Page 69 of One Wrong Move

“Business?”

“Business,” he repeats. His hand is still moving up my arm. “You’ll have the entire house to yourself.”

“It’s too big for one person.”

His exhale is audible. “Yeah. I’m learning that, too.”

“When do you get back?”

“On Friday,” he says. “I haven’t told you this, either, but I’m hosting a party here next Saturday night.”

“You are? Here?”

“Yes. The plans were set before… before this.”

“Before me,” I murmur.

“Yes.”

I yawn, so wide that there’s a pop in my jaw. “Well, I can be out of the house if?—”

“Of course not. This is your home,” he says. “Come to the party.”

I nod into the pillow. My tongue feels too heavy to speak, just as heavy as the rest of me, and I hear Nate’s breathing. It’s steady and deep, and it could easily lull me to sleep if I let it.

And I so want to let it.

“What time is it now?” I ask.

Nate’s voice is the last thing I hear. “You can sleep now.”

And sleep I do.

Harper

Harper: What are you doing right now?

It only takes a few minutes before I receive a picture back. It’s of a half-drunk coffee cup, a closed laptop, and a large conference table with a basket of pastries in the middle. In the background, a cityscape of a European city is visible through a window.

Nate: Meetings.

Harper: Don’t text during your meetings! Pay attention.

Nate: I’m trying, but someone won’t stop texting me.

I smile down at my phone and pop it back into my pocket. It’s day three of Nate’s traveling week, and, somehow, that first have a safe flight text has morphed into an entire conversation that never ends.

It’s hard to forget, too, what happened on Saturday morning. When I’d woken up at noon to a bright living room… with Nate’s arm around me.

He’d been slumped against me, his face serene and relaxed in sleep. I was reluctant to move, but my left arm felt numb. One minor shift, and he was awake, too.

I looked away from his warm gaze and messy hair, toward the coffee table and the forgotten flowers lying there. A blush had spread furiously up my cheeks, and I said the first thing I could think of.

My peonies! I forgot to put them in the water.

Nate’s voice had been hoarse with sleep and a bit husky. Don’t worry, Harp. I’ll buy you more.

Now, days later, and with Nate as a constant presence on my phone… through the grocery shopping and the long work hours, and the evening walks around the neighborhood, I’ve finally figured out the right word on the tip of my tongue.

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