Page 24 of Whispered Promises

My heart’s racing, and it’s definitely not from my walk on the treadmill. It’s all entirely down to feeling Nate’s body heat so close, and the occasional brush of his hand against mine.

Is it intentional? Should I step away?

My body rebels against the latter. I want to feel his skin touching mine, and every time his hand brushes against me, it feeds that touch-starved part inside.

And that’s a depressing thought.

I’m craving the accidental touch from someone I hardly know. Steph’s right. I do need to meet someone. If I can try to attempt something casual…maybe a one off?

I’m pulled from my thoughts as we approach the doors to enter our building, and his arm snags the handle before I have the chance to do it myself. As he pulls it open, his warm palm touches the middle of my back, nudging me gently through the opening. Somehow, my legs remember to work, but as his hand falls away, I swear I feel his thumb stroke across the fabric of my lilac base layer.

My heart flutters over the small but intimate touch, wondering whether he would wrap that hand around the nape of my neck and lean in to press his lips to mine. Would he ask? Or just confidently take what I so want to offer him?

Fuck’s sake, Rosy.

He’s not going to be interested in you or what you have to offer. Which is, what? Just a people-pleasing, anxiously introverted, sleep-deprived mess. It would be better if I could at least cook or do something to compensate, but sadly there’s nothing of note here. Just someone who can’t say no, who cares too much about people who don’t care back.

What about dopamine dressing? That might be quirky. Internally, I scoff. Wearing too many colours that are mismatched or clashing is hardly sexy. It might make my inner self feel happy, but it hardly does me any favours in the fashion department.

A throat clears beside me, and I blink quickly, my focus returning to my surroundings as I realise we’re in front of my door.

Well, shit, I bet that was awkward for him with me mentally checking out. Resisting the urge to cover my face with both hands, I look up at Nate and offer him a wide smile to compensate.

“You okay?” he asks, a slight furrow marking the skin between his brows.

“Yes, sorry. I was just in my thoughts. I didn’t mean to ignore you or anything. It was really nice having company at the gym today, and for walking home too.” Words just ramble out.

“You didn’t. I enjoy being in your company, Rosy.” My name on his lips as his gaze holds mine has tingles spreading down my arms to my fingertips, and I suddenly don’t want him to go.

Attempting to prolong being in his company, I ask him the first question that pops into my head. “Did you have a good day?”

I might as well have asked about the weather. Is it weird that I asked about his day even though we don’t know each other well?

“It was good. Started early, but I managed to get off early as none of the jobs were complicated,” he responds, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “How was yours?”

“Well, that’s good. An easy workday is always a bonus. I’m glad you had that. Yeah, it was okay. I managed to get most of what I needed to do completed. But it’s a small business, so we all have to pitch in. Some days it can be swamped.” I shrug, wishing the conversation didn’t suddenly feel so awkward.

“If you want company, it’s homemade pizza tonight,” he offers easily.

“Pizza sounds so tempting, but I don’t want to gatecrash your night again.” Finding myself desperately wanting to go, to be around others, surprises me, but their company feels easy compared to most other people.

“None of us think that. Please come?” His words sound intimate, enticing, and my breath hitches as his hand reaches up, tugging my lip out from between my teeth. “Stop mutilating that pretty lip.”

He thinks I have pretty lips? I blink mutely. All words have disappeared from my brain, so all I can do is nod in response as his thumb sweeps back and forth across my abused bottom lip.

“I’ll take that as a yes, so I will leave you to get ready before you come and eat with us.” There’s not even a request in that sentence, and I feel my body sag with relief that he made the decision for me. Nate’s fingers gently move from my mouth to brush back a loose wisp of hair behind my ear, then his fingertips graze down my neck as he steps back, turns, and walks over to his place.

Loudly exhaling the breath I’d been holding, I shakily open my door and walk through. My head feels eerily empty and quiet.

I wonder if he’d be okay with making all my life decisions for me.

But first, I need a shower to wash the day away.

After applying my evening skincare routine, I head into my room and get dressed into a pair of cosy green fleece joggers and an oversized pink jumper that says “Born to nap, forced to work” on the front.

“Hey cutie, how was your day?” I ask Moshi, bending down, until I’m level with his furry face. He looks a little more relaxed and less wary, but I still want him to get used to me more. The familiar guilt of having to work and be away, without putting more hours into the animals, hits.

The guilt has me reaching for my phone, and I pull up the contact for Nate, choosing to drop him a message rather than call.