Page 44 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

One Year Ago, January

Is this really happening?

W hen we settled into the booth, I finally released the deep breath I’d been holding for the last three hours. The dust inside of me settled, too. One grain at a time.

I let myself take a good look at Nate as he slid into place across from me.

He was calm and comfortable, as he almost always was.

Unbothered, like nothing could ever be big enough to ruffle his feathers.

His nose was a little pink from being out in the cold, and his hair was longer than I had ever seen it.

The sides that were usually kept short were now long enough to be tucked behind his ears, but the top was just as tousled and wavy as always.

As if reading my mind, he reached up to run his fingers through the length of it.

The corner of my mouth lifted at the familiar habit .

“You grew out your hair,” I said as the waitress dropped off two glasses of water.

“You cut yours.” He leaned back against the booth. My fingers reached up to play with the ends of my now shoulder-length hair. “It looks good,” he assured.

“Thanks.” My face burned. Whether it was a leftover flush from crying or from being across from Nate was anyone’s guess. I ran my cool hands down my cheeks. “I don’t have mascara all over my face, do I?”

He grinned, dimple popping into view. “No, Oli. You look great.”

I took another deep, cleansing breath, feeling incrementally better with each one, and relaxed back into the booth, shoulders falling as tension released.

What’s harder to believe: the fact that I’m sitting across from Nate Cassidy? Or the fact that sitting across from him is somehow making me feel better?

I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was his nature.

He had the inexplicable ability to draw you in and create a soft landing to come back to. My pride had been bruised by him before, sure, but he was somehow still a safe space.

Feeling safe didn’t mean it wasn’t awkward as hell, though. A massive elephant sat on the dirty table. Right between us. Impossible to ignore.

“This is bizarre,” I laughed, shaking my head.

He smirked, nodding as he twisted his water glass in circles.

“Does this feel weird to you?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Of course it does. But I’m okay with it.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “It’s good to see you.”

My lips rolled when his eyes held mine for a beat too long. My fingers tangled together under the table.

“So, what made you come see us in Boston?”

I sighed and rolled my eyes, eliciting a brow raise from him at my huffing. Amusement and about a dozen questions danced over his handsome features.

I decided not to tell him about my project, nor did I mention The Mountain . It would have been trespassing too closely to what I was unwilling to talk about just yet. I couldn’t bring myself to think about the rejection. Fibbing felt easier.

“A friend of mine is a fan of Crescent Light. I told her I knew you guys, but she didn’t believe me. When we saw you were playing close by, we bought tickets.” I shrugged, playing off my intentional concert-going as casual happenstance. “She had a great time.”

“Mmhm,” Nate hummed. “A fan, huh? You should’ve told me.

I could’ve gotten you free tickets, or we could’ve gone out or something afterward.

” My stomach fluttered at the thought of what might have happened if I had reached out and met up with him.

“I would’ve loved to see you. I know you haven’t lost my number,” he added with a teasing grin.

“I don’t know, Nate.” I shrugged again, looking around for anything to hold on to. “Maybe I’m a wimp. I wasn’t ready. There’s a lot we haven’t talked about.”

“I agree.” He nodded, taking a long drink of his water.

Tightness gathered in my chest again, my thoughts picking up speed and racing through my mind.

I shook my head and met his eye again. “Honestly, I don’t want to hash all that out right now.

Can we pretend things between us are good for tonight?

And if we want to go back to hating each other tomorrow, we can?

” My sarcasm was evident, but there was no hiding the underlying truth of my words.

He let his head drop and laughed to himself. “Okay, deal. But I don’t hate you, Oli. You know that.”

I didn’t know, but it was comforting to hear it, despite my cowardice, jealousy, and hurt feelings, there was something congenial underneath that remained.

I raised my glass. “Truce?”

He clinked the rim of his glass with mine. “Truce. ”

We ordered a round of cocktails and spent the next two hours in the booth eating, drinking, and chatting like we hadn’t spent the last two years as strangers.

He asked me how I liked Boston. I asked him about the band.

He told me about a handful of shows they had lined up for the summer on the West Coast, and how he’d quit smoking for good during their last small tour.

When I asked him about Billie, the corners of his eyes creased, and he told me she was as spoiled as ever.

He still had his apartment nearby, but he had to take Billie to his sister’s place when he was gone for extended stints with the band.

Slipping back into this comfortable place with Nate was so easy.

I thought back to the night I met him and almost laughed.

I never stood a chance of not developing feelings.

He was too nice, too charismatic, too handsome.

He listened too well and had the uncanny ability to make someone feel like they were the only person in the world.

I tried to remind myself of all the red flags when we were together— not together—before.

He disappeared a lot. He was private. He wasn’t a great communicator. I never knew where I stood with him. Music was the only thing that mattered, which wasn’t a bad thing, but I suspected he thought he couldn’t do music and anything else at the same time.

Looking back, I always felt suspended, unstable, waiting in the wings, wondering what we were.

And yet.

Being near him was just. So. Damn. Easy.

“So, do you want to tell me why you were so upset earlier?” he finally asked while working on his third drink. I sipped on my fourth, enjoying the weightless feeling.

With a flick of my wrist, I waved the question away.

His discerning look saw right through me .

“I–It was a lot of things at once. A lot of things that built up and up and spilled over, and now every little thing feels so…” My hands mimed a globe in front of my face. “… big . Y’know? Like one minor inconvenience might send me right over the edge. Does that ever happen to you?”

He nodded.

Sighing, I watched my fingers as they knotted together. “There was this… thing at work, a project that meant a lot to me. I worked on it for a long time—the hardest I think I’ve ever worked on anything in my life—and it got rejected.” I rubbed at my brow.

“All that work. It was all for nothing, and now I don’t know if I’m cut out for being a journalist. I feel stupid for saying that because rejection is part of the job; I know that.

But I poured my heart into this project, and now I’m doubting everything.

On top of that, I was sick in bed all day yesterday, so I’m really drained and… ”

I glanced at him warily. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I kept going.

“And there’s this… guy I’ve been seeing.

I found out he’s basically been playing me, so that’s great.

The guy stuff hurts, but the thing at work…

that hurts worse. It’s kind of messing with my head, if I’m honest. Did I mention all this happened within twenty-four hours?

Anyway, it triggered an anxiety attack, and— I— It was just a lot. ”

He watched silently.

The weight of my rattling and oversharing sat like a brick in my stomach. I regretted it immediately.

“So, yeah.” I clapped my hands together on the table. “In conclusion, I’m bad at my job, men are stupid, and I should call my therapist.”

Nate nodded again, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not wrong. Not about the job thing,” he amended. “You’re brilliant; you’ll figure it out and land on your feet. But about the ‘men are stupid’ thing. They really are. We really are.”

“Yes.” I pointed a finger across the table, barely missing an empty glass. “You really are.”

He put his hands up in surrender.

Another thought jumped to the forefront of my mind, most definitely influenced by the alcohol. “Can I ask you something?”

He took another swig of his drink, shaking a piece of ice into his mouth. “Anything.”

“Can I ask what happened with the whole suddenly-there’s-Blair situation?”

He froze mid-ice crunch, staring at me a moment before burying his face in his hands.

I laughed, reveling in the sight of him being uncomfortable for once. “Come on! Not that it matters anymore, but I deserve a bit of an explanation, don’t you think?”

Nate groaned, peeking at me between his fingers. “Would you believe me if I said I was just dumb? No other rhyme or reason?”

I hummed, weighing his words as I sipped my drink. “Yes, but I’m curious anyway.”

“The truth is I have no idea why I did it, and I genuinely regret it.” He drummed his knuckles on the table. “It only lasted for, like, two months, and it wasn’t worth it.”

Something stirred in my chest, but I shrugged it off, not wanting to expend more energy on negativity when I was enjoying his company.

“Fair enough. We don’t have to get deeper into it. Fuck it.”

“Oh, is it a fuck it kind of night? Because if so, I know the perfect thing to make it better. Or worse.” He slid to the end of the booth. “But probably better.”

“I think we’re well beyond fuck it at this point, Nate.”

“Be right back. Don’t move.”

I watched him saunter toward the bar and checked my phone for the first time since leaving my car, half expecting something from Kieran.

Nothing.

Good.