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My clit begins to throb in time to the engine. So do my thoughts.
Please don’t. Please don’t do this to me.
“All good!” I paste on a smile.
“You sure? Where’s your car?”
“Over there.” I wave vaguely down the street. “I’m fine.”
Nate turns his head to glance through the windshield. Sunlight slants through the glass and catches on the square, sharp lines of his jaw. The stubble there turns to bronze, and I’m hit by the memory of how that stubble felt against the inside of my thighs. He’d soothe the red marks it’d leave with his lips, kisses so featherlight they were erotic in their tenderness. Even now, my skin tightens and my nipples ache. A silent plea to be touched. Taken care of.
“I don’t see your car,” Nate says.
That’s right. He saw that I still drive the Countryman at Shag Now. “It’s in the garage. The one off Wall Street.”
“You never park in that garage because, and I quote, ‘it’s a fucking nightmare.’”
Goddammit. “I’m fine,” I repeat, and start to walk away from him. “Have a great weekend!”
“Milly,” he says, but I keep walking, my gaze trained on the sidewalk in front of me. I’m worried if I look back, he’ll see it in my eyes—the desire so sudden and severe it’s screwing my throat shut.
I need to quit this wedding. I thought I could do it, that being around Nate wouldn’t affect me, but clearly I was wrong.
The Bronco’s engine roars as Nate hits the gas. My shoulders fall back in relief because he’s leaving, thank God. But then I glance to my left and see that he’s following me. It’s early enough that the street is empty, so he’s clearly not worried about holding up traffic.
“You got towed, didn’t you?”
I don’t slow my stride. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re trying to do too much, and you forgot to pay the meter.”
The tears I’ve been holding back finally spill over. My face crumples. I shake my head, eyes closed, and will words—any words—to come out of my mouth. But none do.
“Aw, hell.” I hear Nate grunt. The Bronco shudders as he puts it in park. A door opens, slams shut. A dog barks. I open my eyes to see him striding toward me, his hands tucked into the back waistband of his jeans like he’s shoving his nonexistent shirttail back where it belongs. I look up at him, and my stomach flips at the determination written on his face, in his gait. “I’m sorry, Milly. What can I do?”
I shake my head again. “Nothing. I called Rhett—”
“I thought you said you wanted to get away from him.”
“I do. I lied, I didn’t call him, I just . . .” He waits a beat, then another, for me to finish.
When I don’t, he says, “Let me give you a ride. Please. We’ll get this straightened out, all right?”
I can see his eyes through the lenses of his sunglasses. They’re soft. Earnest.
“Really, I’ll be okay,” I say. “I don’t need help.”
“Jesus Christ, Milly, I’m not leaving you on the side of the road like this. You’re crying.”
“No, I’m not.” I sniffle.
He takes another step closer. Noticing he’s still got his hands in his waistband, I start to shake.
“You wouldn’t be doing anything wrong, Milly,” he murmurs, voice low. “Look. How about we say this is just me returning a favor? You saved me at that dance lesson. Now I’m going to save you from . . . whatever is happening here. I’ll drive you back to the Farm. It’ll be fifteen minutes, tops.”
I glance at the Bronco behind him. “Not the way you drive, Grandpa.”
“Hey.” His lips curve upward. “Safety first.” He pulls his hands out of his jeans and reaches back for the passenger door handle. Yanking it open, he says, “Twenty minutes is the absolute maximum. I swear. Now get in before Lucy has a heart attack waiting for you.”
It’s true. Lucy is panting hard in anticipation, gripping the edge of the seat with her front paws like she’s about to jump out of the car to come get me.
“Okay,” I say.
“All right,” Nate says, hand moving to the top of the doorframe. He offers the other to me, but I don’t take it. Instead, I place my bags on the floor before climbing inside. I nearly squash Lucy as I do it, but I can’t risk touching Nate again. Not when I’m ringing with all of this . . . emotion.
Shame.
Confusion.
Relief.
It’s a relief to sink into the sun-warmed leather of the front seat. NPR is on. The scents of coffee and something I can only describe as green—woodsy, earthy, fresh—fill the air. Lucy curls up in my lap before Nate’s even climbing back in the truck. As I run my hand over her silky back, my throat begins to loosen.
