Page 151 of Oleander

“I’ll bet.” Ellie looked at Nathan again, who was still looking at me.

“This is Ellie,” I told him. “We went out in high school.” I’d only told him there was an Ellie, not that I’d broken her heart and made her hate me because I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy who’d gone on to break mine.

He turned his dazzling American smile on her. “Ellie. Of course, nice to meet you. I’m Nathan.”

“You too,” said Ellie, dazzled. “So, are you both ready to order?”

I suspected she’d asked to switch sections after that because for the rest of our dinner she was on the opposite side of the restaurant, hidden mainly behind a low wood-panelled wall. I was glad of it. Glad I didn’t have to make polite conversation as she brought out each course. As she explained the cheeses and the sauces. Though Nathan I’m sure would have enjoyed every second of it.

He’d said it had been adorably awkward.

Later that night, as we walked along the beach, he’d asked me to tell him about Ellie. Whether I still thought about her. Whether I’d loved her. I’d told him the rest.

“She’s exactly the sort of girl I imagine you with,” said Nathan. “Naturally gorgeous, girl-next-door type.” She was gorgeous, still; thick dark hair she’d now cut to just above her shoulders, warm brown eyes that sparkled when she smiled, a dusting of freckles over her forehead and nose.

“You imagine me with girls?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “I think you’re doing gay wrong.”

He laughed. “You know what I mean. She fits you. Actually, she’s almost like the girl version of you.”

I stopped walking and turned to him. “Wait, is this your way of trying to get me to dress up as a girl for you?”

“That could be fun,” he said. “Schoolgirl? I’ll be your teacher.”

“Obviously,” I said.

It was an idyllic three weeks. Nathan inspired me to write again; something beyond emails to a ghost – I hadn’t written a single email to Cas for months.

I watched him work for hours in various places all over the cottage. Gold-rimmed glasses framing his face, brow creased in concentration, fingers flying over the keyboard. He’d stand up, stretch his back and neck, and hand me his laptop as he made himself another pot of coffee.

He was talented, I already knew this, and I thought the script he was writing would win him another Oscar (it hadn’t), but just watching someone sit there and knit together a story from nothing but a few tunnels and some old photographs was like alchemy.

If Caspien is the reason this story exists, then Nathan is the reason I am writing it.

"Come to New York with me,” Nathan said, a few nights before he was due to leave. We lay in bed, sweat cooling on our bodies, all windows of the cottage opened, two bottles of wine swimming in our blood.

“And do what?” I asked, sleepily.

“Be with me.”

I laughed. “You have to work.”

“I’ve been working here and being with you here. I can multi-task fairly impressively.”

“That’s definitely true. That thing you do with your mouthandyour finger at the same time,” I groaned. “Impressive.”

He moved to sit up, his skin peeling away from mine as he did. “But I’m serious. Why don’t you? Term doesn’t start until when, October 13th?”

“I’m helping out with Freshers so I said I’d be back on the 3rd.”

“So, that’s more than two months. You’d love New York.”

“I’m sure I would.” I turned to him. “I promised Luke we’d hang out for a bit this summer and I’ve spent a lot of time here, fucking my professor since I got home.”

It was meant as a half-joke, half-distraction, but some sad look bled into his eyes and I knew I’d missed the mark. He smiled a cheerless little smile.

“Okay. I get it.” He leaned in and kissed me softly and slipped out of bed.

I heard the shower turn on and I sat up against the headboard and stared out of the window. The sea was a calm landscape over the cliffside, moon glittering silver on its surface. He came back about twenty minutes later, body dappled with water and his sculpted back and shoulders pinked from the heat. I watched him pull on some clothes, outdoor clothes.