Page 82 of One Wrong Move

“I don’t think I tried them.”

“Oh. That’s a shame.” I swallow hard and reach for the bag of bell peppers. My hands need something to do. “I think I had a bit too much to drink.”

Nate’s eyes are heavy on me. “Did you?”

“Yes, and so did plenty of others. I can’t believe they dropped an entire bottle of Dom on the kitchen floor.”

Something flickers in Nate’s eyes. The Dom was the crash that had broken us apart while we were in that hallway just behind him. This morning, one of the cleaners told me what it had been.

I can’t read him.

Beneath my thin white button-down, I feel too hot under his gaze. “I think we were saved by the bell,” I say with a little laugh.

He raises an eyebrow and finally, finally, looks away. Reaches for one of the red apples I’ve bought and turns it over in his hands. “Yes, that’s one way of looking at things,” he says.

Maybe he feels guilty, too. As soon as the thought strikes me, I feel mortified that I hadn’t thought of it sooner. Of course. Dean is his best friend, and Nate kissed me in a moment of drunken frustration. Even if he had wanted to… he must be feeling…

I quickly shake my head. “I’m very sorry. It was never my intention… I didn’t think about the position I’ve put you in.”

Nate’s eyes snap back to mine. “The position I’m in,” he repeats. “With regards to… Dean?”

“Yes.” I lift my hand and mimic locking my lips. “I won’t tell anyone about it, I promise. We can add that to the unspoken-about box, if you want?”

He nods, but his jaw clenches. “How much weight do you think that box can hold?”

“A lot, I hope.” I press both of my hands flat to the stone countertop, the marble is cool beneath my sweaty palms. “We’ve become friends, haven’t we? You and I? I don’t want to risk that in any way.”

Nate’s lips curl into that crooked smile, the true smile, and something tight relaxes in my chest. “You haven’t risked it.”

I sigh in relief. “Thank God. So, can we… just forget about last night? Go back to the way things were?”

There’s something tight in his eyes. But he nods. “Absolutely. Consider it forgotten.”

I pretend to wipe my forehead. “I’ve been nervous all day about what you’d say.”

“You never have to be nervous with me,” he assures. But then he grins. “Unless it’s about that list of yours. Because you know I have plans to make all of your wishes come true.”

“All of them?”

“Well, minus the one, of course. I never did find out what kind of threesome you want.” He takes a bite of the apple and leans against the doorjamb. “I need to take one of my cars for a spin next weekend.”

I chuckle. “Need to?”

“Yes. They need to be regularly driven long distances to maintain the health of the engine. I was thinking about what you said the other day. About wanting to visit places where things were filmed or the story locations in books. Come with me, and we’ll make it a day trip.”

Relief and happiness rush through me so fast, that I’m almost left lightheaded. Whew. I hadn’t ruined anything. We hadn’t ruined this hard-won, uncomplicated, comfortable friendship. And we won’t. As long as the hallway incident stays buried far, far inside that box, where it belongs.

No matter how amazing kissing Nate had felt.

Nate

The British countryside and its roads are familiar to me now. There’s a certain rhythm to the drive—to deal with occasional high-speed cars that pass while navigating through the narrow lanes with tall hedges on either side.

Once we leave the highway for a country road, we start counting tractors. But soon after, Harper insists on tallying muddy Land Rovers instead, and when we pass the fifth one in a row, she laughs.

“See?” she asks. “You should have chosen your Land Rover, not this sports car.”

“This Aston Martin,” I say and pat the wheel, “can handle these roads. And it was her turn.”

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