“Okay.” Niles gently pried Kat’s fingers from her arm. “Let’s not narrate Rachel’s love life.”
Rachel looked at Faith. “I don’t have to do this now.”
“Yes, you do.” Faith’s smile was small but genuine. “It’s fine, really.” She glanced at Nathan, who’d been pulled into a conversation with a patron. “Kat’s right. He’s here for you.”
Rachel grabbed her hand and squeezed. Faith squeezed back and said, “It’s okay,” with the same confidence she’d had all those years ago. It’s okay to feel this.
Nathan spotted Rachel when she was a few feet away. She stopped, suddenly at a loss for what to say. All those mental rehearsals of what she’d do when she finally saw him again were useless. They hadn’t prepared her for the way his eyes drank her in, or how every possible greeting dissolved on her tongue when he smiled.
Nathan approached her and leaned in close to be heard over the noise. “Congratulations.”
The crowd jostled them even closer, and Nathan’s hand darted out to keep her steady. Only his touch had the opposite effect, a disorienting shift that left her spinning.
“I brought you something.” He lifted a brown paper bag. “A gift to celebrate.” The curious eyes that turned their way made him lower it just as quickly. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
The building was filled with glass walls. The only room with any real privacy was Matt’s old office. Nathan put the paper bag on a desk, next to a large bouquet of flowers. He stared at them a moment and then turned around, arms folded. “Lots of people out there.”
“I know.” She took a breath and kept her hands against her sides. No more armor. “I should have asked for RSVPs. It’s probably a building code violation.”
His eyes lifted briefly to the ceiling. “So, this place is yours?”
“Yes. I plan to repurpose it as affordable art studios for people just starting out.”
He grinned. “You mean people like me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Every dealer in the Western Hemisphere wants to work with you right now, so no. But you’re welcome to fill out a donation card.”
He laughed. God, she’d missed that. Making him laugh.
“I’d be happy to donate,” he said. His smile faded, and he studied her. “So, I guess you’ve been keeping tabs on me.”
Heat flared across her cheeks, but she didn’t bother denying it. “I might have set up a Google Alert or five. A lot of people misspell your name.”
He moved closer. “I bet you’re in the comments, setting them straight.”
“Of course. Someone has to protect your search algorithm.”
Their laughter interlaced, and she wanted to bottle the sound for safekeeping. Nathan cleared his throat. “None of it would have happened if it wasn’t for you,” he said, staring at her in a way that used to unnerve her, like he was picking apart her thoughts. Any minute now he’d realize how desperate she was to touch him again. The space between them was the only thing keeping her emotions in check.
Her new therapist, Diane, had told her to focus on living in the present. That she’d spent so much time in that hovering, floating headspace that she was disconnected from her own feelings. “It’s hard to trust someone you don’t know,” Diane had said, in that patient and firm way that Rachel knew she needed. “You’re so alienated from who you really are that being in your body is like living with a stranger.”
Facing Nathan, she did her best to remain flat-footed. She looked for something tangible to focus on and pointed to the brown paper bag. “Are you going to show me what’s inside?”
“Right.” He hesitated and gripped it tighter. “I thought maybe you could use it.”
He pulled out a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle, and her eyes filled when she saw it. This was classic Nathan, doing something thoughtful in those barely visible ways that seeped through the cracks in her heart. It was how he’d always loved her.
“Fuck.” He put the whiskey down. “Okay. Please don’t cry.”
She bowed her head so he couldn’t see her face. “I’m sorry. This wasn’t what I wanted. I wasn’t trying to lure you here for this.” She gestured at her tears with disgust. “The exhibit is about working on forgiving myself and not being ashamed of who I am. I know that’s why I hurt you. And I have no right to ask you for a second chance, so I won’t, but I miss you.” Her eyes watered again, and she rubbed them hard, hoping to stop the flood. “I really miss you, so maybe we can start over. As actual friends this time? And I can work on earning back your trust.”