I unlocked the phone.
I stood there.
I stood there for a second with Nathan's unlocked phone in my hand because1203was mybirthday. December third.
Nathan had my birthday as his passcode.
I put the phone down very carefully on the nightstand.
"That's my birthday."
"I'm aware of what it is."
"Nathan. That's my—" I stopped. Started again. "How long has that been your passcode?"
A pause that was its own answer.
"Nathan Cross."
"Sit down," he said. He reached over to the chair where his clothes were folded and held out a pair of boxers. "Put these on. And sit down."
I sat down.
I was completely in love with him. I had been in love with him and he had been typing my birthday into his phone every single day and hadn't said anything about it, not once, not ever, just carried it the way Nathan carried everything, quietly and completely and without making it anyone else's problem.
1203.
"You've been on vacation," I said, when I could find words again. "We've been on vacation. We have been in a warm place for a week doing nothing, which you are famously bad at, and you spent the mornings—"
"Running," he said. "And some research."
"Research."
"The consulting market in Boston sports medicine is actually quite—"
"Nathan."
"Yes."
"You did job research. On vacation. Before I woke up. Every morning."
"You sleep until nine," he said. "I have a lot of time."
"You were going to tell me this when?"
"Now," he said. "I'm telling you now."
I looked at him.
"Nathan. Your job—"
"Is one job," he said. "I'm not leaving medicine. I'm leaving one job." He looked at his hands. "There are consulting positions. Advisory roles. Work I can do that doesn't put me in direct conflict of interest with the Wardens roster." He paused. "I've already spoken to two practices. One of them is very interested."
I tried to process this information.
"You did research. On your phone. On vacation. Before I woke up. Every day."
"Yes."
