Nolan's voice drops to a whisper. “Unless you want to go with the first option?”
Saying no to him is an option, he made that abundantly clear. I have all the power here. All it would take is a simple utterance of the word ‘no’ and we can resume being whatever it is we were before. Coworkers, I guess.
He can go back to acting like I barely exist, and I can go back to whatever sad version of me existed before Midnights.
I have the power to call this off before it ever really begins.
But it’s not a power I want to wield.
“I need your address.”
A smirk takes over his face, brightening the drab government office walls and like I’ve stepped onto a sunny beach. He pulls his phone out and seconds later mine pings with the location.
“Seven o’clock,” he says again, and I nod. “You won’t regret this, Harper, I promise.”
I know I won’t, that’s part of the problem.
Cupid is the size of a thimble. Half the time I can’t even pump gas without running into my elementary school teacher and my ex-boyfriend’s mom from eighth grade. Which means my oversized coat and baseball cap are warranted, even for the drive to the outskirts of town. God forbid, an Archer actually lives in the town they founded.
I’ve never been to Nolan’s house, there’s never been a reason for me to, but I didn’t expect to pull up to whatappears to be some sort of ranch style house on a vast amount of empty land after driving twenty minutes out of town. Cute doesn’t seem like a word Nolan would want used when describing his home, but I’m calling it like I see it. I park next to his sleek black Audi after coming to the head of his endless driveway.
A porch wraps around the entire perimeter of the house and baskets of flowers hang from top railings every few feet. He even has matching oak rocking chairs near the far corner looking out to where the sun would set. I’m walking into my dream home and he doesn’t even know it.
But despite the allure of the world’s most perfect house, there's a tiny, tiny voice jumping around for attention, telling me this might be the worst idea I’ve ever had. The video application comes into a smooth number two spot since it’s what caused this whole thing.
Night air whistles through the open space and my chest starts to burn with a scratchy sort of sensation. Maybe this is a trick. Maybe he’s really my father's friend through and through and has devised a whole elaborate ‘I want to teach you sex things’ situation in order to embarrass me to a high heaven so I finally leave this town for good.
A quick retreat is what I need to do. I’m barely on the stairs, there's still time to leave. I can simply tell him I’vedecided on the first option and pretend our one night never happened. It might just be the hardest thing I’ll ever do, but I can do it.
That sounds like the perfect plan, I’ll tell him I changed my mind and start looking for a new job far, far away from Cupid, maybe away from Northern California altogether.
I hear Denmark's a great place to live.
But as I finally work up the courage to take my first step backward, the door is yanked open. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I had the music on while I was cooking and didn’t hear your car.” Nolan’s words rush out in a tangled mess, opening the door wider and motioning for me to come in.
My steps are hesitant because what in the body snatchers is going on? I’m wracking my brain for the last memory I have of him apologizing, but everything comes up blank. Not only is he apologizing but the words seem to be sincere.
I avoid eye contact as I enter his home. Nolan peels my jacket from my shoulders without a word, and I turn to see him gingerly hang up my thrift store find next to what I know for a fact is a five hundred dollar suit jacket.
Everything about us is the opposite. We’re two ends of a spectrum that’s as wide as the universe.
He motions me forward and I follow without thought until we reach the kitchen. Every inch of his place isimmaculate and inviting. All warm tones and a sense that he takes a lot of pride in his space.
The stove is overflowing with pans as a heavenly smell of garlic sauce fills the air. “I hope you’re hungry,” Nolan says, as if he can hear my stomach growl.
Popping myself up onto a barstool, I answer, “Starving, I didn’t eat much today.”
Nolan sets a bowl in front of me. “Well we can’t have that now, can we?”
A blush creeps across my chest but I don’t answer. Instead I look across the vast kitchen island to where he’s standing, still partially in his suit. The dark Oxford button down with the top two buttons popped open, sleeves cuffed and rolled to his elbows. But what intrigues me the most is the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. As if he’s fighting the urge to split into a full grin.
It strikes me as curious because this is not the man I’m accustomed to. The Nolan I know is stark, a man who lives in black and white with no room for gray or anything that isn’t cut and dry. A man who doesn’t participate in anything at work that requires him to mingle. A man whose mere presence commands attention and respect when he walks into a room. The type of person you step to the side for because getting in his way just isn’t an option.
Nolan has always placed himself on the highest shelf, unattainable to everyone but none of that exists right now.
Tearing my gaze from the hold he has on me, I do the only other thing I can and start eating.
Of course, even his food is fantastic.
