Even though I find myself admiring his excellent song choice, I’m slightly concerned by the fact that Nolan’s music is leaning much more angsty right now than it usually does, and the familiar buzz of nervousness rears its head as I wonder how angry he is with me. In his shoes, I’d be furious. Especially considering how I blew him off after snapping at him.
It takes me a few moments, but I finally work up the courage to knock, my heart fluttering violently against my ribs like a bird trying to fleeits cage.
“Yeah?” Nolan calls out from inside the office. The door remains closed, but he lowers the volume slightly so his voice isn’t lost to the music.
“Um…Nolan?” I call out, feeling weird about yelling in the hallway. I wanthimto hear me, not the rest of the kitchen staff. “Can I come in?”
The song stops abruptly and, for a moment, there’s no response. I stare awkwardly at a spot near the handle where the paint is chipping away and contemplate knocking again. Or maybe I should assume he’s not opening the door because he doesn’t want to talk to me and just…leave. Except that’s not what I want to do. I want to make things right with him. Just as I’m about to raise my hand again, the door swings open and relief washes over me.
Nolan is settling back at his desk, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose as he alternates between studying a small Moleskine and a larger, spiral-bound notebook. I peek at what’s written on the pages of the smaller book and notice multicolored sketches of miniature fruits and vegetables with curly, whimsical leaves drawn in the margins.
“I thought you couldn’t draw,” I mumble apprehensively, hoping he might tear his gaze away from what he’s working on to look at me.
I want his soft, warm eyes to meet mine.
But he doesn’t budge. And I realize what a stupid thing that was to say—so accusatory. Like,hey, those are great drawings, but you said you suck, so what gives?
“A friend drew them,” he mutters, eyes focused on the notes he’s copying from one book to the other.
“Oh,” is all I can manage as I step into the office, shutting the door gently behind me. “They’re…nice.”
I am such an imbecile.
“Mhmm,” he hums, as if unperturbed. I’m at a loss for words. How do I transition into an apology after that?
I bite the inside of my cheek. Nolan isn’t giving me much to work with. Actually, he’s giving me exactlynothingto work with. I decide it’s better to be direct than to beat around the bush. I clear my throat.
“Think we could talk?” I ask, hopeful yet firm.
“Sure,” he offers. “Go ahead.”
Once again, Nolan is a near-statue. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t still his hand or cease writing. Annoyance flares in my chest. I had fully been expecting anger or frustration from him, at least—even prickly passive-aggressiveness or the silent treatment would be better. I could work with that.
But this disinterest? It’s absolutely infuriating.
“Nolan, can you… Please, will you look at me?” My tone is indignant, but I try to neutralize it, reminding myself why I’m here—to apologize for being a jerk.
Only…nowhe’sthe one acting like a jerk.
Closing both notebooks and carefully stacking them, one on top of the other, Nolan leans back in his chair and swivels to fully face me. In one smooth motion, he sets his glasses down on the desk beside him and then crosses his arms over his broad chest, meeting my gaze for the first time since I entered his office.
It’s then that I notice the hurt in his eyes, and how his dark brows are pressed together. My heart stutters.
“You’re not mad,” I blurt out. Suddenly, I understand—he hadn’t been acting indifferently toward me out of anger. It had been out of sadness. Disappointment. Maybe even a bit of embarrassment or frustration. But not anger. That wasmynatural response to these sorts of things. But it wasn’t Nolan’s.
“No?” he says, clearly a little confused. The hurt is still there, but as his brows lower at me, I realize I’ve been expecting the worst from a man who has never given me any reason to.
“Why not?” I ask, genuine curiosity winning out over my need to make things right as quickly as possible.
He sighs and searches myface.
“Do youwantme to be angry, Chloe?”
“No,” I say quickly.
Nolan rubs a hand along his jaw.
“I’m not mad at you because…I like you. A stupid amount.” A flicker of warmth returns to his gaze, and the little ache that I didn’t realize was sitting heavy in my chest starts to dissipate. “But I am hurt. I know I can be an idiot sometimes, and I didn’t read the room. But the way you left things between us… I didn’t even get the chance to work things out with you—and I wanted to.”
