Page 46 of The Story of Us
And later, he’d keep channelling all his feelings into his secret writing project.
* * *
After three episodesofThe Golden Girlsand being informed repeatedly that he ‘was such a Rose’, Nate was surprised when Eloise asked if he’d teach her how to make bread.
“I’m too wired to sleep, and it’s my favourite thing to eat.”
Damn if happiness didn’t flood Nate’s chest and make his cheeks hurt from suppressing the big grin he wanted to give her.
“Since you’re staying here, I guess you can meet Steve.”
“Steve?” Eloise pushed her hair off her face and twisted it into a messy bun.
“He’s my secret weapon.”
“I’m so confused right now.”
Nate led her to the kitchen and opened the walk-in pantry, pulling a glass jar with a fermented mixture of water and flour in it from the back corner. Eloise’s eyes widened, and she snorted before clapping a hand to her face. Her muffled “oh my God” was fucking adorable.
“This is Steve. Full name: Steve the Sourdough Starter.”
Eloise leant forward, all serious. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on which part of Nate’s body he asked—her top gaped and he had a clear view of the top of her breasts, all nice and snug in a white bra. He snapped his gaze to the ceiling, chastising himself for being such a man.
“Steve’s the reason my bread tastes so good.”
“I think I love him,” Eloise joked. “When did you start baking your own bread? And why?”
“Back when I was playing, my diet was really strict, which was cool. There’s plenty of healthy food that’s tasty and great for fuelling your body. Most of it was made by the team nutritionists, and I had a private chef to help keep me on track, too. But it also meant there wasn’t a lot of time to cheat on my diet. Mum will tell you I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth. It’s always been savouries for me, especially bread.” He paused, pulling out the big cast-iron pots and mixing bowls he used for his loaves.
“Are you going to try to convince me that chocolate mousse made from avocado is good, Nate? Because it’s never going to happen.” Eloise sank onto a stool across the island bench, her hands wrapping around Steve.
Nate chuckled. “I’m with you on that. I started making bread because when I’m stuck or unsure of something, I like to work with my hands. It’s another reason I like to restore old furniture and paint.”
“Typing is working with your hands too, kind of. Is that why you started writing?”
Right, there was the perfect opportunity to tell her the real story, not the one he’d trotted out when they’d first discussed why he’d given it all up and moved home. But there was something about Eloise. She always managed to get him to divulge something new that he didn’t tell other people because it was too personal, too much. He liked the idea of sharing secrets with her. Being real with her.
Nate arranged the flour, oil and herbs he’d picked from his garden earlier in a neat line. “When I first moved overseas, I was overwhelmed by how different everything was. Sure, there are lots of similarities, but I felt like a fish out of water, wondering if they’d made a mistake offering a scholarship to a guy who couldn’t even figure out what the temperature was.”
A look he couldn’t decipher crossed Eloise’s face. “Do you regret it?”
“No, but it was hard to be so far away. When I boarded in high school, my family was only a phone call away, and I saw them every weekend. Suddenly, there were time zones and multiple flights and the disconnect was bigger than I expected or liked. I couldn’t keep up with what was going on in everyone’s lives at home. And I was so busy I didn’t have time to scratch myself. There was always training. Drills. Game tape. And I had a full course load as well because Mum and Dad only agreed to the scholarship if I got a degree that would give me a backup career option.” Nate moved his digital kitchen scales to the island bench and wiped his hands on a tea towel.
“Why’d you choose an English degree?”
After zeroing the scales, Nate measured the flour. “I started a movement studies one, but it was too similar. I’d always loved reading and writing, so changing gave me the opportunity to fall into fictional worlds when I needed a break. Not many people know that’s when I started writing seriously.”
When Eloise leant forward and rested her chin on her hands, Nate took a mental picture.
“Was it theSmoky Mountain Killers?”
Nate tipped another cup of flour into the big blue mixing bowl. “No. Different things. None suitable for public consumption but all important in figuring out my voice and style.”
“What was college really like?”
“Pretty similar to what you’re probably imagining.” Once he’d settled in and realised what a charmed life jocks led on campus, he’d enjoyed all the stereotypical things movies had depicted for years. Living in the football house meant there was always a party to go to and girls to charm out of their panties with his accent. He’d really leant into the whole college experience.
Nate shifted his weight from one foot to the other. But he’d quickly realised there was only one girl he wanted: Cobie Kennerson. Tall, gorgeous and lethal on the volleyball court. She’d bewitched him the first time she’d shown up at a party and goaded Nate into attempting a keg stand. Cobie didn’t take shit from anyone. She was ballsy and more overtly sexual than Nate was used to. She also refused to date footballers because she found the game boring. How anyone could not enjoy football, in all its forms, would never make sense to Nate. When they started dating, the Kennersons had welcomed him with open arms. Memories of Thanksgivings and Spring Breaks spent with them were tainted now, but at the time, they’d been his haven. His home away from home. The family life he’d missed so much. Which was what made Cobie’s betrayal so much worse.
