by Noelle Adams
“I’ll take the small room,” I say as I recognize the difference between them.
“You will not,” Nate says.
“But you’re paying for all this.”
“And it’s your present. So you get the big room.”
I sigh and scan his face, realizing there’s no reason for me to argue anymore. No one is as stubborn as Nate is when he’s made up his mind about something. “Well, you can use my bathroom if you want.”
He chuckles dryly and shakes his head at me.
Overwhelmed with another surge of affection, I lean over to kiss him on the left side of his jaw, my spot. “Thank you for all this, Nate.”
“You’re welcome,” he mutters.
He puts his stuff down in the small room, and then he goes to drag my luggage into the big room. “Do you want to go right to bed?” he asks, looking over at the tall bed with thick white covers on it.
“No. I’m starving. I want to eat something first. And then I was thinking about that hot tub.”
There’s a fantastic hot tub in the garden, and I figure it’s just the thing to help me relax after the trip. I’m exhausted but emotionally wired, so I’m not going to be able to sleep quite yet.
“Sounds like a good idea,” Nate says with a smile.
“I’m going to the bathroom. Then I’ll work on getting supper together.”
When I come out of my room, Nate has turned on the gas fireplace. Since it’s a chilly evening, the heat is welcome and the ambiance pleasant. We cut pieces of bread from the loaf we bought in the village and set them with cheese, roast beef, and grapes on a big plate. Nate pours some red wine, and we bring our meal out to eat in front of the fire.
We don’t talk much, but I have a wonderful time. I think Nate does too.
I close my eyes when I’m done eating, thinking that I’m perfectly comfortable and content for the first time in hours.
“Are you going to sleep?” Nate asks.
“No. Just enjoying myself.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
There’s an odd note to his tone that makes me open my eyes to check his expression, but I can’t read anything on his face.
He’s on the floor, leaning against the sofa, just like I am, and his hair looks more rumpled than usual. I’m tempted to reach over to smooth down the kink at his right temple, but I know it’s a futile effort.
“Are you going to try out the hot tub?” he asks when he notices my looking at him.
“Yes. I better do it now, or I won’t have the energy.” I start to stand up, and I wince when I realize how sore my back and neck are.
“Okay.” Nate hasn’t moved.
I frown down at him. “Aren’t you coming too?”
“I can. I didn’t know if you’d want me to or not.”
“Well, why wouldn’t I?”
He gives a half shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Of course I want you. I’ll feel stupid in that big thing by myself.”
“Okay.” He’s chuckling as he stands up. “I’ll go change too.”
As I change into my suit, I suddenly remember that I still haven’t checked for messages from Rochester. With a gasp, I reach for my phone and pull up my email.
I’m having to pay extra to use my phone overseas, so I’ve vowed to spend as little time as possible on the data usage. I won’t be able to read his messages over and over again the way I usually do.
I droop as I look at my inbox and realize that there’s no email from the dating site, telling me I have a new message.
Rochester hasn’t replied to the note I sent him just before Nate picked me up to take me to the airport.
He’s never waited so long to reply to me before.
I try to be reasonable, but I feel irrationally crushed, like it’s a rejection.
As I’m quickly moving through my other email, a message suddenly pops up. It’s the dating site. Rochester has finally replied.
I read it quickly. It’s much shorter than usual. He apologizes for the long delay and says he’s been tied up with family obligations and hasn’t been able to sit down at the computer all day. He hopes I’m having the time of my life in England, and he tells me to keep a journal, recording all my impressions of the trip so I can share them with him afterward.
I think this is a lovely idea. I never keep a journal, but I like the idea. Maybe I can borrow one of those little notebooks that Nate always carries around with him. I’m sure he brought extra on the trip.
Feeling happy again, I fix the straps of my tankini swimsuit and grab a towel before heading outside. I’m surprised when Nate is leaving his room at the same time I am. It wouldn’t have taken so long for him to change since I stopped to check my email.
Maybe he took a minute to check email too.
“Is that new?” Nate asks, his eyes scanning my body.
I suddenly feel self-conscious, which is ridiculous since it’s just Nate. “Yeah. I had to get a new one since I lost that weight. My old suit didn’t fit.”
“You look good,” he says. His voice is casual, but his eyes do another scan of my body.
“Thanks.” I feel myself blushing, and I have absolutely no idea why.
I go right outside to the hot tub while Nate makes a detour to the kitchen. I’m slowly sinking into the hot water as he comes out with two glasses of wine.
“Perfect,” I say, reaching for mine. “Look how gorgeous the view is.”
Nate glances over as he lowers himself into the water beside me. It is a beautiful view, the garden, sloping meadow, and picturesque lake lit only by the bright moonlight. “Nice.”
That’s about as poetic as Nate gets.
I breathe deeply, sip my wine, enjoy the pleasing embrace of the heated water, and gaze out at England in the moonlight. It’s all perfect. Exactly as I’ve always dreamed.
Nate is the most incredible guy ever for doing all this for me.
I look over at him and catch him staring at me. He glances away almost immediately, and I can’t help but wonder what he was thinking.
I hope he’s having a good time. I hope he thinks that all the time and money he’s spent on this trip is worth it.
“Would you rather have done this with a girlfriend?” I ask, totally out of the blue, following the line of my thoughts.
He jerks slightly, almost slopping his wine. “What? I don’t have a girlfriend.”
I have no idea why he doesn’t. He’s the best, cutest, sweetest, smartest guy I’ve ever known. “I know. I was just thinking that this is the kind of trip that you might have preferred to do with a girlfriend if you had one. Rather than me, I mean.”
His brows draw together, and his mouth turns down. “Why wouldn’t I want to do this with you?”
I’m starting to feel flustered for no good reason. “There’s no reason why you wouldn’t. I was just thinking it might be more fun for you with... I just want you to have a really good... Oh, forget it. It doesn’t matter.” I’m sorry I even brought the stupid topic up.
Nate is watching me closely now, like he can see and read every flicker of emotion on my face. “There’s no one else I’d rather go on this trip with,” he says at last, sounding uncharacteristically sober.
I take a weird little breath that catches in my throat. “Really?”
“Of course.” He’s still frowning. “Why would you think I’d rather be with someone else?”
My feelings are all a tangle now of embarrassment, pleasure, and affection. “I don’t know. I didn’t really. You’ve just spent so much on this trip, and I know it’s not the same with just me.”
He’s silent for a long time, looking again at my face and then out to the landscape. Finally he murmurs, “There’s no just about you, Jane.”
It takes me a few seconds to figure out his words, and then I’m overwhelmed by them. I want to hug him, but it won’t really work in the hot tub like this, not when both of us are holding wineglasses. So I reach out with my free hand until I find his under
the water, and I squeeze it. “Same to you.”
His eyes shoot back over to my face, searching for just a moment. Then he smiles his old smile. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be here with Rochester?”
I actually think about this for a minute since I want to make sure what I tell Nate is the truth. And I realize that I wouldn’t prefer to be with Rochester, no matter how compelling and deep he is. It just wouldn’t be right, to be here with anyone but Nate, now that my mother has died.
“I wouldn’t,” I tell Nate. “You’re definitely my first choice.”
This seems to please him, and he squeezes my hand. After a minute, I realize we’re still holding hands. It feels nice, but it’s a little strange, so I gently pull my hand away.
I’m suddenly conscious that I’m in a very romantic setting with Nate, who doesn’t have on a shirt. His chest is very nice—toned and lean and masculine.
It must be the hot water and the wine going to my head because I’m suddenly washed by a wave of attraction to him. I feel it everywhere—all through my body.
For Nate.
That’s not at all the way things are supposed to be between us. Not at all. I’m so rattled by the strange reaction that I’m tempted to climb out of the hot tub, but since we just got in, Nate would recognize it as strange and demand to know what’s wrong.
That would just make things worse, so I close my eyes and talk myself out of it. After a few minutes, I feel normal again. Nate has always been my friend—and nothing more.
When I open my eyes, I discover that he’s been watching me. I smile, hoping he didn’t see anything untoward on my face.
“You all right?” he asks.
“Of course. What about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. I’m fine too.”
He gives me a quizzical smile. “All right then. I’m glad both of us are fine.”
I can’t help but laugh at his tone. I’m not sure why it’s felt a little stilted between us recently. I feel like he’s acting differently, but maybe I am too. It’s like we’re both being careful, but I’m not really sure what we’re being careful about.
I’m relieved when, after laughing, I’m relaxed enough to sink back into the water, sip my wine, and enjoy the evening.
We stay in the hot tub for about a half hour, but then the heat and the alcohol start to make me feel a little dizzy, so I decide to get out. Nate gets out too, and we go to our separate rooms to dry off and get ready for bed.
My whole body is buzzing, but it’s a pleasant feeling. I put on my favorite camisole with the lacy straps and a pair of pale blue pajama pants, and I braid my damp hair into one big rope down my back. I’m tempted to climb into bed, but I don’t want to have a headache tomorrow from the wine and the traveling, so I decide to get a bottle of water so I won’t get dehydrated.
Nate is in the kitchen, wearing a clean white T-shirt and the bright-red flannel pants with golf balls on them that I got him last Christmas. His hair is standing up nearly on end now, and he’s leaning over the counter, jotting something down on one of his little notepads.
He looks startled when he sees me, and he straightens up, sliding the pad into his pocket. “I thought you were going to bed.”
“I was, but I decided I better get some water. What are you doing?” I look at the outline of the pad in his pocket, feeling curious since he almost looked guilty for a moment. He’s usually just writing out lists or drafting work emails on those pads—certainly nothing very private.
“Just making notes for an email I need to send.”
“An email to your boss? Is he giving you problems?” I feel a pang of worry, landing on an explanation for his demeanor. “Is he mad that you took the time off?”
“I told you it’s fine,” he mutters coolly—far more coolly than normal. “Don’t ask me again.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.” I try not to be hurt by his tone. We occasionally snap at each other—although not as much as we did as kids. Anyone who spends as much time together as we do will do that from time to time. But it bothers me when he seems to be annoyed at me for no good reason. Especially on this trip since I need him to have a great time. He’s so good to me. I want to be good to him too.
He sighs—so thickly it’s almost a groan. “I’m sorry. Don’t be upset.”
“I’m not upset.” I smile at him to prove it.
He gives me a dubious look and reaches into the bag on the counter and pulls out a chocolate bar. “You want some?” he asks.
I perk right up. “Yes. Thank you.”
He gets a bottle of water too, and we take our waters and our chocolate into the living room. He turns the fireplace back on as we sit on the couch together.
“So did you hear from Prince Charming?” he asks dryly.
I ignore the dryness—mostly because I’m shocked that Rochester has completely slipped out of my mind for the last hour or so. “Yeah. He sent a quick note. I guess he was really busy today.”
“I’m sure he’ll catch up as soon as he can and send you a lengthy tome about the beauty of the bluebirds.”
I narrow my eyes. “He doesn’t write about bluebirds.”
“Or whatever.”
“Don’t be snotty about him. He’s a good guy.”
“I’m sure he is. Let’s just hope he’s not a brooding fourteen-year-old boy.”
I burst into laughter, and I don’t really know why since I should be annoyed by the comment. “Oh, he’s very mature. I can tell.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t be that way. You should join the site too and find yourself a nice, pretty girl who likes golf.”
“I don’t want a nice, pretty girl who likes golf.”
He’s staring idly at the fire, and I give him a quick glance, wondering for the millionth time what he does want in a girl. It won’t do me any good to ask about it though. He’ll never share it with me.
He tells me about his dates sometimes, but he never talks seriously about his dreams for a romantic partner. We have some sort of unspoken understanding that the topic is off-limits, so I never push him on it.
Everyone needs a few private spaces in their lives. If that’s his, then I can completely understand it.
The truth is, I don’t know if I really want him to have a serious girlfriend. As selfish as it sounds, I’d be afraid she’d take parts of him away from me.
Nate wouldn’t be mine anymore.
I don’t like that thought. And I don’t like the self-centered parts of myself that it comes from. I sigh and feel kind of glum as I finish my block of chocolate.
“Are you sleepy?” Nate asks.
“A little. I’m not sure I can actually sleep yet though.” I remember that I’m supposed to stay hydrated, so I take four big gulps from my water bottle.
“I can read with you if you want,” he suggests. “If you want to get one of your Jane books, I mean. I’d read with you.”
I suck in a short gasp. “You would? You don’t like those books.”
“I know.” He gives me a lopsided grin. “But I’ve sat through endless movies with you, so I guess I can handle the books too. We don’t have to, but I thought maybe you’d like it since you and your mom always did that.”
“I would,” I say, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. “That’s so nice of you. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just run grab a book before I change my mind.”
I jump up and run into my bedroom to snatch a paperback copy of Persuasion from my bag. I brought three Austen books to reread on the trip. I would have brought them all, but I ran out of room in my bags.
Nate is waiting for me when I return, and I sit down closer to him on the sofa so he can see the pages too as we read.
I start reading out loud, taking the first few pages. Then I pass it on to Nate, and he reads in his pleasant, intelligent voice.
I’m having a really good time, thinking about the story, thinking about my mom, thinking about how glad I
am to be here with Nate right now, when he reaches the end of the first chapter.
It’s not a particularly moving or emotional part. In fact, it’s the line about Sir Walter condescending to mortgage the estate but never sell. It’s just that I remember my mother reading that exact line a few years ago, making her voice all snotty to match Sir Walter’s attitude.
And I miss her so much I can’t bear it. I can’t stand it. It hurts like a bleeding wound that she’s not here, that she’ll never get to go to England with me now.
My whole body shakes desperately as I fight to repress the sobs that rip up through my throat. I turn my face away from Nate since I don’t want him to see.
He held me as I cried night after night last year, as my mother slowly slipped out of my grasp. I know it must have been hard for him since he’s not an emotional person and he’s never been comfortable with intense feelings like that. But he was always there when I needed him—he’s never not been there for me. And I don’t want to ruin his trip by being an emotional basket case.
“Oh shit,” he mutters, lowering the book. I’ve obviously not hidden my tears from him.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I’m not crying.”
“Sure you’re not.” He reaches over to pull me into a hug.
So there’s no help for me after that. I sob helplessly against his shirt for a minute.
The storm passes as quickly as it came, and I feel a lot better after a minute. I still miss my mom. I know I always will. But it’s not threatening to tear me apart the way it used to.
“Sorry,” I say, pulling away from him and feeling strangely embarrassed. “I don’t know what happened.”
“I know it’s hard,” he says quietly, reaching up to very gently swipe a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “I know it’s going to be hard. You were supposed to do this trip with her.”
“Yeah.” I sniff and clear my throat and straighten my shoulders. “But I promise I’m not going to cry all the time.”
“You can cry as much as you want.”
“That’s not fair to you though.”
“This trip isn’t about me.”
“Well, I want you to have a good time too.” I suddenly feel a stab of worry, that he’s just tolerating the trip for my sake instead of really enjoying it.
