Page 145 of Between the Lines

Her jaw drops, eyes widening.

“Okay. I’m just… All sorts of confused now.”

Penelope shakes her head, and I sigh.

Because I am too.

There’s only one way to find answers, and I guess I’ve done enough reading between the lines to last me a lifetime. I’m going to have to tell Nathan how I feel, and take the consequences, good or bad.

I don’t think I’ve been this anxious to leave work since my job started. In between taking down stats in the book for the basketball team, I was prepping my conversation with Nathan in my head.

After my talk with Penelope, the need to clear the air with him has been consuming. She’s right—Iamall sorts of confused, but not about my feelings. I think that, with both of us so out of practice when it comes to relationships, we just need to clear the air. I’m done as a River Valley substitute after this current placement, so if the whole boss/subordinate ordeal is what’s making him anxious, that isn’t going to be a big deal soon.

If there are other things making him anxious, then I guess tonight is when I find out.

When I step outside after the basketball game, the glittery snow that had started this morning has intensified. It’s blowing sideways, so much so that I throw up my hood and clutch it around my face. Typical New England winter. It’s nothing I haven’t handled before.

Even so, I send a text to Penelope,Leaving the game! Snow’s disgusting. I’ll text when I get to Nathan’s, before I head out.

The snow is coming down in thick flakes, enough so that I have to pump the wipers on to a consistenttick tickacross my windshield. The radio immediately started blasting music as soon as I turned my car on, but I think of Nathan in this weather. Immediately, I turn the radio off, put my phone on Do Not Disturb so that I can concentrate, and fix my phone into its dashboard mount so I can see the GPS.

Taking me straight to him.

I smile as I pull out onto the dark roads, thinking about how he’ll be proud of me when I tell him how I silenced my phone so that I could concentrate.

It takes me almost double the amount of time it should have toget to Nathan’s driveway, with the snow and my careful speed limit. My heart inflates when I turn onto his street and see his wrap around porch in the distance. The porch light is on, and as I get closer, I’m not surprised to find his driveway shoveled, and a bucket of salt on the front porch.

What Iamsurprised to find ishim.

Nathan. Standing on the front porch in his winter gear, arms folded over his chest, nose too pink for my liking. How long has he been standing out here?

I didn’t even tell him I was coming over. It was supposed to be a surprise. My car isn’t even fully over the driveway before he’s stalking toward me. I don’t like the look on his faceat all.

He looks horrifyinglybroken.

The second my car is in park, his gloved hand yanks on the door handle. I can hear the grunt of frustration when he finds it locked, again, when he yanks the door as soon as I unlock it, only for it to lock again.

“Open the door, Claire!”

I freeze.

This man rarely—if ever—raises his voice.

The moment that he registers that I’ve backed away from the door, he blanches. Thepain. The sorrow. Oh God, are those tears? It’s all laced with the snow hammering against his face.

His knees buckle, and his forehead presses against the glass, and even through it I can hear him.

“I’m sorry,I’m sorry for yelling, please open the door, please, Claire.”

I do as he asks. I can’t even piece together how quickly he gets the door open, gets me unbuckled, and gets to me. I am hauled to his chest, feet off the ground, in seconds. He exhales for longer than humanly possible, and when I feel the stutter of his inhale, my heart clenches.

We stand in his driveway, snow falling down around us. Me, in his arms, his embrace so tight that I’m struggling to breathe.

He doesn’t let me down for ages, and I’m okay with that.

Because when he walks me inside and sets me on the chair in front of the fire, when his touch disappears, I fear that might have been the last time I’ll ever have it.

fifty-eight

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