He whirled away from me, his black cashmere Burberry flaring out behind him, and stalked out, slamming the door. I remained standing, the echoes of his angry voice reverberating in my ears, and admittedly, I wasn’t proud of my words. Hearing Presley’s story from Frisco, imagining how tortured and vulnerable his parents’ sudden death had left him, I wanted to go to Press and hold him and make all the hurt go away.
Except now I was the one who’d caused him pain.
“Fuck it.” I grabbed my coat off the hanger and sprinted out of the office, ignoring both Marlene and Ethan calling after me. Bad enough I felt like a total shit; I was sick of my private life being on display in the office. I walked out of the building and kept a fast pace uptown, pushing through the afternoon crowds. I kept a fast pace, past Columbus Circle, Lincoln Center, ignoring the crowds strolling and window shopping.
I made it to the brownstone, and the over-twenty-block walk had done a number on my feet in the thin, leather-soled shoes. I could barely feel my toes, and the moment I entered the house, I kicked the loafers off and took the stairs two at a time to change clothes. Now comfortably warm, I decided to have something to eat since I’d skipped both breakfast and lunch. On my way down to the kitchen, I sniffed and smelled something lightly floral and familiar. Heart pounding, my steps hastened, and I ran into the kitchen at full tilt.
“Mom?” I skidded to a halt.
My mother sat at the center island, looking incredibly fresh and beautiful, considering she’d most likely spent the past eight hours on a plane. The last I’d seen her was when we all made the trip to London for Christmas, and I didn’t realize how much I missed her until I saw her face.
“Nate.”
We hugged, and she sat down again and raised her cup of tea to her lips. A package of shortbread cookies sat on the island, and she pushed it toward me.
“Here. I know you love the chocolate-dipped ones.”
I crunched on a cookie, its buttery deliciousness melting in my mouth.
“How come you didn’t tell me you were coming? I would’ve prepared and done stuff.” I licked the shortbread crumbs from my lips and reached for another.
Her eyes danced. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to do any ‘stuff’ for me. You had some of my favorite cheese in the refrigerator, and I made a nice little snack for myself while I waited.” She arched a well-groomed brow. “Anything new?”
There was little subtlety in her words. No one wanted me to settle down more than my mother.
“Pretty good, Mom.” I made a show of checking my watch. “You waited almost two whole minutes to ask me in your most restrained manner if I’m seeing anyone.”
“I am a prime example of incredible restraint.” She gazed up at me through the thick fan of lashes. “Well? Are you?”
I’d always been wretched at hiding my emotions, so I ran a hand over my face to stall for time. My mother waited calmly for me to get my shit together.
“It’s complicated.”
She broke a cookie in two and took a delicate bite. “I don’t see why it has to be. It’s either yes or no.”
In an effort not to answer, I stuffed another cookie in my mouth.
“I have all day.” Her pert smile flashed across the island.
Unwilling to face her—or was that unable?—I left her sitting and crossed the room to the refrigerator, where I took out the pitcher of cold brew coffee and poured myself a glass. Still with my back to her, I stirred in the milk, but I sensed her gaze on me like a laser point.
“I was seeing someone. For several months. But we broke up.” I took a hasty gulp of the coffee, recalling the way Press teased me over my love of iced coffee, even in the winter.
“That’s why I need you. To keep me warm.” And to prove it, I wrapped my arms around him and tumbled us into bed.
“Why? What happened?”
“Who knows? We weren’t together that long. It fizzled out. You know how things go.”
“Why’re you lying? Don’t hide from me.”
Feeling steady enough to face her, I turned around, careful to have my smile in place. “Why do I have to be lying? People date and break up all the time.”
“People, yes. But not you.” Her genuine distress and tender expression choked me. “Can I ask you a question?”
I nodded, wondering what was coming next.
“Why are you home in the middle of the day?”
