My phone rings in my hands. Nash.I swear he hears it because his eyes go straight to the shed.
“Nash.” I’m breathless. “Hey.”
He stands—towel around his waist—pacing by the pool. I slowly close the window.
“Morning,” he says, almost timid. “Wasn’t sure you’d answer after last night.”
“Nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix.” I swallow. “Sorry about all that. I ... you know.”
In the phone, he says, “I do,” and out the window, he rubs his neck. “You have breakfast?”
“No.” Here’s my opportunity. “You have stuff for blueberry pancakes?”
I see and hear his smile. “No, but I can run out and get it.”
“Perfect. I’ll get ready and be over in a bit.”
While I wait for him to leave, I shoot Jonathan a text.Hey. Call me when you have service. We need to talk.
Thirty-One
As soon as Nash’s truck pulls out of the driveway, I tighten a towel around my chest, pinch a bottle of shampoo under my arm, and tiptoe across the gravel to the three-sided shower stall. Towel on the hook, I start the water and step under the stream before it’s fully warmed.
At the same time a roll of thunder rumbles in the distance, I scrub shampoo into my scalp.
My focus is on ending things with Jonathan. It’ll be hard. And sad. But seeing how frustrated he was when I decided to come here and how dismissive he’s been since, part of me wonders if he’ll even fight me. Maybe he sees we aren’t a fit as much as I do. Other than his pride taking a hit, it might not even bother him. He says we’re good together—we are—but isgood togetherever the cause of a heartbreak?
The water is finally hot—hot enough it burns my skin—and for a minute, I zone out and let every thought go down the drain as I close my eyes. With the next rumble of thunder, I slam the faucet off.
“Imagine my surprise,” a deep voice says. “When I got two blocks on my way to get blueberries and saw your car already parked.”
I turn—naked and afraid—to see Nash filling the open side of the shower stall like an actual door. His long arms, partially covered by a fitted grey T-shirt—damn him—grab the edge of the walls, barricading me in.
“Morning, Rue.” The smirk dancing across his lips makes hismorningsound more likenow what have we here?
I say a silent prayer for death but don’t flinch nor cover myself. On the contrary, I pull my shoulders back and lift my chin.
“Morning, Nash.” I say it like this is nothing out of the ordinary or at all humiliating. Like me naked in his outdoor shower isn’t the slightest bit shocking. Like I didn’t spend half the night fantasizing about his hands or all morning leering at his body.
When he says, “You’re naked,” I know he’s not letting me off the hook.
I lift my chin. “I am.”
“And in my yard.”
“Am I? Hm. Must have taken a wrong turn.”
His gaze drops from my face to my body. And like his eyes have a tangible touch, every spot they land on responds. My nipples harden, my stomach tightens, and every muscle below my belly button clenches so tightly it aches.
His eyes snap back to mine. “Must have.”
“Well, I’ll just be going.” I reach under his arm for my towel, but he blocks me, shifting his weight and leaning against the opening.Bastard.
He folds his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Showering.”
He’s even: “Try again.”
