The hand. On her back. Not moving, not soothing, not petting. Resting. The full span of it nested between her shoulder blades.
WHEN SHE RESURFACED, she was surprised to find herself curled in Nick’s lap. That they were sitting on a bench in the garden, the one she’d sat on with Amanda. She opened her eye and, through the blur, could see that the chest of his tuxedo shirt was a mess. Wet and smeared with the remnants of her mascara, lipstick, and foundation. It looked like a crime scene. She couldn’t fathom what she must look like. She also couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out.
“Shhhh.” He brought his hand to the side of her head, guiding it to his shoulder, his jacket soft and dry.
“This was–” Then, to herself, “Oh God.” Back to Nick: “You don’t have to stay, I’m fine now–”
“Don’t be an arse,” he murmured, his tone soothing despite the playful admonishment, “I’m not going anywhere.”
So she let herself be cradled by him. In fact, she brought her arm up across his chest and around his other shoulder, snuggling closer. She let his fingers play at her hairline, took comfort in the steady beating of his heart.
After an epoch, when she felt she had returned to some reasonable baseline, she was left with the heady, slightly-stoned feeling extreme sobbing generates. She wanted to talk, but wasn’t sure she was capable of coherent speech. She took a breath and gave it a try, rhetorically murmuring, “June’s nephew. No wonder you were so good at the Romance version.”
She felt his chuckle like thunder in his chest. “I could have been a wee bit more honest, too.”
Sewanee paused. “Your name is Nick, right?”
“Yes, you see, I didn’t know we were making up names.” She heard the teasing in his voice. “But I shouldn’t have played it dumb.”
“Why did you? You didn’t have to. You had an opening. ‘I’m a Romance editor.’ ‘Oh, what a coincidence, my aunt basically built the entire category, perhaps you’ve heard of her?’”
“Right. That would have been a thing to say.” He paused. “What would you have said to that?”
Sewanee thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe . . . maybe I would have taken the opportunity to come clean. You wouldn’t have been some random guy in a bar anymore.”
“But I was a random guy in a bar.”
She dared to look up. He made a pouting smile, probably at the absolute disaster of her face. She started to go back into hiding, into the safety of his jacket. But he stopped her. Put his hand on her chin and kept her head up. He gazed at her. “I think we both wanted random,” he murmured. “That was the fantasy, no?”
The word “fantasy” sparked a dormant ember inside her.
Brock McNight.
She sat up. “What time is it?” She fumbled in her pocket.
“Probably ten or so,” Nick answered, but Sewanee already had her phone out. 10:30. 10:30! She’d been crying for, what, an hour? She stood up, shakily, her hand clinging to Nick’s shoulder. “I have to make a call.”
“Of course.” He probably thought she needed to call family, and she did. She did. But first, this.
She moved away from him then, about twenty feet. She pulled up her text chain with Brock and started typing. I’m so sorry. You won’t believe this, but a family 911 . . . She paused. Deleted. Started again. I had an emergency and I’m so sorry for the super late notice but I won’t be able to Everything felt inadequate. She owed him more than a text. He’d have questions and she wanted to be able to answer them. She wanted to hear his voice and, more importantly, she wanted him to hear hers. To hear how sorry she was. That she wasn’t getting cold feet. That it was a matter of timing, nothing else. After all these months, she finally wanted to talk to him.
So, she took a steadying breath, tapped his name, and pressed the phone icon. She brought it to her ear.
First ring.
Second ring.
There was a ring in the garden, too.
Third ring.
Again, in the garden. Annoying.
She put a finger in her ear and looked around. She saw Nick stand up, turn away from her, and answer his phone.
In her phone, Brock finally picked up. “Sarah?” That familiar richness, that burned caramel, of eighty thousand downloads and counting.
Relieved, Sewanee said, “Yes, hi.”
“Well, hello.” His voice came through her phone.
And, also, simultaneously, across the night air.