I get it—hugs make people feel better. They make people feel closer.
But all I know about hugs is that they’re what you get anytime someone finds out your parents are dead. Andit’s always stiff and awkward. The scent of the other person envelops you and then follows you for the rest of the day, their warmth feeling wrong, almost too hot.
But Nolan…I think I could let Nolan hug me.
I mean, not just because I’m very clearly attracted to him. It’s more like…if his hugs are anything like his smiles, then I’d want to experience that forever.
I nod, and he gently takes my hands, uncrosses them from over my chest, and draws me in toward him. I breathe in. Cinnamon and citrus, and a hint of vanilla. Spicy and fresh, but sweet, too. Just like Nolan.
He rests his chin on the top of my head, and I melt in his arms.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly. I lay my head against his chest and nod, closing my eyes. He holds me tighter.
We stay like that for a minute or two, but I don’t want to let go.
Only, the timer for the steak goes off and my stomach immediately screams out at the thought of food—so loudly that Nolan hears it and chuckles.
“You weren’t lying, you really are hungry.”
“Starving,” I say as we pull apart.
Nolan moves toward the oven, pulling it open and snagging a mitt off the counter. I watch him finish up dinner, plating it with the same intensity I imagine he has when he’s plating a meal for a guest.
“Come on, time to eat.” His grin is wolfish, and I realize that the anxious butterflies I had been feeling before have faded into something warm and comforting, like easing into a hot bath at the end of a long day. I follow him out the door and smile—feeling, for the first time in a long time, like my heart is full.
SIXTEEN
Chloe’s ‘90s Hits, Now Playing:
I WANT YOU — SAVAGE GARDEN
Unsurprisingly,Nolan’s dinner is incredible.
The steaks are cooked perfectly—juicy, with a slightly charred outer crust, and just the right amount of brine to elevate the rich cut of meat. The mushrooms are a nice touch, too, swimming in a silky garlic butter. I want to lick the plate clean.
Something tells me that’s not exactly “first date” behavior, though.
Our conversation while we eat is less intense than our pre-dinner talk. I ask him more about his family, and he tells me that it’s just his mom and stepdad, no siblings. Then he prods me with a few questions about my work, which I sort of shrug off.
“You’re telling me that this isn’t an exciting job?” Nolan asks earnestly around a mouthful of steak.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t exciting,” I reply, stabbing a mushroom with my fork. “The subject matter is justnotwhat I’m interestedin filming.”
“No? I feel like it would be fascinating. It’s basically sociology and anthropology, right? Group dynamics, identity, conflict resolution…I imagine it’s similar to filming a nature documentary. You know, like observing a gorilla troop in real time.”
I burst out laughing because, surprisingly, he’s kind of bang on.
“The only difference is that we don’t give gorillas tequila so they’ll be more susceptible to the suggestion of starting a fight over a potential mate,” I say with a smirk, and Nolan chuckles.
“Good point. We have more morality than stooping to getting monkeys drunk, right?”
Once we’ve finished eating, Nolan clears our plates and asks if I want to join him back in the kitchen while he shapes the pains au chocolat he’s already prepared for the next day. I agree, but only if he lets me film him. My footage from earlier was fine, but after watching Nolan cook our dinner, I can tell that he has a certain level of finesse that will look great on camera.
Also, the black dress shirt is really doing his biceps justice, and I sort of want a reason to stare at them without feeling like I’m gawking. Even though I totally am.
Although he’s hesitant, citing a lack of “stage presence,” Nolan eventually concedes, as long as I let him approve the footage before I submit it.
He moves us to an adjacent empty kitchen, now that dinner service is over and the other cooks have cleared out. While he sets up his workspace I do a quick-and-dirty job of setting up the scene—a panel light balanced precariously on a shelf above Nolan to illuminate what he’s doing, and my camera resting on a tripod just parallel to the counter. I plan to focus on his hands first, and we’ll talk while he works.
