Page 122 of Between the Lines

“Hmm?”

“Hold hands.”

I peer up at him and bring our joined hands up so that he can see, squeezing for emphasis. I wonder if it’s the fact that it’s afirst, or that he’s simply coming off the high of puppy-love, or maybe possibly that he just likesmethat much, but Nathan keeps wearing that smile that could light up the night sky, and my mind is turning pages trying to figure out how to keep it.

“Do you like holding hands?” he asks, swinging our arms with a little more emphasis, which makes me giddy.

“I’ve never really done it before,” I shrug.

“Me neither.”

“I don’t peg you as a hand holding type of guy.”

It’s his turn to shrug, and that huge smile falls into an inquisitive one. When he looks down at me, his gaze holds the world.

“I’ve never found someone whose presence I enjoyed enough to want to keep holding onto.”

I think my heart may have just sprouted wings.

“Which one are you going to get?” I ask as he pulls out of the parking lot. The darkness plays tricks on how early it still is, and I yawn in spite of it.

“What do you mean?”

“The puppies!” I giggle, gaping at him. “Youhaveto get one. Come on, they were practicallyimprintingon you.”

He chuckles warmly, stroking his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. That shouldn’t turn me on, right?Gah. But it does.

“They were prettycute.”

“Mhm. I’d say so.” I unlock my phone and find the photo that, if I wasn’t living with one of his employees who could totally catch me, I’d make it my new phone background. Nathan is spread out on the floor, holding a ball of fluff golden retriever up underneath its two front paws like you would a baby beneath the armpits. His mouth is wide open, like he’s gaping at the puppy, the corners of his lips upturned in an ecstatic smile.

Holding the bright phone screen up to him, I gush, “Thisguy, looks like he’smaybea little in love, I’d say?—”

“Notwhile I’m driving.”

It’s not that I haven’t heard Nathan’s forceful tone before. On the contrary, it was my first impression. But he hasn’t used it with me—aside from in the bedroom—since those first few weeks. Before we understood one another. This brings me back to that time—before I knew him fully.

“You’re right,” I swallow, locking my phone and putting it in my bag for emphasis. “I’ll show you when we get back.”

He nods once, and silence envelops us. The light mood is gone, and I feel terribly responsible for it. Folding my hands in my lap, my mind zips along the path of how long it will take me to pack my things that I’ve scattered around his home over these last few days so that I can leave, when he speaks again.

“I was thinking that maybe we could order dinner in tonight, since it’s getting late. I wanted to take you on a proper dinner date, but you surprised me tonight instead. What would you say about going into the city tomorrow evening?”

Just like that, my body relaxes. I exhale most of the worry, rest my head on the headrest, and blink over at him. We come to stop at a red light, and once he’s fully at zero miles per hour, he looks over at me. Concern knits in that divot between his brows. His hands, marking ten-and-two on the wheel, clench, like he’s stopping himself from reaching out.

“Would you rather not go out with me?”

“No!” I sit up straight. “No, that’s not it at all. I…”

I can feel my cheeks turning pink, and wonder if he can tell beneath the streetlights.

“I was mentally packing my bags to head home. I thought I’d ruined the night. You seemed really upset that I tried to show you my phone while you were driving. I’m just glad that wasn’t the case.”

Nathan’s eyes widen first before they flutter shut. His exhale is long and slow before his eyes peel open. The left turn signal illuminates in green, and with our lane still at a stop, he reaches over and takes my hand, kissing my knuckles.

“Thank you for being honest with me. No, you didn’t ruin the mood atall. The man who hit my parents was on his cell phone when he hit that patch of ice and slid into the wrong lane. I don’t like driving distracted. I never shared that with you.”

Our light turns green, and he releases my hand, replaces his on the wheel, and edges forward into traffic. I swallow, thinking back to my earlier accusation that I know nothing about this man. That isn’t true. I don’t know the unimportant things. Instead, he has dived head first into the deep end from the start.

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