Page 21 of Little Did You Know

I gulped in the cool morning air, hands on my knees. Each breath came easier than the last, as if the miles had scrubbed away not just oxygen but the confusion clouding my thoughts. My legs trembled, muscles spent, but the chaos in my head had quieted to a manageable hum. For the first time since his lips had touched mine, I could think of Nick without my stomach performing acrobatics. The endorphins flowing through me brought a strange, temporary peace—as if I could face him across a breakfast table without falling apart.

Nick was still lying on the track where he'd given up about four miles ago. I sat down next to him and listened to his heavy, uneven breathing as I tried to catch my breath. We sat quietly, watching the sun rise for what seemed like forever.

I traced patterns in the dewy grass beside me, not meeting his eyes. "Nick, when do you think you can take me up to the college?" My throat tightened. "School starts soon, and I'd like to settle in my dorm before then."

Nick's shoulders tensed. He pushed himself to his feet, extending his hand toward me.

"I need to talk to you about some things." His fingers were warm against mine as he pulled me up, but he released my hand quickly. "Let's get cleaned up first. We'll talk over breakfast."

I nodded, following his shadow across the lawn as the rising sun painted everything in shades of gold and uncertainty.

Chapter Eleven

Iturned the shower knob to its hottest setting, standing motionless as scalding water beat against my shoulders. Steam clouded the glass, but nothing could fog the clarity of Nick's words: "We need to talk at breakfast." My muscles tightened involuntarily, a familiar contraction that started just below my ribs and radiated outward. I pressed my palm against the shower wall, fingers splayed and took a breath. Those four words never preceded anything good.

By the time I turned off the shower, I'd constructed and demolished a dozen scenarios, each worse than the last.

If something had happened to Emmett, surely Nick wouldn't wait for breakfast to tell me. His eyes would have held urgency, not that careful restraint I'd glimpsed when he'd stood in my doorway.

No, this had to be about the kiss.

I closed my eyes, and unbidden, the moment replayed: the rough texture of his five o’clock shadow brushing against my skin, the scent of his cologne, the hesitation in his eyes before he leaned down. The gentle pressure of his lips, tentative at first, then suddenly not. The way his hand had cradled my face and then my butt.

I touched my lips, the phantom sensation still electric. Then reality crashed back—how he'd pulled away, expression shifting from desire to something unreadable. How he'd muttered an apology and disappeared, leaving me breathless and confused. He regretted it. Of course he did and now he was going to tell me.

I dressed with trembling fingers, discarding three outfits before settling on a simple blouse and jeans—casual enough to suggest I hadn't overthought this.

The scent of coffee and cinnamon rolled up the stairs to greet me as I descended, each step heavier than the last. A deceptively cozy welcome to what might be the most uncomfortable breakfast of my life.

Arlena's domain gleamed with morning light and lemon-scented polish.

"Good morning, Arlena." My voice sounded steadier than I felt, the result of years of masking uncertainty. "Need any help?"

She turned, cloth pausing mid-swipe on the counter. "Oh, good morning, dear." Her smile held a hint of something—knowledge? Sympathy? "Mr. Pearson's waiting on the second-floor patio. Best not let the food get cold."

My feet refused to move. The second-floor patio might as well have been in another country—I'd seen glimpses of it from the patio, but I had no idea how to get to it.

Arlena's knowing look softened. "Through his bedroom, dear. The French doors at the far end." She hesitated, then added with just the slightest emphasis, "He's decent. And waiting."

His bedroom. Of course it would be through his bedroom. Because this morning wasn't complicated enough already.

"Thank you." I smiled before twisting and bolting for the second floor.

The second-floor patio hung like a private oasis above the manicured grounds, bordered by wrought-iron railings. Nick sat at a glass-topped table that caught the rising sun like diamonds, his crisp white shirt and dark slacks a study in expensive simplicity.

He must have sensed my presence because his gaze lifted as I came through his room, and he smiled. Taking a seat across from him, a rush of wind flowed through, bringing his scent of spicy, clean soap along for the ride, which smelled much better than the food sitting in front of us.

I shifted in my seat. "What did you want to talk about?"

Nick's coffee cup paused halfway to his lips. "Eat something first."

I stabbed at my eggs, the silverware clinking too loudly against fine china.

I inwardly groaned. I didn't want to wait, but I also didn't want to argue, so I shoveled the food in as fast as I could without choking.

The last bite of toast felt like sand in my mouth. "So." I set my fork down with exaggerated care. "What did you want to talk about?"

His eyes flicked up, something unreadable passing behind them. "I called the school."

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