Page 47 of Why Not Us?

I search his eyes. Does he want me to say I want to spend more time with him? Does he want to spend more time with me?

With more than a little regret, I sigh. “I should get home. I have some things I need to do tonight. And I should call my brother back.”

“All right. See you later, Adalie.” He starts toward his bike, putting his helmet on.

My whole drive home, I find myself wishing I’d said yes, extending our time together. But I really do have things I need to do so I get home and tidy up, doing a load of laundry, putting away dishes. By the time I get into bed, my apartment is clean, and I’ve tried calling Elliot back twice but he never picked up.

I lay in bed for two hours, wondering why he might have called and why he didn’t answer. I also think about the work I have to do at Blue Vista in the next couple weeks as we start wedding season. And every now and then I get anxious about the tattoo appointment coming up.

Eventually, I give up on sleep and go into my art studio on the other side of my apartment. I paint for half an hour, letting the worries in my mind fade away while the picture I’m creating takes shape, a landscape based on a photo Ava took a couple months ago. While I paint, my mind drifts to Dani and I have an idea, so I send Nate a text, fully expecting him to answer in the morning. It’s 1am, after all.

Me:

I just wanted to let you know, while I’m thinking about it, I’d like to paint with Dani next Thursday. Do you think we could do it on your deck?

Only a moment later, my phone buzzes with two back-to-back texts.

Nate:

That should be fine.

What are you doing awake?

Me:

Can’t sleep.

I hesitate for a moment, my finger nervously tapping the side of my phone. Finally, I take a breath and type another message.

Me:

Want to talk?

Instead of texting back, Nate’s name fills my screen. I swipe to answer.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” he responds.

Then we don’t say anything else. We’re silent so long I start to laugh. “Riveting conversation we’re having,” I manage.

“Conversation like ours is exactly why I stayed awake.”

“Nate Sinclair, did you just make a joke?”

“An admittedly bad attempt at one, yes,” he grumbles.

I hop off my stool and switch out my canvas to a blank one.

“So if you’re not sleeping, what are you doing?” he asks.

“I was painting. Which is why I thought about painting with Dani. But I think I’m going to start something new.”

I climb back onto my stool and pick up a pencil. “What are you doing?”

“Lying in bed. Trying to sleep. Failing.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

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