Carly didn’t stir as he lowered himself gently onto the bed, and for a moment he watched her, her chest rising and falling steadily, like calm water after a storm. The stillness after the hurricane. He slipped under the covers, still watching her. Her full lips were pursed and pouty against the pillow as though she was arguing with someone in her dreams. Which, he reminded himself, was definitely something she would do.
What a beautiful, infuriating, surprising woman. Not a brat but a force, an uncompromising warrior for the people who earned her trust. He thought about the way she’d defended him in front of his parents tonight. It had felt just as he’d imagined it would: like standing inside a hot, high ring of fire that burned between you and all the things that frightened you. His stomach clenched with guilt at the realization that he’d somehow fallen into the circle of people she trusted, despite having no business being there. She still didn’t know the truth about his photography career; none of them did. And none of them would be as furious as she would be when she found out.
Nick sighed heavily, and she stirred, pulling herself into a tighter ball. “Mmphmmmph,” she muttered into the pillow, and he smiled in the semidarkness. It sounded like she was winning this round.
He pushed the guilt away. He would tell her. He would. Just not tonight. Tonight they’d sleep in this strange bed in a horse-themed B&B in his favourite mountain town, in this country that was and wasn’t his home. And tomorrow he’d wake up and make a plan to tell her the truth without losing her trust.
“You should get under the covers,” he whispered.
“Mmmphmmph.”
“I know, I know,” he agreed. “But the nights get chilly up here, even in summer.” He pulled the comforter out from under her limp body as gently as he could, but she simply cinched herself into a tighter ball. He kept tugging, determined to get her under the covers. With one last firm pull, he managed to get them out from under her, and he pulled them over her body.
“Niiiiick,” she whined, in a tone some people might have called bratty, “’m tryna sleep.”
“I know,ma puce.” He froze at the sound of the endearment, which had fallen out of his mouth before he could stop it. For a second he watched her closely, waiting to see if she’d registered what he’d said, but she was too wrapped in sleep to do anything but nuzzle the pillow and pull the covers up around her shoulder.
Force of habit, he told himself, as he settled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. But then, he’d never called Delphine that, had he?
“Nick?” Carly said, her voice muffled by the pillow.
“Yeah?”
“You should tell him the truth.”
Nick’s eyes widened in the dark, and he looked over at her. Her eyes were barely open, and her hair was a rumpled mess around her face.
“Tell who what?” he asked, tentatively.
“Marcus. Tell him about your ex. He’s not going to judge you.”
Nick let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Maybe not.”
“He’s your best friend. Just wants to be there for you, like you are for her,” Carly said.
“Him,” Nick corrected.
“Mmhmm, that’s what I said. And you have a whole new life, too,” she went on. The note of grudging admiration in her sleepy voice made something sharp and wonderful twist in his chest. “You’re a big shot pain in the ass photographer now.”
He chuckled, then swallowed hard when he realized what she’d said. He thought about how enraged she’d been when she found out about Delphine, the look of disgust on her beautiful face. Disgust at him, but at herself, too. What would she say if she found out that he really had lied to her? That he wasn’t a big shot at all?
Determined not to think about that any more tonight, he reached out to pull her body closer to his. She grumbled quietly, but as soon as her head was on his chest, she nuzzled into it like she’d done to the pillow.
“Heather’s your best friend. Isn’t there anything you don’t tell her?”
Carly was silent for a moment, and her eyes drifted closed. For a long moment, he heard nothing but deep breaths and birdsong.
“Yeah, there are things I don’t tell her,” she said, so quietly that she could have been talking to herself. “But I told you.”
He put a hand into her hair and held her until her breathing evened out, her inhales cool on his skin and her exhales warm and damp, soothing the aches he’d grown accustomed to living with. Tired as he was, essential as he knew sleep to be, he tried to stay awake to feel her breath on him.
Carly woke to the sound of twittering, cooing birds outside the window. For a moment, she lay still and listened, trying to pick out the differences between mountain birdsong and beach birdsong. Then she stretched under the covers, feeling all of the previous day in her muscles. The drive, the photo shoot, the sun. The cocktails. She had a vague memory of intending to have sex last night, but then … nothing. In the middle of the night, she’d woken for a few minutes and found herself curled into a snug ball with Nick’s large, solid body wrapped around her, his arm slung over her shoulder. It had felt alien and intimate, and she’d shifted slightly, putting a few inches of warm air between them. But a moment later, his arm had tightened, and he’d pulled her toward him, closing the distance and pressing his chest against her back. Deep in the haze of half-sleep, she’d been too tired to pretend she didn’t like it.
She smiled to herself and turned to see if Nick was awake yet. But his side of the bed was empty.
Carly frowned, remembering the time she’d dated a guy for three months, only to wake up in his bed one morning and find him gone. When she’d wandered out of his bedroom, she’d found his roommate, perched on the kitchen counter in his boxers, eating mac and cheese out of a crusty-looking pot. When she’d inquired about the man she’d been seeing, the roommate said he’d left town on a two-week business trip that he’d never once mentioned to Carly. It wasn’t her worst experience of the New York dating scene, but it was up there. Still, she was fairly certain Nick hadn’t simply abandoned her in this B&B that not even the most dedicated horse girl could have dreamed up.
And to her relief, she was right. On his pillow was a note written on hotel notepaper.Gone for coffee, back ASAP, he’d written. His handwriting was neat and upright, just like him.
