Page 61 of Between the Lines

The concern in his knit brows as the door swings open, the stitching together that I see take place after only a quick moment of confusion that I’m herehoursearlier than I said I would be—is the only indication I need.

“Claire? Is everything okay?”

I freeze. And not because of the cold.

I freeze because, in all of my years being the third wheel caregiver for my siblings, I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that question.

I freeze because the way that mydadhad said my name had placed a ten ton boulder inside my chest, and the way thatNathansays it in reverence and concern makes that weight sprout wings and take off so that I can breathe again.

And as soon as it comes out of Nathan, it’s like a million little versions of myself that needed to be cared for come crawling out of buried little tunnels inside of me.

I didn’t come here intending to cry. I came here to sit on his couch and read a book, and maybe once the sun went down I’d get the courage to crawl over to his lap. All of those plans smack into abrick wall of every insecurity I’ve buried away that suddenly floods over.

I crash into him. Whether it’s because I lunged at him or he cradled my head to his chest first, I don’t even care. I only care about his strong arms, ones that have transformed into a comfort, that cradle me as he lifts. I register him sitting, his thighs spreading wide, his hands readjusting so that he can hold me tighter as he runs his big hands over my hair and my back and my neck, whispering soothing sounds.

It doesn’t take long for me to detox. I sniffle the remaining tears and snot away, internally rolling my eyes at the fact that I definitely cried off my makeup—that I definitely did formyselfandnot for Nathan—and stand to go clean myself up, when he tugs me right back down.

The combination of strict, dominating Nathan Harding, with the sweet man who brought me hot cocoa and gave up his favorite chair so that I could read in front of his fireplace, is intoxicating. He is both soft and rough, and that heady combination makes me a little dizzy. I’m dizzier still when his mouth finally opens, those hard eyes demanding from behind his glasses when he asks, “Who hurt you?”

I shouldnotbe turned on in this moment, but well… here we are.

I shake my head.

“It’s… nothing I haven’t heard before. It’s probably an overreaction.”

“An overreaction that has you on my doorstep at eight in the morning on a Saturday?”

Shit. What if he was asleep?

Just the thought makes me swallow a laugh. He’s already dressed in his Saturday best—a crisp button-down that looks freshly ironed is tucked into dark wash jeans with the belt I definitely shucked onto his office floor once upon a time.But what if he had other plans?What if?—

“That came out wrong. I’m glad that you’re here early. I’m just worried about the why.”

I swallow, slipping onto the couch cushion beside him. He clenches his fists in his lap like he’s trying to give me space that he never wanted to offer, but his eyes don’t give me space at all.

“I had a fight with my parents,” I say, tucking the hair that has fallen from my claw clip behind my ears and playing with the ends. “It’s nothing new. We’ve exchanged the same words before. It was just…”

I blink up at Nathan, and his gaze is wholly unwavering, focused on me like I’m the center of the universe, and not the snotty, crying girl in his home on a Saturday morning.

“Having the same argument more than once doesn’t invalidate how it makes you feel. Do you want to talk about it, or would you like breakfast?”

I sit up a little straighter, my spine crackling with the effort.

“Breakfast?”

His smile. Oh,God, his smile. I thought I saw the sunrise over morning coffee and insults with my mom and dad. Nothing compares to the rays that wrinkle at the corners of his eyes, or the way his full lips unfold into a picture I’ve never seen before. It’s like Van Gogh’sStarry Nighthas transformed into morning and I’m the only audience for this masterpiece.

Why am I here again? What is happening?

“I’ll take that as your answer.”

He stands, taking my hand to lead me into the kitchen.

Where he immediately glances around nervously.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen this man anything less than focused.

Granted, he looked pretty unfocused when you licked his?—

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