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Or was she lost at sea among the victims of theVictoria, leavingRobert with nothing but a brief parting note and the forgotten portrait?
I don’t get the chance to let my mind muse over the possibilities, because the doorbell rings. Twice. Then a third time. A couple hours ago, I heard the stampede that was the boys going out for the night, so I haul myself up and head downstairs.
I open the front door to find Nate standing under the porch light.
30
“YOU KNOW, THERE’S A FINE LINE BETWEEN PERSISTENCE ANDdesperation,” I tell Nate, who sits on the corner of my desk.
I keep a safe distance by leaning against my bedroom door. Just in case I decide this whole conversation is a bad idea and need to make a quick getaway.
Still, no amount of distance can stop me from noticing how stupidly good he looks. And he doesn’t even try that hard. Showing up in a dark hooded sweatshirt and ripped jeans, his hair tousled from the ride here on his motorcycle. Slight shadow of stubble along his jaw. It’s like the less men care, the sexier they look.
He nods wryly. “I’ll be mindful of that.”
“I meant what I said. We don’t have anything to talk about. Nothing’s changed.”
“I broke up with Yvonne.”
I meet his eyes, startled. “Okay, well, that’s new.”
A hint of a smile curves his lips.
“Why?” I ask, trying to play it cool.
“I wasn’t in love with her.”
“I’m not in love with crepes, but I’ve eaten more of them in the last week than I have in my entire life.”
“I’m sorry?”
I have no idea why I said that. “Why now? I mean, you waited this long. What changed your mind?”
“You did.”
And just like that, my heartbeat is dangerously out of control.
Nate runs a hand through his hair. “Couldn’t keep seeing her while I was thinking about you. I was waiting for that feeling to go away. It didn’t.”
“Did you tell her why?”
Anxiety tickles my stomach. Yvonne and I are barely acquaintances, but she is Celeste’s friend, and that complicates things.
“You mean did your name come up? No. I don’t need to give her someone to blame. It isn’t about that.”
I take a breath. “Then maybe you can tell me what it is about. Because I’m having a hard time understanding.”
He smiles faintly. “Why do I fancy you, you mean?”
“Yes. Feel free to be specific.”
“You’re making this rather difficult.”
“Good. You kind of deserve it.”
He does this smirking head tilt that I hate and adore in equal measure because I want to know what’s happening inside his head when he does it. Desperately.
Nate goes quiet as he considers my request, eyeing me with that penetrating gaze that’s excited and unnerved me since the night we first met. I half expect him to wriggle his way free of the topic. But then he surprises me.
