Page 66 of Last Summer

“I don’t see a point—”

“To what?” he snaps, cutting her off.

She sighs, closing her eyes, weary of the secrets and cryptic talk. The circles they’ve been running around each other like loops of coding. She was going to say that she doesn’t see any point in continuing their conversation. But those aren’t the words that leave her mouth. She doesn’t know exactly what she’s thinking until the two-letter word eases off her tongue.

“Us,” she whispers.

“You don’t mean that.”

She doesn’t. But they’ll deal with it when she gets to London. Because he doesn’t want to talk “Over. The. Phone.”

“I have to go.” She ends the call, silences her phone, and lets her forehead fall to the steering wheel.

Everything has gone to shit.

Ella spends another ten minutes chilling in her car. That conversation did not go as planned. More like a backward spiral into the shallow end of a pool. She has so many questions. But she knows she’ll get the answers from Damien when she joins him in London. For now, she’s with Nathan, and he’s holding a whole other set of answers for her.

Unfolding from her car, she takes a deep breath of crisp mountain air, tosses back her hair, and straightens her shoulders. She treks across the yard and lets herself into Nathan’s house.

Inside, Fred and Bing rush over to greet her. Happy with the pats and scratches she doles out, they return to their pillow beds. A fire roars in the wide stone hearth, and stew bubbles in the Crock-Pot. The mouthwatering aroma of roasted meat and onions saturates the large, open living space.

Nathan is at the wet bar. He has changed into jeans and a fitted, long-sleeved blue shirt, the Squaw Valley ski resort logo above the outline of his pectoral. Ella wonders if there’s a Tahoe resort shirt he doesn’t own. She also wonders at her reaction to seeing him so casually dressed and laid-back, barefoot and freshly combed. He looks too damned good.

He mixes her a gin and tonic. “You look like you need it.”

“I do. Thank you.” Who cares that it’s midafternoon? She sips her drink, relishing the cool juniper flavor. “How’d you know I like G&Ts?”

“It’s your go-to drink. You had me mix them for you last time,” he says, pouring himself a bourbon over ice.

“Now you’re not playing fair.”

His brows lift. “How so?”

“You know more about me than I do you.”

“Not really, Ella. Youdoknow everything about me,” he says in a tone that leaves Ella wondering how much he’d come to care for her.

A flush rises up her neck and she delicately clears her throat. “Maybe I did at one point, but now...”—she shows him the voice recorder, determined to stay focused—“let’s get down to business. I have a deadline and you have a story to tell.”

His expression cools. He gestures to the seating area before the fire. She sits beside him, leaving a comfortable, professional distance between them, and sets the recorder on the coffee table.

Nathan leans forward, forearms resting on his upper legs, just above his knees, the bourbon glass cradled in his wide hands. “Where do you want to begin?”

“With Stephanie.”

He sips his liquor. “All right,” he says slowly. “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s talk about your marriage. The early years. Were they ever good?”

“Aren’t all marriages good in the beginning?”

“I’m sure most can be. I want to hear about yours.”

“We were one of the good ones,” Nathan confirms. “For a few years.” His gaze drifts to the fire. Flames dance, reflecting in his eyes as he slips back in time. “For a while, it was me and Steph.”

“You loved her.”

“Ridiculously so. We were inseparable before we moved to Colorado. I couldn’t do anything wrong in her eyes. But like all good things, we came to an end. I’d be filming an episode and couldn’t wait to get home. Then I’d be home with her and couldn’t wait to get back out there.” His eyes skip to the recorder.

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