Page 39 of Be My Reason

“Mmmm,” I mumble.

“Anyway, you always smell like cupcakes.Vanilla, I think. You spend so much time baking that it probably oozes from your pores.” He laughs.

I hit him with a pillow.Then I smell my arm.

“Brooklyn, it’s a compliment.It smells nice. I will never be able to eat sweets again without thinking of you.”

“Oh. Well. . . thanks, I guess.” I decide to ask him what has been bugging me for weeks. “Nate, how come you never go out? I mean, it must be a bore hanging out and watching movies with me.”

He puts his arm up on the back of the couch so that his hand ismere inches from me. “First, it is never a bore to hang out with you. Second, I don’t really want to go out and risk running into a lot of people from high school.” He shrugs and looks embarrassed and uncomfortable so I don’t press him on the issue. He gets up and walks to the kitchen. I can hear him open the refrigerator.

When he returns, he places two beers on the table in front of us then proceeds to twist off the tops, handing me a bottle. Oh, I guess we’re talking.

He tells me about his job and how exciting it is watching a building come up from nothing. He actually gets a gleam in his eyes when he talks about it.He is very passionate in his explanation of what it takes to design a new structure, and even though he has lost me with all of the technical terms, I’m in awe of how smart he is on the subject.

I tell him about startingup the bakery four years ago and he seems genuinely interested. He asks about any plans to expand the bakery or maybe franchise it out.

“No way.” I take a drink then shake my head vehemently. “I would never disclose my secrets to virtual strangers. Besides, it was always my dream as a little girl to run a mom-and-pop bakery that was all my own.” I look over and see his confusion. “I know, I know . . . I brought in a partner. But that’s mainly so I could branch out into catering.” I pick at a fuzz ball on the couch. “I suppose I would consider a second location, but I would have to have a hand in everything. It’s practically written in my mission statement.”

He laughs and puts his arm up on the back of the couch so that his sleeve is riding up his bicep showing off his tattoo. I stare at it. I wonder what the words say.To die for.What does that mean? Claudia is the one he would die for? Why the knife and the blood?

“It’s just a tattoo, Brooklyn,” he says. I can only imagine what an idiot I must look like staring at it.

“What does it say?” I bite my lip. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. Did you get it for her? Your wife?”

“Ex-wife,” he says the words harshly. “And no, I didn’t get it for her. I’m not even sure I got itbecauseof her.” He doesn’t explain further. “It is a Moroccan proverb. It says ‘He who has nothing to die for has nothing to live for’.”

I’m stunned.That is deep. Really deep. I’m not sure what to say. Am I ready to have this kind of conversation with him?

“Don’t read too much into it, Brooklyn.” He sighs. “I was in a bad way when I got it. I’m fine now.”

He’s fine now.Did he think he had nothing to live for? A knife in the heart. She must have really broken him. The way I am broken. Only I don’t wear it on my sleeve.

He gets up and goes to his movie collection.“In keeping with the Steven King theme, how about ‘Children of the Corn’?”

I look at the clock.Eleven-thirty. It’s late and I should go to bed.

“Okay.” I grab the blanket next to me and pull it over my legs.

~ ~ ~

I scrunch my eyes tight to try and keep the light out.I’m not ready to get up yet. My neck hurts so I move it around a bit on my very lumpy pillow. As I start to wake up more, I reach up to fluff my pillow and find myself poking around on Nate’s lap.

Oh my God.

In horror, I realize that I’ve been touching the erection that is pressing against the fly of his jeans. I roll over and fall off the couch, hitting my head on the side of the coffee table. “Ouch!” I say, waking Nate in the process of scrambling off his lap. Then I hit my shin on the side of the couch and I can’t limp away fast enough. I’m rubbing my head and holding my shin when I turn back to see Nate laughing hysterically on the couch. I think I must turn beet red. I can’t put two thoughts together. I can’t even keep myself upright so I fall back on the couch and cover my face with my hands.

He comes over and brings my leg up onto the couch and rubs the red bump that is forming. “Are you okay?”he asks in all seriousness, now that he sees I am injured.

“I’m fine,” I say without looking at him.I look anywhere but at him. I know if I look over, my eyes will go directly to his lap and that will mortify me even further.

I pull my leg away and he says, “Brooklyn,it’s okay. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. We fell asleep watching the movie. It happens.” He laughs and looks at his lap. “Um . . . I’m sorry about that. That just happens, too.” He shrugs.

I look over at him now, begging my eyes to keep above his neck.

“If you want to be embarrassed about something, be embarrassed about the dream you had last night,” he says.

“What?”

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