Page 20 of The Story of Us
“… boom, boom?” he finished for her.
“Take me home, Nate,” Eloise whispered.
If only he could.
7
Nate had been up for hours before the sun graced the day with its presence. Words had been pouring out, his fingers barely able to keep up with his mind. The creative block he’d been caught behind was gone, evaporating overnight as he tossed and turned on the couch, the memory of Eloise’s body pressed up against his tempered by Echo’s gentle snores filling the lounge room. He’d given up on sleep at two o’clock, succumbing to the itch to get going, the need to move. The characters in his head had insisted he listen to them, which was better than remembering what had happened last night.
What … or more correctly,who… was still in his bed.
The way Eloise had invited Nate to join her, grabbing at the bottom of his shirt before trying to lift her dress over her head. The bottle of champagne she and Alice had shared in the backseat of his car on the way home had transported them from tipsy to trolleyed.
He refocused on his laptop, the screen filled with text. Good words. If the deep contentment in his chest could be trusted, most would appear on the final pages. There’d be a tweak here and there, his editor would find plot holes and saggy bits, but this was it. The ending his series deserved. A type of nirvana only other writers could understand.
For so long, he’d been bashing his head against the wall, trying to get everything right, and it’d been in front of him all along.
Dark eyes and a teasing mouth.
Featherlight touches that made his skin tingle for hours.
A husky voice whispering everything he’d never dared to say.
And finally, a kiss he’d never forget, even if it shouldn’t have happened.
The oven timer dinged and Nate stood, shuffling across the slate tiles to pull out his sourdough loaves. Steam fogged up the window behind the timber bench when he put the loaves on the cooling rack and refilled his coffee cup before looking out the window over the sink. Frost clung to his back lawn, and fog filled the gaps between the trees.
Nate was buzzing and not because of the caffeine. He’d been productive. If Garrett could get Jemima Jenkins’ team to agree to keep Nate’s requests for minimal public appearances or on-camera interviews, that would be the cherry on top.
He looked down the hall to where his bedroom door was ajar. Echo had long abandoned him, her nose twitching and tail swishing when she realised someone else was here. Never before had a woman spent the night.
His stomach rumbled, and he checked his watch. It was after eleven.
The fridge was stocked with fresh eggs from his chickens and organic bacon from the butcher in Somers Gully. Perfect hangover food. And based on the state Eloise had been in by the time they finally got back to his place, greasy food would be her best friend today.
It’d been so long since he had someone to look after, even if it was only because Eloise had refused to go home, not wanting to disturb Joanie. And while this … whatever it was couldn’t last … it didn’t mean Nate couldn’t enjoy it for a little longer. He’d spent the last few hours living in a fantasy world of his own creation as he finished his draft, so why not indulge in another for a bit longer?
He refilled the coffee machine and set it to brew.
Eloise might not remember last night, but he’d never forget it. Making her breakfast was the least he could do after she’d been brave enough to do what he’d wanted to for years. He’d been drowning in his own melancholy when he’d first returned home from America, but even then, he’d noticed how much Charlie’s kid sister had changed. And the gentle kindness Eloise had shown him had helped coax Nate back into the real world. That was when they’d really become friends. Ever since then, each time their gazes had met in crowded spaces or it felt like they were sharing a private joke at KPs, Nate had wanted to kiss her.
The cooktopclick-click-clickedas Nate waited for the gas to catch, his big cast-iron frypan set on his favourite burner. If someone had told him he’d have a favourite burner when he was twenty, he’d have laughed and refused to believe them. At twenty-three, maybe. He’d grown up awfully quick that summer. He pushed the unpleasant thoughts that always accompanied those memories away, determined not to let Cobie ruin this as well. She’d already taken his future from him, and he wouldn’t let her taint this as well.
Not when this fantasy was all he could ever have.
* * *
Was that bacon?Eloise stirred, breathing deeply through her nose.
Some of the nausea had passed, but it still felt like a marching band was playing a private concert in her head as she tried to swallow a flaming sword.
She groaned and kicked off the sheets, needing cool air against her body.
Why am I so hot? And what is that noise?
Unless—Eloise groaned—she must’ve climbed in with Joanie when she got home. Her grandmother’s loud snores were famous in their family, and so was the fact she was always like a furnace. Heat rolled off her …fur?
Eloise’s eyes flew open, and she bolted upright, pitching to the left and falling out of bed with a crash.
