I nod and follow him down the hall, but before we get too far, I stop him with a hand on his elbow.
“Nathan?”
His blue gaze glitters down at me as he cocks his head and pauses to listen, and I’m hit with such a strong wave of nostalgia I gasp.
Has anyone ever really just stopped and listened to me like Nathan?The answer is a disappointing no.
I mean, ever since we were in school together, he always had this way of making me feel seen and heard.I don’t know if it’s something he does with everyone or just me, but I do know I’ve never experienced that level of communication with anyone else.
“What is it, Sparky?Talk to me.”
“It’s just, well—” I hesitate, gathering my nerves and thoughts before lifting my gaze to his.“You know, I used to dream about living here with you,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
The words just fall out of me like they’ve been waiting sixteen years.
“Yeah?”A smile teases his almost too handsome face.
“Shut up.I know you know that.Anyway, I remember your grandmother telling me the story of this house, and her bedroom furniture.How it was a gift from her mother-in-law.How it was enchanted to bring happiness to the married couple who got to use it.”
“Adrianna—” he starts softly, and I can see heat building in his electric blue stare.
“No.”I lift a hand, needing a second before I come apart completely.“Don’t, don’t say anything right now.”
His jaw flexes.Hurt flashes in his eyes before he forces it down.
I turn away, letting my eyes trace the perfect edges of the refinished molding in the hallway just so I can keep on standing there with some dignity, instead of simply throwing myself at him.
God, desperate much, Ad?
The truth is, yeah.I am.And I feel fucking raw about it.
“I think we’re both running high on emotions,” I say quietly.“Everything happened so fast.Vegas.The wedding.Last night.”
Heat crawls up my neck.
Last night.
His hands.
His mouth.
His voice in my ear.
The way he held me afterward like I was something precious.
I swallow hard and keep going.
“It’s just…” I exhale, staring at the antique dresser instead of at him.“Sixteen years is a long time, Nate.There’s a lot we don’t know about each other anymore.”
I can feel him watching me.Waiting.
“I have personality quirks you might hate,” I ramble, because if I stop talking, I’ll start feeling, and that is way more dangerous.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not the girl you knew all those years ago.Not even close.I snore when my allergies act up.I laugh too loud in movie theaters.I can’t stay awake past eleven unless armed with caffeine and sheer willpower.And I absolutely—absolutely—hate every mainstream TV show made after 2010 except Stranger Things.And I will fight about that if necessary.”
His lips twitch, but I don’t let myself enjoy it.
