After the Rain

We both laughed and the atmosphere was instantly lighter. “Tell me about your family,” I said.

Nate and I spent four hours talking over dinner that night. He told me all about his life, growing up in Los Angeles, watching his father rise to the top of his profession. He spoke only positive words about his dad, and I thought his description sounded a lot like Dale. The Meyers men all had a quiet strength, intelligence, and confidence about them. They were never boastful or macho, which was refreshing, having spent so much time around men who were. At the same time, Nate often seemed very much in control of things, especially when I was timid, which I also liked.

When I pushed the last bit of fish around my plate, he forked it up and held it to my lips. “Open up.” His eyes focused on my mouth as I took the bite.

For dessert, we shared tiramisu. I ate most of it off of Nate’s fork. There were long pauses in our conversation but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. I told him about my life in California and my parents and brother. He was surprised to learn that my brother had a graduate degree while I hadn’t even finished high school. He wondered if I still wanted to and I said no, which didn’t throw him at all. He moved on with the conversation, asking me about my future and whether I wanted to have a family. I told him I hadn’t thought about it since Jake. He reached across the table, took my hand in his, and smiled kindly.

“You have so much time to decide that,” he said.

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want a family?”

He smiled. “Yes, I think so.”

That night Nate drove me back to my cabin, walked me to the door, and kissed me for a long time. He never asked for more; it was only enough to convey to me that his feelings were strong. I had a brief urge to pull him inside, but I quickly overcame it when he said he’d be back the next day.

“Would you like to see my place?”

“Yes. I can cook there if you’d like,” I said, always feeling the urge to offer something more.

He shifted his weight to his heels, put his hands in his pockets, and rocked back and forth. “How about I cook for you?”

“Okay.”

He was at my cabin at five p.m. the next day. We were both dressed more casually than the night before. He wore jeans and a tattered T-shirt, which I think was intentionally made to look worn. I chose jeans and a sweater with my hair down in soft waves over my shoulders. Instead of flowers he held a bottle of wine. “Trish just gave this to me. She said it’s your favorite,” he said with a laugh.

I took the bottle from his hand. “Did she mean for you to get me drunk?”

He shrugged and then pushed his hands deep into his jeans pockets, something he did when he was nervous. “I asked her what you like.”

“So you were the one with the less-than-honorable intentions?”

Smiling boyishly, he said, “Never.”

“Well, Nate Meyers, you’ve certainly had your opportunities, if those were your plans.”

He stared blankly at me for a few beats. I closed the door behind us, locked it, then turned back toward him. He braced the back of my neck and kissed me, pulling my bottom lip into his mouth. I thrust my hips against him and he growled deep in his throat. “The wanting hasn’t gone away,” he finally said, “but I’m trying to be respectful. You’re making it hard on me.”

“I feel it, too,” I murmured.

Nate was in control but very innocent in his reactions to me. I didn’t have a doubt that he was experienced in the bedroom but inexperienced with intimacy. I had a strong desire to show him how beautiful things could be when two people were comfortable with each other—comfortable enough to really let go.

He pulled me along to his truck and opened the door for me. We drove down dark country roads, making light conversation. The desire and pull we felt toward each other was palpable. Even small glances were sexually charged, carrying wordless promises for the night.

I explored the inside of the small house Nate was renting. He had very few furnishings, just the bare necessities. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“This is it.”

“Hmm. Maybe we can do something about that. When is your next day off?”

“I’m off tomorrow,” he said as he followed me down the short hallway to his bedroom. His bed was well dressed in a fluffy, expensive-looking white down comforter and oversized pillows. The sun had gone down but the sky was still light enough to fill the room. There was a warm breeze wafting from the open shutters. The air held the scent of wildflowers and sycamore. Through the window I could see a wide-open pasture and a small corral behind the house. The room, although bare, was very inviting. The bed called to me, even if just for a nap, but I knew there were better uses for it.