My memory box has always been a source of calm for me. A source of peace. Maybe because it’s where I store all of my happiest moments. Or maybe it’s that the wood grew here, in a place that’s quickly becoming one of my favorites.
Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the hands that carved it.
14
ESTE
I’m never listening to my sister again.
Three. Days. It’s been three days since I stopped pushing Nico. Four days since he touched me. And it doesn’t feel like we’re any closer to him snapping.
Lack of touching aside, we’ve had a nice few days. Now that he’s no longer avoiding me, we’ve been spending most of our time together. I’ve been reading in his workshop while he finishes the credenza—he brought a space heater in to keep me warm. We’ve cooked a couple of meals together, and he let me do more than hover around uselessly. We even played a couple rounds of cards, and I know for a fact he let me win.
But we haven’t touched, and we’ve barely slept, and Nico might not be at his breaking point, but I’m sure as hell at mine. He’s unintentionally turned the tables on me.
I stare at him over my Kindle, the concentration on his face as he carves another panel warming my blood. Nico listens to music when he works—classical music, specifically. I don’t know if he notices the way he hums along when he’s concentrating, but I do. Admittedly, I noticepretty much everything he does these days. I’m consumed by him, transfixed by him.
How am I supposed to concentrate on my book when he’s humming “Clair de Lune” and wearing an unbuttoned Henley with the sleeves rolled up? He’s a walking romance cliché.
“How’s your book?” he asks without looking up, like he can tell I’m not paying attention to anything but him.
“Fine,” I answer through gritted teeth.
He looks up, raising a brow, and I swear just a little bit of eye contact is enough to knock the breath from me. “Just fine?”
“It’s good, I guess. But the guy is annoying.” And by that, I mean, he’s actually a complete angel of a man who takes care of his love interest both inandout of the bedroom. Which is annoying, because he reminds me of Nico without the bedroom side of things.
“Would I like it?”
I give up, turning off my Kindle and setting it on top of the side table Nico set up for me. Not only do I have a table and a space heater, but he brought a comfy chairanda footstool out here for me, and a few blankets and pillows. On one hand, it’s good to know my presence isn’t annoying him, and he seems to like spending time with me. On the other hand, him being so nice is fucking with my head.
“You’d probably like it,” I begrudgingly admit. It’s not a bad book, but every book is making me think of him right now. So much for escapism.
“I started that football one you recommended this morning.The sports stuff goes over my head, but it’s good. Funny. And there’s a lot less sex, so I might recommend this one to Shay.”
I recommended a few of my favorites that lean more romance than erotica in an attempt to be less pushy, but I still don’t think I’d suggest he recommend them to his sister. I would happily discuss it withmysister, but there’s not much that’s off limits between me and Sloane.
“Did you get to the pantry scene yet?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “Maybe hold off on recommending it to Shay, then.”
Nico raises his brows. “Noted.”
“I can give you some recommendations that are a little more tame if you want to read something together,” I offer, and a smile lights up his whole face.
“I’d like that. Thanks, angel.” His voice is soft and warm, wrapping around me like I wish he would.
I cannot be in this room anymore.
“No problem. I’ll put my thinking cap on. I’m going to take a nap,” I say, grabbing my Kindle and my water bottle and practically sprinting from the workshop before he can question me. We both know I’m not going to take a nap without him there.
It’s warm today, with sunny, blue, cloudless skies shining over the cabin. The kind of sky I used to love flying in. If I was home, I’d spend hours sitting on my balcony reading or watching the people of Chicago go about their lives. Nico has a table and chairs on his porch, and I keep meaning to take advantage of them on the warmer dayswe’ve had, but that’s a little too close to him for comfort right now.
The dogs are napping on the couch and pay no attention to me as I walk past them and upstairs. I consider running a bath, but I’m too restless to just lie there, so I head to my room and let myself fall face-first onto my bed.
Ouch. Nico’s mattresses are soft, but my head whacks against the hairbrush I left here when I was getting dressed this morning.
The sheer amount it pisses me off is irrational. I’m tightly fucking wound, and if something doesn’t give, I’m going to explode.
Do I wish Nico would do something about it? Yes. But since he apparently has developed the willpower of a saint, I guess I’m going to have to do something about it myself.
