Meeting Mr. Wright (10 page)

“This is me,” Nate says, leading me through a door at the end of the hallway that’s slightly open. He reaches over and flips on the lights, and I grin when I see the inside of his room. I know he grew up here, and I was expecting bunk beds and posters of half-naked women; you know, typical teen boy stuff. But this room doesn’t look like it ever belonged to a teenager. Either Amy redid it after Nate went off to college, or he’s always had good taste.

The walls are a deep beige color, and dark wooden bookcases line the wall opposite the door. The bookcases hold stacks and stacks of books. Some are on their sides, some are lined up by size, tallest to shortest. The spines are all well-worn, and I like the fact that he’s a reader. It’s not something I’ve thought to ask, but it’s nice to know. Instead of the half-naked model posters I was expecting to see, there are pictures of lakes and mountains. Posters of snowboarders and skiers. Sporting equipment is leaning against and perched on nearly every piece of furniture. Skis, a hockey stick, a tennis racket. Even if I didn’t know that Nate manages a sporting goods store, I would be able to guess it based on the sheer amount of stuff that he has.

Nate’s bed is huge, and it’s perfectly made. I can’t help but wonder if that’s his handiwork or if Amy comes in here every morning when he’s home and makes his bed for him. I can see either scenario being true.

“The bathroom’s in here,” Nate says, pushing open the door beside him. “I’ll try to remember to put the seat down for you.” He winks so that I know he’s kidding, and when I lean against the doorway to take a peek inside, I can’t believe how huge the bathroom is. Beautiful tile work with an open shower, like something you’d see in a design magazine. This is definitely something Amy and Jack had done recently. No way did this place look like it does now when Nate was in high school.

He walks over to his closet and pulls out a comforter and two pillows, then he spreads the comforter out on the floor. He steps around the makeshift bed and pulls down the sheets on his actual bed, making room for me. He fluffs the pillows with a dramatic thwack, and then he holds out his arms.

“It’s all yours,” he says.

I climb onto the bed, and it’s softer than I thought it would be. My knees sink into the featherbed as I crawl over to the other side, and I find that I’m glad that Ethan had tacky loud sex with his new girlfriend, because this mattress is much nicer than the one in my guest room. I try to tell myself that my comfort here has nothing to do with the fact that Nate’s so close. He pulls the covers up over me, and then his eyes meet mine, a tender smile on his face. His gaze lingers, and I get the feeling that there’s something he wants to say, but instead he just whispers “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Nate’s fingertips slide along the duvet, and then he turns and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. I turn onto my side and watch the shadows of his feet in the slit beneath the door. The whole bed smells like him, and I turn my head against the pillow and breathe in. It’s not cologne or anything you can buy, it’s some combination of clean and outdoorsy that’s uniquely him, and I want to bottle it so I can bring it home with me. Somehow I get the feeling that smell wouldn’t be nearly as attractive if Nate wasn’t around, but I push that thought down deep.

Nate walks out of the bathroom wearing a grey tee and navy blue shorts, and when he reaches over to turn out the light, I call his name.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to sleep down there,” I say, pursing my lips together as I pull the sheet back to make room for him to get in.

“Are you sure?”

I’m sure that this is probably a stupid move on my part. But I want him in this bed next to me, I can’t deny that.

“You’ve already been inside of me,” I say, trying to tease him. “Sharing a bed is nothing.”

When his eyes meet mine, my intended joke seems a little too serious. But Nate’s mouth quirks up in a half smile, and he climbs in anyway.

I’m on my side and he’s on his back, though I can tell he wants to turn toward me. Maybe because I’m in the bed or maybe because he always sleeps that way, I don’t know. He looks over at me and I grin, hoping he’ll understand that it’s okay for him to move. We’re being all awkward about this like a couple of teenagers; it’s kind of cute and definitely maddening. Finally he turns toward me, his eyes still locked with mine, and I can’t look away. I don’t want to. The moonlight shining through the window behind me casts the most beautiful light on his face. Bluish and kind of dreamy, like I’m in some kind of a haze. Nate smiles this comfortable, lazy smile, like there’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be than here in this bed with me.

“Are you going to be here when I wake up?” he asks.

It could’ve been a vindictive question, given the way I behaved the last time we were like this. But he asks it so softly that it sounds more like a wish than anything.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He watches me for a moment, then he reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips gently sliding down my cheek. His touch leaves a hot trail on my skin, leaves me wanting more. It’s a dangerous, wonderful feeling. He pulls his hand away quickly, a glint of regret flashing across his face. I don’t like that look; I much prefer the smile I saw only moments earlier.

Maybe it’s because I miss just sleeping with someone, or maybe it’s because I miss the feeling of someone else’s skin, I don’t know. But I reach over and twine my fingers with Nate’s, clasping our hands together.

I close my eyes and sleep more soundly than I have in months.

T
HE MORNING
air is cool and breezy, and the sun is so bright in the sky, the promise of a beautiful day to come. Jessa, Ben, Gabby and Madeline are walking in front of us, cutting a new path across the soft green grass in the field behind the Wrights’ house. Nate and I trail behind them, looking at each other every few steps and smiling. Sometimes he looks away first, and sometimes I do. But our eyes always end up on each other, and it makes this tingling warmth well up inside of me.

I had stayed with him last night, and I was still there in the morning, just like I promised I would be. We woke up all tangled together; his left arm was completely numb from me resting my head on it all night, and my foot was falling asleep from where it had gotten caught between his calves sometime in the middle of the night. He rubbed my foot as it regained feeling, and I slid my fingers down his arm, helping to wake it back up. We laughed and teased each other until we finally rolled out of bed, and when I left his room, I felt an ache not completely unlike the one I’d felt when I left him in the hotel early that morning after we’d slept together.

In the shower I had thought too long and too hard about what I should and shouldn’t be feeling, and I promised myself I’d keep a distance from him, if for no other reason to protect my own heart. Then I saw him at breakfast, telling Madeline a silly story about trolls to get her to eat her eggs, and I knew I couldn’t stay away. What difference does it make anyway? In four days he’ll be going back to Colorado and I’ll be going back to Texas, and that will be that. Is there anything wrong with enjoying this feeling while I can? I just have to be careful. I can be careful.

Jessa and Gabby are each holding one of Madeline’s hands, swinging her through the air as they walk. I remember doing the same thing when I was young, back when my parents were still together. It’s one of my earliest memories, and one of the only ones I have of us all together as a family. Madeline’s high-pitched peals of laughter as she swings back and forth make it sound like she’s having the time of her life.

“You know,” Jessa says, “I remember a time when Mom and Dad were doing this with Benny, and his hands slipped out of theirs. He landed flat on his back.” She laughs in a way that any sister would at the misfortune of one of her younger siblings.

“So that’s what happened,” Nate says, looking at his sister like that’s a legitimate explanation for something he’s always thought was wrong with Ben.

“Well, if you ask me, I think Nate definitely shows classic signs of being dropped on his head,” Ben says.

“No one asked you,” Nate replies, laughing. He winks at me before he looks ahead, and my insides flutter.

Ben ignores him. “Remember when he shaved it back in middle school? So lumpy.” He looks back at his brother, pointing to his head.

Nate feigns offense. “My head is near perfect in its head-like shape. And I looked awesome bald.” He leans down so close to me that I can feel his stubble against the shell of my ear. “I really did.”

With hair, without hair. I can’t imagine Nate
not
looking good.

“Everyone looks awesome bald when it’s by choice,” Jessa says. “Once the Wright family male-pattern baldness shows up, you’ll be singing a different tune.”

“There’s always Rogaine.” Ben self-consciously rubs the back of his head.

Gabby tries to be discreet when she leans back to get a better look at his hair situation, and I have to laugh. Madeline breaks away from Gabby and Jessa and runs ahead of us, her long, curly brown hair flowing behind her. Jessa runs after her and tickles her when she finally catches up, and the two of them collapse onto the ground in a fit of laughter.

“I wanted to tell you,” Gabby says, “Ben and I are going out to dinner with Ethan and Emily tonight.” She slowly turns and looks at me, eyes wary, like she’s nervous about my reaction. It’s not like I expected her to spend all of her time with me. What was the point of inviting Ethan if he was just going to be relegated to unwelcome status, isolated from his best friend? I said I was okay with him coming, and I think I’ve acted like it so far.

“I hope you have fun,” I tell her.

“Where in the hell are you going to dinner? The gas station off the main road?” Nate laughs at his joke, getting a kick out of himself. I can’t lie, it’s kind of adorable.

“Is there nothing around here?” I realize that I haven’t stepped foot off of this property in the few days that I’ve been here, and I didn’t really pay all that much attention on the ride to the house on the day I arrived.

“There’s less than nothing around here,” Nate explains. “Why do you think we have so much to do here at the house? It’s a self-contained entertainment environment.”

“We’re going to a place just outside of Richmond,” Ben says, like it’s nothing to drive an hour away just to have dinner with his friend. Over the course of the past six months since Ethan and I broke up, I’ve wanted to hug Ben for being so great about the whole thing. For being on my side, but for managing to keep Ethan as a friend without ever condoning what he did.

“Hey,” Nate says, sliding his hand down my arm to get my attention. His fingers leave a heated trail in their wake, and I shiver. “How would you feel about me making you dinner?”

Four days, Callie. Four days. Be
careful.

I smile at him. “I’d feel pretty great about it.”

N
ATE STANDS
at the kitchen island, carefully cutting slices from a fresh loaf of bread. I have to admit that I’m really impressed with how seriously he’s taking his offer to cook me dinner. I was expecting macaroni and cheese or some other bachelor speciality, but he’s really trying here. Once he’s finally satisfied with the bread, he places four slices on the cutting board, inspecting how fit they are for toasting. There’s a plate full of cooked bacon resting on the stove, and my stomach is growling. I asked him if I could help earlier, in part to be polite and in part to speed this process along so we could eat. He flatly refused, preferring, in his words, that I “watch the master work.”

“What are you-”

Nate turns and gently places his finger on my lips, then quietly shushes me.

“I need to concentrate, Callie,” he says. I nearly laugh; it’s so cute the way he’s trying to turn sandwich making into an art.

He places the bread in the toaster, then starts slicing the tomato as precisely as he sliced the bread. He gets into a groove right about the time that Amy walks by the kitchen and then backtracks, stopping in the doorway.

“Sandwiches, Nate?” she asks, shaking her head. “That’s not how you woo a lady.”

Nate’s shoulders slump and he drops the knife on the cutting board. “Nobody’s wooing anyone, Mom. I think this one’s woo-proof.” He turns and winks at me, giving me a soft smile.

A few days ago I would’ve thought he was correct, but now…I’m just not sure. I think my stomach wants to prove him wrong though, because the butterflies are out in full force.