Page 49 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

Now

When I can see her and smell her and imagine how soft her body is and hear her laugh, I’m a fucking goner all over again.

B etween de-thorning, trimming, and building arrangements, my “easy” flower chore took the rest of the morning and lasted well into the early afternoon.

Nate and I developed a system as we worked.

He took up the task of snapping thorns off the roses one by one, cursing under his breath every time he caught a fingertip on the sharp points.

Then, he would pass the thornless roses for me to snip the stems, pull off low-hanging leaves, and drop them into water.

Once we had a large enough pile of processed flowers, and our backs were aching from sitting for too long, we would stand to build the arrangements.

Nate held empty vases two at a time, and I’d stuff them with flowers.

Then, we would walk the finished centerpieces inside the air-conditioned building to stay fresh on a banquet table until we got the greenlight from resort staff to store them in the walk-in fridge.

Rinse. Repeat .

We kept our heads down and conversation light, centering topics mostly around roses and greenery. When conversation lulled, we worked in comfortable silence.

Thorns, stems, leaves, water, repeat. Thorns, cursing (Nate), laughing (me), stems, leaves, water, repeat.

After a long while working in silence, he cleared his throat.

“I, uh— I never did thank you. You know, for the article.”

I stilled, my sheers hovering at an angle mere centimeters from a stem.

There was a slim chance he never saw my article when it was first published; I knew that.

A photo of Crescent Light had been used as the thumbnail when it was featured on the Online Daily homepage, for crying out loud.

Not my idea. The marketing intern thought Crescent Light was the best artist to use on the homepage because they had “the best look.” AKA, the charmingly attractive frontman was perfect clickbait.

It never occurred to me that I would ever be put in a position to talk about the article with Nate directly, though.

When I didn’t respond right away, he continued. “It’s a big deal for a band to be acknowledged by The Mountain . It’s made a difference for us, you know?” His deep blue eyes met mine as he handed me a de-thorned rose and reached for another one. “You did us a favor.”

“It wasn’t a favor.” I shook my head. “We were asked to write about something we cared about. I care about artists who don’t get enough attention. I wrote an honest article about who I thought truly deserved it.” I snipped a stem. “I didn’t do you any favors. I just wrote the truth.”

He smiled. My gaze drifted to his cheek, and my heart fluttered with the familiarity and intimacy of knowing his smile so well.

“Well, thank you anyway.”

I huffed a laugh, dropping the rose into its waiting vase .

“Also, The Mountain , Oli? Seriously?” He smiled incredulously. “When were you going to let me in on that little secret? It’s a huge fucking deal.”

I laughed again, full and freeing. His eyes roved over my face like he was savoring every last drop.

“Yeah. It’s… amazing. I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“Hell yeah, it is.” He grinned. “I’m so proud of you.”

Something in me swelled.

The truth was, I was proud of him, too. Crescent Light was officially on the map, their fan base and attention growing internationally by the day.

Seeing him and the guys shine was amazing.

I couldn’t take credit for it, but knowing that I might have been responsible for someone finding their new favorite artist was enough to give me the warm fuzzies.

Nate snapped the thorns off the next rose, then the next, then the next, his brows drawn together in concentration.

Silence returned, but it didn’t have any of its prior heaviness. It reminded me of all the times we would sit in his apartment. Me, reading or typing away on some assignment, him with headphones on, hunched over his keyboard or his leather notebook.

Parallel play.

After a time, we stood and began the next step in the process. Nate held two empty vases and stepped closer for me to assemble. His scent overwhelmed my senses, and all the sweetest memories flashed through my mind. Then, all the bitter moments. I breathed through my mouth and continued.

Eventually, the silence grew heavier. Instead of his contended, neutral expression, his face became tight.

His jaw worked as he snipped at the thorns.

Twice, I caught him opening his mouth from the corner of my eye as if he was going to say something, only for him to shut it again.

I wished so badly that I could read his mind, but there was a tiny piece of me that warned me not to go down that path.

Curiosity won out.

“I wish you would say whatever is on your mind,” I said a half hour later as we walked a handful of vases inside.

He laughed through his nose—a confirmation of my suspicion that he’d been ruminating on something.

He breathed in, prepping to speak but hesitating all the same. I already regretted asking him what was wrong. “Your boyfriend—”

“Never mind,” I cut him off, placing my vases down on the table inside, not looking at him as my walls rose defensively. “I don’t wanna know.”

“So, now I’m not allowed to ask questions?”

“Not if it’s going to make things weird.”

“What would possibly be weird about it?” He said it in a facetious, sarcastic tone as if whatever he had to ask was purely innocent. As if he was just any other friend asking about my relationship.

We both knew what his angle was.

“Fine.” Annoyance pricked at my fingers and toes as I turned in a flourish to face him. “Please enlighten me with your totally normal, appropriate, non-intrusive questions.”

He took a micro-step closer, standing toe to toe instead of backing down. “I have about a thousand. Where would you like to start?”

A small cough sounded from the corner of the otherwise empty room. A member of the resort staff stood there, giving a friendly wave as a way of announcing themselves and apologizing for the interruption all at once .

“Sorry,” she said. “Just wanted to let you know the walk-in refrigerator is all set to store the flowers in. We cleared a wall of shelves.”

“Right. Thank you,” I answered in the friendliest voice I could muster, even as I fought the urge to shoot daggers at Nate.

“Of course. Would you like some assistance carrying the flowers in?”

I waved my hand politely. “No, that’s alright. I’m sure you have other things to worry about. We’ll take care of them.”

She gave a small nod with a grateful smile and disappeared around the corner in the opposite direction of the kitchen.

I waited until I knew she was gone before I turned my back on Nate, picked up the vases I’d just set down and started toward the kitchen door.

Nate picked up two more vases and followed. “So, are you happy with him?”

I nearly tripped over my feet.

What the hell kind of question is that?

I pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen with my shoulder, scoffing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, Oli. Maybe because he used the words ‘empty calories’ unironically last night? Or because he looks like he only leaves the CrossFit gym long enough to eat raw eggs?”

I juggled my vases, refusing Nate’s hand, until I could pull open the heavy door of the walk-in fridge. Ignoring the sudden rush of cool air, I shoved my vases to the back of the wall of empty shelves. “So, what? There’s nothing wrong with going to the gym.”

My steps echoed off the metal floor as I stepped back out of the refrigerator.

“You know,” he said, hot on my heels, “I’ve been thinking about it, and I know I just met the guy, so I could be completely off base here, but I truly cannot conceptualize a single thing you two might have in common.”

“We have plenty in common,” I snapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I grabbed four more vases and held them to my chest, catching Nate’s shoulder on mine as I turned again.

“Yeah?” There was an edge of amusement in his challenge. “Like what?”

My steps faltered for a beat, but I stomped forward, my mouth opening and closing as I thought of an answer.

“Well, there’s…”

We have a ton in common. We’ve been together for over two years. There’s obviously… What?

“We like going on walks.” I pulled the giant walk-in door again, nearly dropping a vase before Nate caught up with me to assist.

“Oh, well, in that case, I wish you every happiness. May all your walks be magical.”

I ignored the way his chest pressed against my back for a split second before I stomped inside and slid my vases on the shelf.

“We have plenty in common. I don’t have to justify my relationship to you.”

“Of course not,” he said, beating me out of the walk-in this time and holding the door open for me as we exited. “But, I’m curious anyway. What does he think about your job? Your friends? Your hobbies? You know, all the things you care about?”

I shook my head, buying time as I seethed. I snatched more vases, sloshing water onto the floor in the process, and turned on my heel again .

My job? Kieran had never outright said it, but I knew he didn’t understand what I did.

He knew I was a journalist, yes. He knew I was involved in the music industry, yes.

But he didn’t see how something that was one part writing, one part interviewing, one part going to concerts, and keeping up with pop stars was a sustainable career.

My hobbies were so closely knit to my job that they almost felt like one and the same. He didn’t appreciate music like I did, but that wasn’t a deal-breaker on its own.

Everyone is entitled to their own likes and dislikes. It doesn’t really matter, right?