Page 122 of Boyfriend of the Hour

“Hey, how about some music?” I asked as I got up to try on another dress. “Or would that disturb your work?” I looked around. “Is there a speaker in here?”

“There’s a Bluetooth one on the bookshelf,” Nathan said, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll put something on while you change.”

When I returned in another dress—a long yellow one this time with an almost indecent slit nearly to my hip—Nathan was nodding in time to the tunes.

He brightened when he took in the dress. “That one’s nice.” His gaze dropped again to my bared leg, and I could see his Adam’s apple move when he swallowed. “Very nice.”

“I think it’s a little too ‘Leg or breast’? Plus, I sort of feel like Big Bird. I think I should look a little more sophisticated when I make my debut as your lady friend.” I perked my head at the familiar piano riff. “Is this Billy Joel?”

“Would you prefer something else? I can change it.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I like him too. I was just…surprised.”

Nathan cocked his head. “Why? He’s a very popular artist.”

I giggled. “No shit, Sherlock. He’s one of the bestselling musicians of all time. Just a little beforeourtime, wouldn’t you say?”

His big shoulders shrugged. “Maybe yours. I was born a bit before you. And my parents listened to these albums a lot, so I suppose I find them familiar.”

At that, I softened and went to sit next to him on the couch, taking his phone so I could look through the playlist. He stiffened as our shoulders touched again, but then relaxed, almost as if he welcomed the warmth.

I swiped through all the albums available on his streaming service.

“I like Billy Joel too,” I said. “It reminds me of my dad, even though I never knew him. He had all these albums. We used to play them on Nonna’s record player.” I pointed toThe Stranger. “That one is my favorite.”

“Sometimes music provides a way to connect that still feels… safe, I think.”

A chill traveled down my back. Such a simple statement, but too true.

I wondered what he used music to avoid in his relationship with his parents.

Nathan narrowed his eyes as if studying the black-and-white album cover would tell him something critical about my choice. “Why that one?”

I just shrugged. “Have you ever heard the way he writes about the women he loves? They’re full of flaws but perfect to him. Who wouldn’t want to be adored like that?”

Nathan didn’t reply, just tipped his head in that way he did when he was listening really hard, watching me like I was this hard puzzle he was trying to sort out. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t complicated or anything. Just a little girl who wished she knew her daddy and wanted someone to love her.

“Even though I never knew my dad, when I was lonely, I’d put these songs on and imagine he was there hugging me,” I went on, closing my eyes as the opening chords to “She’s Alwaysa Woman to Me” came on. “And that was him telling me all those things I wanted to hear.” I tipped my head back at Nathan. “Who doesn’t want to be told ‘I love you just the way you are’?”

Just like it always did, the mention of Leandro Zola made my gut squeeze a little. And something prick at my eyes. I only knew him through pictures, most of them from before I was born. A dark-haired twin of my brother who often wore a Yankees hat, always had a drink in his hand, and had a smile like the sun. My older siblings said he had a much darker side, mostly brought out by alcohol, but I chose to think of him more like the version in my head. The dad I’d always wanted but never got to have.

I shook the memories away before they made me cry in this pretty dress. “It’s weird, huh? Missing someone you never knew?”

“How old were you when he died?”

“Nine months. So, obviously, I don’t remember him at all. But I do miss him.” I shook my head. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

Nathan frowned, causing that adorable divot to appear between his brows and the skin around his jaw to tighten. I wanted to kiss that divot. I wanted to smooth out the lines.

No, Joni. You’re roommates. Just hispretendgirlfriend. That’s all this is.

“Did you know that cells have memories?” Nathan asked.

I blinked out of my thoughts. “Huh?” It was such a random thing to say at this particular moment.

He kept going. “Our cells are actually incredibly intelligent. There’s a lot of research on the matter. They’ve shown, for instance, that stem cells in the skin actually keep track of previous inflammation to better aid healing. Skin cells that have already been scarred actually heal two point five times faster than skin that has never been hurt before because they already know what to do. Or T-lymphocytes—that’s a type of white blood cell—will actually impart memories of previous infections todaughter cells that last up to ten years, which helps fight similar infections should they return. But they have daughters, and they have daughter cells, and so really, we don’t know how long those memories actually last, but they probably exist on some level for the rest of our lives, even if they weaken with time—” He looked up suddenly, cutting himself off. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on like that. Some people find it annoying when I don’t provide breaks in a conversation.”

I smiled. He said it was annoying, but honestly, Nathan’s tendency to go off for a while about random bits of information was already one of my favorite things about him. He knew so much about so much. It was kind of like hanging out with Frankie or maybe one of my teachers, but he didn’t care that I didn’t know as much as him. There were no judgmental looks or bad grades on quizzes. It was like living with a really nice encyclopedia. He made learning fun.