Page 31 of All of You

“Hey, should we talk about what Nikki said?” I kept my eyes on the road ahead.

“Sure. What, exactly?”

She sounded casual, but she wasn’t feeling it. Nothing about her posture relayed the calm she sometimes had. Nothing had felt easy between us since Nikki’d spoken.

“Maybe we should discuss what you’re comfortable with. I don’t want you to be worried.”

I opened and closed my hands around the steering wheel, wishing I’d waited to talk about this when we were sitting down and I could pay close attention to her body language, her face. But then, we wouldn’t have privacy, so it was now or never.

She remained quiet—so quiet, it made me nervous, except I had nothing to be nervous about. This was her show.

I pulled into a spot a few blocks from Robbie’s Kitchen. The November day was chilly but nice, the sun still working its way down so the sky was light. I kept the car running so we’d have the heat, but put the truck in park, unbuckled my seatbelt, and turned to her.

She did the same, though she bit her lip as if worried about something.

“I saw Jamie last week. Unexpectedly, but I’m sure there are photos. I think Nikki wants us to compensate for that, despite the fact that I was surrounded by about six other people during the encounter.”

Ah. Okay. I could handle this.

“So, we’ll compensate. We were always going to need to appear together—that’s why we’ve made a point to hold hands. We’ll just up our game. If people are going to make something out of every time you’re seen with a man, it’s going to be a long road, I’m guessing. So let’s firmly establish you and me as a thing, and make sure everyone knows we’re both really happy about it, and then people can shut up about you and Jamie, or anyone else.”

Her eyebrows rose, and she chuckled. “Oh, that’s all I need to do? Sounds easy.”

She was mocking me, but I’d just made a complex situation seem simplistic, so I supposed I deserved it.

“I just mean, don’t stress it. We talked about this from the beginning. Plus it’s not like it’s a hardship to touch you, Whit. It’s felt pretty natural thus far, at least for me…”

“Me too,” she added quietly.

Something in my chest swirled, expanded, warmed. “Good. Let’s go eat.”

Whit

Ben pulled me close so I was tucked into his side, his hand on my upper arm as we walked the few blocks to the restaurant. It wasn’t quite winter yet, but late November in Nashville could be surprisingly chilly. I almost never wore enough clothing to stay warm outside, and tonight was no exception. My faux-suede jacket was warm and comfortable, but the chilly breeze cut right through it. Being held against Ben’s big body helped immensely.

But I couldn’t shake the worry. Ben’s closeness registered in a new way—in a very aware, uncomfortable way.

Uncomfortable in that I liked it. I liked it a lot, wanted more of it, more of him, and more time for us to be together. When Nikki suggested he be more demonstrative, or both of us, a thrill of excitement had gone through me, and then the reflex against that.

I didn’t want to have this kind of relationship. I wanted something clean cut and contractual—not messy with feelings, or swirling with heat and chemistry. That was all fine, but I didn’t have time or energy for it.

I didn’t want it.

But as the wind stung my cheeks and I tucked my head down and toward his chest, my heart was beating harder than it should have been considering our pace. It churned because of him.

They seated us right away at a two-person booth. It would have been ideal to be seated at one of the long communal tables in the middle, but I couldn’t summon regret, or the words to request we be moved. It wouldn’t make sense, anyway. If we were really dating, we’d want some privacy.

We ordered—him brisket with three sides that would no doubt be mind-blowing, and me, grilled chicken over a salad, hold the candied pecans, dressing on the side.

Ben was eyeing me when I closed my menu and set it down.

“Do you like barbecue?”

“I love it.” No question.

“But you ordered grilled chicken on a salad.” A frown created brackets around his mouth. He seemed sad for me, regretful.

I reached across the table for his hand that rested there and hid my amusement at his expression. I laced our fingers together and shoved away the flutter in my belly at the contact. “Ben, honey, you’ve seen my body, right?”

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