“Nora,” he says. “It’s all progress at this point.” He reaches out to select the whole document, then hovers the cursor over Accept All Changes, his elbow nestling against mine on the wood laminate table. He looks to me for approval.
I nod, but he doesn’t move, and the light contact of his arm pulls all the nerves in my body toward that one spot.
Any second the walls will go back up, and I can’t take that. I thought about how to broach the subject for hours as I lay awake last night, and somehow, what comes out is still just, “I forgot to mention, last night I ran into your cousin.”
I say the word purposefully. Charlie glances away as he scratches his jaw. “Was he rescuing a kitten from a tree, or helping an old lady across the street?”
“Neither,” I say. “He was just shirtless and washing a car.”
“I hope you tipped him for his trouble.” His gaze comes back to mine, a crackle of electricity jumping the gap between us.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, “here’s a tip: put on a shirt. This is a family-friendly literary salon.”
The corners of his Charlie’s lips twitch as he stands and leans against the table, his eyes fixing on the window. “If you’d really said that, the ladies’ knitting club would’ve run you out of town. Shirtless Shepherd is a Sunshine Falls staple.”
I fight to keep my voice even. “I didn’t know he was your cousin. Or I wouldn’t have gone out with him.”
He looks away. “You don’t owe me anything, Nora.”
“Oh, I know.” I stand too. I can’t dance around it any longer—it’s not working anyway. I can’t do anything about the Libby piece of things, but this—this can be resolved. One way or another, the wall of tension is coming down today.
I take a breath and go on: “Especially if something’s going on with you and your ex.”
His eyes dart back to mine. “It’s not.”
“You saw her last night, didn’t you?”
His jaw flexes. “I was working. She just stopped by.”
I feel my gaze narrow skeptically. “For a planned visit?”
He shifts his weight. “Yes,” he admits.
“To buy a book?” I say.
His jaw tightens again. “Not exactly.”
“To hang out?”
“To talk.”
“As ex-fiancés so often do.”
“It’s a small town,” he says. “We can’t avoid each other. We needed to clear the air.”
“Ah,” I say.
“Don’t ah,” he says, sounding frustrated now. “Nothing happened between us, and it’s not going to.”
“It’s none of my business,” I say.
“Exactly.” Somehow this seems to make him more frustrated, which makes me more acutely, hungrily aware of the space shrinking between us. “Just like it’s none of my business if you date my cousin.”
“Whom I have no intention of seeing again,” I say. “And with whom I wouldn’t have gone out even once if I’d known he was your cousin.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Charlie insists.
“And you didn’t either, by spending time with Amaya,” I reply. We are either too good or too bad at fighting. We are viciously trading support for each other’s romantic lives.
He one-ups me with, “Shepherd’s a great guy. Most eligible bachelor in town. He’s perfect for your list, checks all your boxes.”
“What about Amaya?” I throw back. “How’s she measure up to yours?”
“Doesn’t make the cut,” he says.
“Must be a pretty long list.”
“One item,” he replies. “Very specific.”
The way he’s looking at me wakes up my skin, my bloodstream, my want. “Too bad it’s not going to work out for you guys,” I say.
“And I’m sorry to hear about you and Shepherd.” His eyes flash. “I thought you two had a nice time.”
“Oh, I did,” I say. “Just turns out a nice time isn’t what I really want right now.”
He stares at me, eyes blackening, and I hope I’m as legible to him now as ever, that he knows I’m done brushing off this thing between us. Scratchily, he says, “And what is it you want, Stephens?”
“I just . . .” Now or never. I feel like I’m readying myself for a skydive. “I want to be here with you and not worry about what comes next.”