Page 20 of Somewhere Only We Know (Healing in Cincy #4)

JAX

PRESENT DAY

“ I need those mock sketches by the end of the day,” I hear my sister shout as I exit the elevator lift in a hurry.

One could say my sister is strict, but she just knows what she needs when she’s working.

I wave to some of her team and Olivia waves me into her office.

Kamryn is hunched over her drawing desk and I know not to disturb her when she’s working.

I did that once and walked on eggshells for the rest of the day.

I drop on the couch and take my laptop out of my bag and power it up.

Once a month, Kam and I have a one-on-one meeting to discuss trends in terms of marketing and how to weave it into promoting her designs.

Every six months we meet to see if the traffic on her website has increased.

And then once a year I give her website and social media pages a complete makeover to reflect what’s to come.

Because social media is like wading into the ocean.

One second it’s waves you can ride and the next there's no waves at all.

We like to find the happy medium so that current customers stick around and new customers find a reason to give her brand a chance.

“Oh, I need a massage.” Kam groans and comes to sit next to me on the couch. Our meetings don’t usually last long unless I see a significant dip in traffic being driven to her sites.

“I’m sure your retired football husband would be happy to oblige.” I say off-handedly as I tap away at the keyboard.

“Hmm. I bet he’ll do more than that.”

“Kamryn!” I whine.

She shoves me as best as she can while we’re on the couch and laughs. “When you finally pull your head out of your butt with Nate you can gross me out.”

I shake my head and pull up the back end of her site. The dream I had last night was the first time he made me come before my birthday. I woke up reaching for my vibrator and getting off in less than thirty seconds. A record if I do say so myself.

“What was that?” my ever observant sister asks.

“Nothing,” I say quickly.

“Nuh uh,” she starts and closes my laptop when I hold it up in her face. “We can talk about work after you tell me what got your face all twitchy.”

“Twitchy?” I ask deflecting.

Kamryn snaps. “Focus. Now, spill.”

“You’re annoying.” I say in an exaggerated groan and drop my head back. “Fine. He came by my house a couple of weeks ago and dropped off a basket of candy.”

“Cute.”

“He also said he would text me but I’m still waiting.” I’m not sure why I sound sad about his lack of communication. Nate did tell me that his promises aren’t something I should hold tight to. And he was right. But try telling my heart to not expect more than what he actually tells me.

“If he does text, are you actually going to text him back? You’re all about patterns. At least that’s what you told your listeners.” Leave it to my sister to use my words against me.

“I hate that you hold me accountable.” I tell her as I cut my eyes her way. “I wouldn’t know what to say to him.” I admit and sigh.

“A simple ‘hey’ never hurt anyone.”

I give Kamryn a look because I’m not bold like that, but instead I say, “Maybe when I get home.”

My sister shakes her head and allows me a pass, handing me my laptop back so we can get started. I show her the reports of where we’re struggling to reach customers and where the customers seem to engage more and then where they drop off.

Working with my sister in the fashion world is not the path I saw myself on, but I am grateful for the doors it’s opened up for me.

But working on a sliding scale when it comes to social media trends proves that I can never get too comfortable because what might work one day, won’t work that next week.

When I leave my sister’s office, I have a few more freelance clients I have meetings with and by the time I drive myself home, I want nothing more than to pour myself the largest glass of red wine, order a pizza, and watch the sunset.

I’m the typical cliched millennial and I refuse to change that pattern.

But when I turn down my street, I see the familiar truck of the man from my past sitting at the curb.

Parking in front of my garage, I look in my rearview mirror and see Nate standing at the end of my short driveway with his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie with his eyes trained on me .

Time has done Nathan Holloway extremely well.

I purposefully didn’t look at him when he first reappeared.

Because I would have ignored all of my anger and hurt, and folded on the spot.

Now, with the sun setting and casting him in an ethereal glow, I can’t deny that he got more handsome with age.

If I thought Nate was big in college, that time has nothing on him now.

It’s like standing in front of a new man.

Even in a hoodie, I can tell he fills out every inch of the material. And those legs I refused to pay attention to when he was running that day he caught me and Sully, are encased in form fitting joggers. And I do mean form fitting.

New patterns , I tell myself and I blink as I lock my car doors, stepping out and rounding to the passenger side of my car.

“Hi.” I greet as I meet him at the end of my car and tuck my hand on the straps of the bag on my shoulder.

“Hey, Bee.”

God, that nickname falling from his lips.

With Trent he never gave me one and I never bothered to give him one either.

Because as much as I can admit it to myself, nicknames and pet names were always reserved for Nate.

But maybe I was always one foot out with Trent and I just needed a reason to bring the other foot.

“What are you doing here?” I ask softly. It’s not that I hate seeing him here. But Nate disarms me in the best and worst ways. He always has. And the years between us hasn’t lessened that in the slightest.

His hands tuck back into the pocket of his hoodie and my eyes greedily follow the movements before I move back up to his face. He shrugs before looking off to the side and then back at me. “I wanted to see you.”

Yeah. He definitely disarms me in the worst way .

I shift my bag on my shoulder and move from one foot to the other. “Have you been here long?” My question must shock him because his eyes widen just slightly before he’s replying.

“About ten minutes. I rang your doorbell and only heard Sully barking.”

“And you decided to wait around?” I ask, but not in an accusatory way. Any other guy would’ve left after no response. But not Nate. He’s always been patient when it comes to me.

“Like I said. I wanted to see you. So I waited.” He tells me. One brick falls down from the simplicity of his statement.

“I was in meetings all day.” I tell him instead and move towards the front steps, but turn and look at him. “D-do you want to come inside?”

He tilts his head as he surveys me and is probably wondering if I’m joking. I’m not. But I am scared shitless about bringing him into my space and my life again. Baby steps .

“Only if you want me to.”

I nod my head and turn towards the door. I hear the clacking of nails against the floors as I push the key into the lock.

“Hi, Sully girl,” I greet when I walk inside.

She leaves me when she notices I’m not alone.

I turn and bite my bottom lip to stop the smile from covering my face as she gives Nate all of her attention.

When I adopted her, the shelter workers said she was fearful of men.

But animals, as I’ve come to learn, are a great judge of character and with the way Sully gravitates towards Nate, that has to mean something.

I slip off my heels and stifle a groan when my feet are no longer in an upright position and then set my bag on the entryway table.

I head towards the kitchen, thinking I can’t handle watching the man I’ve always loved, loving on the dog who practically saved me.

Heading to my wine fridge, I pull out a bottle of red. And as I’m reaching for a glass, a whistle from Nate spooks me.

“Nice place,” he says as he continues to take in my home.

“Thank you. Do you want a glass?”

He furrows his brow and shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

Right. He’s in season. I nod and slide him one of the bottles of water I keep on my counter. I use the uncorking and pouring of my wine to avoid looking at him. When my glass is almost filled to the top I have no other reason to avoid him.

“I think I want to be friends. With you.” I tell him and I move over to the kitchen island.

He regals me with those eyes that I have purposefully avoided. “You think?”

“Yes. We were friends before, right?” Friends is such a tame word to describe how we actually were with one another.

I don’t miss the slight widening of his eyes because even Nate knows that calling us friends is too tame, but he recovers quickly.

“Yeah. Right. So, tell me, friend. What have you been up to?”

“I work with my sister on the marketing end. Plus, I dabble in the back end of her website to see where customers are clicking the most…”

His hand resting on mine stops me. “I didn’t mean about your work, Jax.”

“What do you mean? ”

“I mean, what have you been up to and not through your work life?”

“I don’t–” I break eye contact and look down at a spot on the kitchen counter before looking back up at Nate. “I don’t really know how to answer that.”

“Okay.” He nods and takes a swallow from the bottle and I have to curl my toes in on themselves as I watch his throat bob. “How about the last six months?”

I take a healthy sip of wine and look past him towards the city skyline. “I have been rebuilding my life.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, turning that question back on me.

“I guess restructuring my life would be the better word. Less depending on others and learning that I’m enough, that I can live on my own.”

“Huh.” Nate starts and takes another pull of water. I watch the way his throat bobs with each swallow and I have to forcibly drag my eyes away. Drinking water is not sexy. But it is Nate…so.

“What’s with the ‘huh’?”

He shakes his head and caps his bottle.

“No. If we’re gonna do this friend thing, then it’s only fair you tell me what you were going to say.” I tell him and take a healthy swallow of wine.

“Are you sure?” he asks and I nod my head. “I always knew you didn’t actually need me in your life.”

I open my mouth to object because I needed him more than anything. “How can yo–”

“Jax, there’s a difference between need and want.

Needing means that you can’t survive without it and wanting means that you can survive without it but you choose not to.

So no, you didn’t need me, but you wanted me in your life.

And I wanted, still want, you in mine. As for the missing years, I wish I could understand how you felt you needed someone to make you feel like you were enough.

Because you were always enough. For yourself, for me. When did that change?”

My forehead scrunches as I think about what he said.

When did I need Trent to make me feel like I was enough?

The silence surrounding us is weighted. What do I say after that?

What can I say after that? As we sit in my kitchen, the truth is that I don’t know when I needed someone like Trent to make me feel like I was enough so I can’t answer Nate’s question.

Nate pushes back his chair and disrupts the silence as I’ve said nothing for the past minute.

When he stands to his full height, the only thing in my line of sight is his chest. A firm chest, but that’s not my main focus.

It’s him. His body heat and patchouli scent I loved so much is dizzying to my wine-muddled brain.

My body warms as he wraps a gentle hand around the side of my neck.

I don’t look up and he doesn’t make any move to lift my head.

I stay perfectly still as he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead.

And I almost whimper from a simple act. I never realized how starved I was for affection like this until he did this.

Nate rests his forehead against mine and if I thought my feelings for him were strong back then, they’re nothing compared to right now as they come rushing back like a fastball to the plate.

“I think who you’re becoming is exactly who you’re meant to be,” Nate says against my forehead and I could weep because his words have always been what I needed to hear in moments like this.

But Nate has always had a beautiful way with words.

It’s something that I’ve been searching for for the last eight years. Turns out, maybe I just needed him .

We stand like this in my kitchen. My hands rest limp at my sides and his hand stays hooked around my neck with his forehead resting against mine.

And if I were an irrational person, I would lift my chin and kiss him for the first time in almost eight years.

I would lose myself to him in this moment. But I don’t think he would allow that.

“Thank you.” I tell him.

His thumb strokes along the pulse point in my neck and I know he can’t ignore the racing. “You’re welcome. I’m gonna head out.”

Wordlessly I nod and follow him to the front door. And when he gets in his truck and drives away, do I finally take the deepest breath and let it out.