“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Your face says something’s wrong.”
He sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. “They only have one room available.”
I stare at him. “One room.”
“One room. One bed.” He’s not looking at me. “I can sleep in the truck if you?—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I’m already grabbing my bag from the backseat. “We’re adults. We can share a room.”
“Cara.”
“It’s fine, Nate. Really.” I push open my door and hop down. “Besides, if you sleep in the truck, you’ll be miserable tomorrow, and then the drive will be even more awkward than it already is.”
He looks like he wants to argue. But he also looks exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, tension in his shoulders that’s been building all day.
“Fine,” he mutters, and grabs his own bag.
The room is small.
One queen bed, a tiny bathroom, a window that looks out over the parking lot. There’s a mini fridge and a coffee maker and a TV mounted on the wall, but none of that matters because there is one bed and two of us and Nate looks like he’s considering jumping out the window.
“I can take the floor,” he says immediately.
“There’s barely enough floor to stand on.”
“The chair, then.”
“That chair is the size of a postage stamp.”
“Cara.” His voice is strained. “I can’t—we can’t?—”
“It’s just sleeping.” I toss my bag on the bed and turn to face him. “We used to share a lot more than a mattress, Nate.”
His jaw tightens. “That was ten years ago.”
“So?”
“So things are different now.” He sets his bag down carefully, like it might explode. “We’re different now.”
“Different how?”
He looks at me. Really looks at me, for the first time all day, and his eyes are dark with want.
“You know how,” he says quietly.
My heart is pounding. “Nate?—”
“I’m going to shower.” He grabs his bag and disappears into the bathroom before I can say anything else.
The door clicks shut, and I sink onto the edge of the bed.
One room. One bed.
If I wrote this scene in one of my books, I’d know exactly what happens next. The tension would build, someone wouldaccidentally touch someone in the middle of the night, and by morning they’d be tangled together confessing their feelings.
But this isn’t a book. This is real life. And Nate Thorn has spent the last ten years building walls so high I’m not sure I can climb them.
