I look at the mural covering most of the wall space. I don’t know what I could…
A thought occurs to me, and I smile. Yes. That would be perfect. And only I would know it was to represent me watching over her as well. I get to work, adding the basic outline of a sunrise in the background of the painting.
“Come downstairs, Corey. You must be starving. I’m making dinner.”
Nash’s voice shocks me out of the hyperfocus I’ve fallen into while painting. It happens a lot when I get lost in the brushstrokes, the act of painting a catharsis in and of itself. I look up at the mural, now almost finished save for a few final touches.
“Give me ten minutes?” I call downstairs.
“OK, little rabbit, but hurry up. Lasagna’s in the oven.” I smile, relieved at hearing him use the stupid nickname, allowing me to relax fully for the first time since the fire, and I make quick work of the fine details to finish up the mural.Just that silly name makes me think that maybe I didn’t completely fuck up this friendship when I tried to kiss him. Maybe it can be salvaged, and he won’t hold it against me. If I can’t be with him in that way, which… obviously… at least we can be good friends. Like he said.
I swallow down the bitter taste of disappointment and start clearing up my things.
I’ve just finished cleaning the last brush and am washing my hands when Nash calls me again. I dry my hands quickly and head downstairs. Nash has two plates set out on the table, kitty-corner to each other, both laden with steaming lasagna, the smells of garlic and cheese rich in the air. A side salad and a bottle of red wine stand in the middle of the table, and he’s just pulling a garlic baguette out of the oven.
“Hi,” he says, his glasses steamed up from the heat as he turns towards me and puts the hot tray down on the trivet. His cheeks are flushed, his hair slightly mussed like he’s been running his fingers through it all day, and… I’m sorry. Where precisely did those slutty little glasses come from?
“Excuse you, sir,” I exclaim. “You’re wearing glasses?” I say, my inflection making it sound like a question. “I didn’t know you woreglasses.” I’m gaping at him, I know, but Jiminy Cricket. Nash in gold wire-rimmed glasses is a sight to behold.
Nash chuckles at my surprise before adjusting the frames in an adorably self-conscious gesture. “I usually wear contacts, but I was tired after reading all those flat-pack instructions today, and my eyes were really dry,” he explains.
Girding my loins to behave at the sight of him, channeling Jonathan Bailey with his open collar, chest hair peeking out, his glowing skin, and those fucking glasses, I take a seat at the table where he gestures.
“I er,” he begins as he brings the garlic bread over to the table, “I was hoping we could talk?” He sits down at the head of the table, and I’m immediately caught in his gaze.
“I think that’s probably a good idea,” I say quietly, watching him intently as he serves the salad and offers me some bread. I decline, absolutely sure I don’t want to get garlic breath in front of this man, friends or not.
We eat in companionable silence for a while until the tension in my chest is too much, and I blurt out, far louder than intended, “I’m sorry about the other night. I didn’t mean to try and kiss you. I was just, I dunno, caught up inthe moment or something? Can you forgive me? I’ll never be so inappropriate agai—”
“You have nothing to apologise for, Corey.” He takes my hand and lowers his head to try to catch my eye from where I’m now trying to burn a hole through the tabletop with my focused gaze. “Nothing whatsoever,” he reassures me when he finally manages to draw my eyes to him.
I give him a tight smile and swallow, frustrated with the conflicting emotions warring within me.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I whisper, a tell-tale burning behind my eyes.
“I wish I could say the same,” he says, and I jolt, eye contact suddenly not so difficult.
“What do you mean?”
“I knew exactly what I was thinking in that moment, little rabbit. I was thinking you were so…” I hold my breath, stomach flipping so much I’m regretting the gusto with which I’ve just devoured this lasagna. “Stupid.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I say, incredulous. He laughs.
“Watching you march into that fire like it was nothing, with no regard for the risk you putyourself at, was like torture, Corey. I care about you… a lot, and I wanted to scream at you for being so reckless.”
I drop my knife and fork onto my plate with a clatter, and my arms fold around my stomach on reflex. I don’t like being reprimanded. It’s far too reminiscent of so many conversations with Dominic.
Nash tugs my hands away from my body and holds them tightly in his much larger grasp, pulling them until I twist my body on my chair so I can face him.
“You weren’t the only one who wanted a kiss that night. I was so scared you’d get hurt, and then when you climbed out of that boat soaked and stinking of fire and smoke, the reality that you could have so easily happened hit me like a tonne of bricks.”
Tears fall freely down my cheeks now, his words breaking the flimsy dam of my emotions. He releases one of my hands, freeing his own so he can swipe his thumb across my cheeks, taking the tears away. If only he could take my confusion away, too.
“I don’t understand,” I practically whimper.
“I wanted to kiss you, Corey, becauseyou’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met, inside and out. You’re sweet, kind, funny, and so wise. You never fail to call me out on my shit, and, quite aside from anything else, I feel like my best self when I’m with you. I’m so, so sorry I pulled back from you, but I didn’t know how to handle my feelings when I know…” He tails off, and I know why. A stone forms in the pit of my belly – disappointment, regret, loneliness.
His palm cups the side of my face, and he leans into me, our faces close. So beautifully, painfully close.
