I take a second to let that sink in then wait for more clarification. When he doesn’t volunteer any information about his ex, I lean a little closer and take a chance.
“Want to go out for dinner Saturday?” I ask, soft but steady. It’s not exactly what he asked for, but a quiet, carefulI hear you and I’m trying.“There’s that new place on Third.”
Zac’s brows lift, lips curling at the edge. “Yeah? Sure.” He leans in until his lips touch mine.
His tongue brushes my bottom lip, a soft, patient question, and when I part for him, our tongues meet in that warm, breathless space that belongs to neither of us. This kiss, like every one we’ve shared, is held back by hurt and fear. I don’twant to take what I’m not willing to offer, but we can both offertouch.
It’s an uncomplicated arrangement, but the baggage we both bring turns what we’re doing into something a bit more loaded. Our wounds are so raw we need a bit more tenderness than a simple friendly hook-up would. And I don’t always have it in me—not after Nate and all my softness getting spit out at me.
I don’t today, so I pull away. He does as well without lingering. Staying the night never crosses my mind and must not cross his either since he hands me my coat from the closet like a gentle offering. We don’t kiss before I leave.
Outside, the night air bites the sweat on my skin, even on the short walk to my car. I take the long route home, twenty minutes instead of fifteen. The roads wind around the frost-tipped pines. When I step onto the complex’s paths, each step crunching along the icy sidewalk, the scent of cold wood and pine mingles with the hum of the heating units.
I reach my building and glance up at the second-floor west unit across the way.
Nate’s light is on.
Curtains drawn, but there’s a shadow pacing? No. Just crossing the room. A silhouette I know too well, even distorted behind fabric. I freeze for half a heartbeat. My chest tightens. If he’s waiting for me, it shouldn’t matter. The time when Nate and I were a team is long buried—though checking the emotional pulse, it might have been buried alive.
As I reach for the front door to my building, the light in his apartment clicks off.
Darkness swallows the window whole. He’s been here three days, across from me, and done nothing but stand guard. Conveniently always there whenever I come and go. Still, underneath it all, there’s a rush of curiosity. Julian said he’s changed, but even if he has, I don’t have to acknowledge it.
Feelings spring from hidden corners, each one rising only to be smacked down before I can name it. Robyn, Queen of Emotional Whac-A-Mole. Maybe deep down, I was so focused on landing a job, not sabotaging my rotation, that even when I moved on, I somehow never fully let go.
I tugmy long puffer parka tighter around my shoulders. My reflection stares back at me in my car window: makeup done, hair down and curled. I look ready, but I don’t feel it. Slipping the keys into my hand, I see him.
Two weeks. Two weeks since he moved into the building next to mine, and somehow, Nate is always there, on the balcony, shadowed in the dim light, watching. My chest tightens, and a low knot twists in my stomach. I inhale slowly. Nate’s nobody to me, and I’m nobody to Nate. We’ve owed each other nothing for a long time.
I climb into the car and turn the key. Nothing. And again, nothing but the click of a frustrated starter. I step out, kicking at the snow, my fingers stiff despite my gloves, and the balcony is empty now.
I find the portable battery in the trunk and fiddle with the hood until I’m able to pop it open. The cables click into place. A flash of red, a hopeful spark, then nothing.Damn it.
I glance up as someone’s shadow falls over my side. Nate’s arms are crossed, shoulders tense. He doesn’t speak at first, just watches how I keep adjusting each of the clips to try to get a better grip, leaning on my car, all poised and unhelpful.
“I think your battery is dead, dead.” He straightens. “You were on your way somewhere,” he says, voice low, clipped. “Let me give you a ride.”
“I can get a car, thanks,” I murmur, not meeting his eyes and pulling the cables away from the battery.
“Do you want to be late?” His gaze flicks to my face, then lower to the little bit of my legs that are left exposed between my parka and boots. I get the sense he couldn’t care less if I’m on time.
I do, though. And he knows I despise tardiness. Also, Zac and I both kept canceling on each other for this weird non-date. We’ve seen each other at Loam & Latte in passing, and no movies or dinners anywhere. Nothing as much as a kiss since that last time, leaning more and more toward the friends than the benefits side of the arrangement.
I look into Nate’s brown eyes and clench my hands into fists, the feel of it bizarre around my gloves. Zac and I have outgrown what we were doing—or at least I have—and I hate admitting that.
I nod and follow Nate to his car. It’s not the same sedan he had back in Chicago. This one’s a dark-red crossover—better for the terrain, bad for my emotions. Not the same cabin where he gave me rides to and from work, not the same seats we ate tacos in, not the same one he kissed Tessa in.Whack, whack, whack.
Once inside, Nate’s radio kicks up in the middle of a podcast, discussing the latest research on memory consolidation and neuroplasticity. He doesn’t change it and nods here and there like he’s really making sense of the information. I let it run, half listening, half trying to ignore the rapid thump of my heart.
The conversation is stilted, small talk about streets, the weather, the moon casting a silver glow over the mountains. I give directions to the steakhouse, watching the darkened streets through the windshield.
“Do you have a job lined up here?” I ask.
