Before I can say anything, he whips his jacket off and throws it around my shoulders. It’s warm, and it smells like him—like cinnamon. I’ve grown very fond of cinnamon over the last few weeks. I’ve even started adding cinnamon to my oatmeal every morning.
“Thanks,” I mutter. As if this doesn’t feel anymore cliché… it somehow feels like we’re on a date. Like he’s going to kiss me on my front porch. Will he? I look up, and he’s concentrating on something far away. No. Probably not. He’s just being nice. “I’m excited for the party,” I add. “I still haven’t figured out a costume.”
“Me either,” he says. “Yeah. Should be interesting. Isabel always used to plan these things. Most of our friends will be there… I’m interested to see how it compares.”
“Are you… are you okay?”
He looks away, and I can tell that it’s still painful to talk about.
“You know, for so long I wasn’t. It was a lot of before and after. Remember?”
I think back to our talk in the kitchen, when we made cupcakes. How he said that he was trying to live in the after.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“I guess… sometimes all you need is one person to show you how to live in the after. Sometimes all you need is someone to show you how to live with no regrets.” I don’t respond. I feel like he’s talking about me, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions. He keeps talking as we walk in step. “It’s painful, sure. Thinking about her, talking about her, about Matthias… but nothing is as painful as staying stuck somewhere you don’t belong. I need to learn how to trust life a bit more. I want to be happy again. I want to try. For the first time, I think I might be ready.”
I stop walking, taking in the gravity of his words, because surely, what he’s telling me is good. It’s what I want to hear, right? He is talking about me…
“You should start dating, then,” I suggest innocently.
“Evi…” he says quietly.
He moves closer; so close, in fact, that we’re touching. I’m standing in front of a house with a low fence. He pushes me gently against it, and pins me beneath him by putting his hands on the fence behind me. My heart slams against my chest, and I feel the tightening in my stomach grow stronger in anticipation. It’s dark out now, but I can see his face because of the streetlights. He looks down at me with concern, confusion…
“Nick,” I whisper. “I don’t…” I trail off. I try to form the words, but I can’t seem to find them.
I don’t want to come second to Isabel.
I don’t want to be your rebound.
I think I’m falling in love with you.
“Don’t say anything,” he says. “I’m not ready for words, Evi.”
He watches me, and his face is inches from mine. If I had any doubts about his feelings for me, they’ve vanished. The look in his eyes is burning, and then he closes his eyes. I watch as his face scrunches up, and he shakes his head, pulling away.
“We should get back,” I say, embarrassment burning my cheeks.
I pull even further away, but Nick grabs my arm and pulls me into him so that we’re an inch apart. I inhale his scent, and I feel my whole body reacting to him, needing more, wanting more.
“You have a piece of pie on your face,” he whispers, brushing his fingers across my bottom lip. “I thought I should tell you.” His eyes darken as he traces the motion with his eyes and then looks up and meets my gaze.
“Thanks,” I say quietly. I pull away, half-embarrassed that I’m clearly a slob when I eat, but also half-amused that he would use that for an excuse.
We walk back in silence.
Twentyeight.
Nick
I couldn’t help myself. Her skin was glowing underneath the moonlight… and a very selfish part of me wanted to touch the lips that have somehow captivated me. Slowly but surely, I find myself wanting to be with her, learn about her, talk to her, touch her…
I haven’t actively thought about pursuing her. If I’m reading things right, she feels the same way I do, and I don’t know where to go from here. If I’m being honest… it scares me. A lot.