He blinked at her. Seemed to finally understand the gravity of her confusion, her reticence, her suspicion. She was doubting everything, not only Vegas, but also their correspondence. He inched over to her on the bench, carefully. Cautiously. She didn’t move away, but she stiffened and folded her arms across her chest. He paused his advance. “Everything–every single thing I wrote to you–that was real. That was me. Just a different name, that’s all. In fact, the band mate, my best friend? That’s Jason. Casanova’s producer.”
Sewanee threw up her hands. “Sure, why not? And the cocktail waitress in Vegas was your sister.” She looked at the ground, but could feel him peering at her.
If everything was real, then why did she feel duped?
The night had already been too much. This officially put her over the edge she could have sworn she’d already fallen off.
Nick was talking. “This is good, you realize that, right? It’s amazing. Have a laugh, darling, it’s funny.” The last few words were infused with a gentle chuckle. He reached out to lay a comforting hand on her knee.
But she wasn’t ready for that. It actually angered her. The fact that he found this funny seemed to prove he wasn’t nearly as invested in either version of her as she’d been in both versions of him.
Plus, she was covered in spit and mud and makeup and tears while he looked like James Bond.
She stood. “This is stupid. I’m done. Enough. I have real concerns, real problems. My grandmother’s in there trying to kill herself, my father’s an asshole, and . . .” Something boomeranged back around. “I lost tonight! I was nominated in one category and I lost, and that hasn’t happened since I started doing audiobooks, so I don’t know what that means, if anything, but it’s probably not good, and I just . . . goodnight.”
“Oh, come on!” Nick called to her retreating back, his voice still filled with mirth. “Don’t storm off! Sewanee!”
She disappeared into Seasons.
“YOU SMOKE?”
It was not what she’d intended to say, but the sight of Nick lying on his back on the bench, bringing a cigarette lazily to his mouth, made everything else she’d planned to say leave her.
He startled at her reappearance and quickly sat upright, snuffing the cigarette. He’d undone his bow tie and unbuttoned his collar. He had no right looking so good. “Not since high school,” he said, sheepishly, “but I–It’s been . . . a rough few months.” In all of this confusion, she’d forgotten his aunt–who he had clearly been close with–had died. She walked back to the bench, but didn’t sit.
Puppy dog eyes gazed up at her. “You came back.”
She swallowed. “I’m so . . . spun out and I don’t know how much I can handle right now, but I do know I don’t want to walk away like that.”
“That’s commendable. Quite grown-up.”
Sewanee shook that off. “I tend to catastrophize. My father would tell you I have a flair for the dramatic.”
Nick shrugged. “You’re passionate.”
Her face heated at that, at the casual knowingness of his statement. Also, the erroneousness of it. She wasn’t passionate, not really. She’d only been so with him.
She gathered her wits. “I want to know why you think this is good. Why you think it’s amazing.”
He slapped his knees. “Gladly!” He stood, which had the effect of putting them entirely too close, but Sewanee wouldn’t embarrass herself by stepping back. She boldly met his gaze instead. “Because in what world could you imagine this happening to you?”
“None! This belongs in one of June’s books.”
“Right! But this is real!”
“Is it?”
“Yes!”
“What is?”
“This! The whole this.” He waved his arms, encompassing the entire universe. “We’re so lucky.”
“How?”
“Because I’ve been a mess for weeks.” The excitement in his voice accelerated his pace. “I, Nick, couldn’t stop thinking about the woman from Vegas. You. Alice You. But I was all discombobulated. Why? Because I, Brock, was having these feelings, real feelings, for you. Sarah You. So I Nick and I Brock were at, like, odds with each other because we’re having these feelings for two different women, but they’re both you! Sewanee You! Don’t you see? This is . . .”
As he ran out of steam, she quirked her head at him. What? This is what? She sure as shit didn’t know. She didn’t even know what he had just said. But she was able to cherry-pick from it . . . how much he liked her. All of the hers.