Page 53 of The Story of Us
Oh, no.She didn’t need to ask if that had happened to him. It was written all over Nate’s face. His chest rose, and he shook his head, his gaze glued to the streetlights.
Therewasmore to this story—Eloise was sure of it—but she didn’t want to hear it right now. Not because she didn’t care about Nate. Clearly, she cared too much, but because it was obvious he wasn’t ready to share it with her.
The front door of the pub opened, and a couple of people stumbled out, lifting cigarettes to their mouths.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Eloise asked. “I think I’m partied out.”
“Sure.”
“I was thinking of doing some painting or sketching. Something that doesn’t require thinking. Do you want to join me?”
“Are you trying to art therapy me?” Nate asked, a whisper of the smile that always destroyed her back on his face.
“Kind of? Is that weird?” Eloise wrung her hands together. “I thought losing yourself in something creative might help. Whenever I get stressed, I like to do something that doesn’t require thought. I wasn’t going to try and get you to talk about your feelings, though, I swear. Nor am I suggesting you need therapy. Shit. I saw this going differently in my mind. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s great. I know the perfect place,” Nate said. “I’ll show you my secret spot.”
17
The ‘hut’ in front of Eloise was an A-frame version of Nate’s log cabin with a stone chimney and dark roof. The light from her torch bounced around the area, illuminating the small, attached jetty that stretched out over the Wattle River. The water flowed slowly through the shadows of night.
“This is … wow.”
It was so much better than how Charlie had described it when he was building it for Nate, who stood on the verandah, his shoulder leaning against the front post as he watched her. She imagined snapping a picture of him here, mentally adding it to the wall of black-and-white shots in his lounge room. The relaxed slope of his shoulders, the casual way his ankles were crossed, his face bathed in moonlight.
Yes.
He could call it whatever he wanted, but this was clearly Nate’s space.
A gentle wind swirled cool, crisp air with a hint of earthiness around her. Eloise could get used to this. “It’s so peaceful here.”
“Probably not as exciting as living with Joanie.”
She offered him a small smile. “Youcouldtalk about town gossip a bit more.”
Nate’s lopsided grin appeared. And that. That was the shot he needed on his wall. Nate in his natural environment. “Do you want to see inside?” he asked, his voice rougher than normal. Without waiting for her reply, very un-Nate-like behaviour which made Eloise wonder if he was currently suffering from a sharing hangover, he opened the front door.
Light spilled across all the surfaces before Nate adjusted the dimmer, giving the room a softer, cosier feel.
Eloise spun in a slow circle drinking in all the details. The old-fashioned drafting desk. The easels. The jars filled with paintbrushes. “It reminds me of the art room,” she whispered like it was all a mirage and if she was any louder, it would shatter, disappear. “Is this your art room, Nate?”
He swallowed deeply and just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, he did. “It is.”
A vulnerability she’d never expected crossed his face, and she ached to lean forward, take his hand in hers and remind him of something … Two things, actually. He could tell her anything and that he’d been so brave before, outside the pub. He hadn’t totally let her in, but he’d opened the door and shown her a hard and painful part of his history.
“I knew you liked to paint, but I had no idea you were so good.” A gorgeous landscape of a mountain range shrouded in fog was sitting on an old easel covered in paint splatters. Three more canvases were propped against the wall next to it. “Can I?” she asked, her fingers itching to touch them. Devour all the details of this place, from the rough, unfinished walls and the uneven slate tiles that made up the small splash back in the kitchenette. Hell, she’d run her hands across Echo’s fluffy bed in the corner if he let her. All the different textures called to her because this place? It was part of his secret life, which was much bigger than she’d ever imagined, and he was showing her.
Nate was trying. Just like he’d said he would.
Unfortunately for her still-there-even-though-she-knew-it-was-impossible crush, it was damn sexy.
Nate nodded, his Adam’s apple reappearing as she carefully lifted the first canvas. It was a quaint sheriff’s station with big columns out the front made up of grey boulders, misty skies curling around the mountains in the background. Buffeted around the building were spruce trees, their leaves a multitude of greens. It was beautiful and layered with rich details. Eloise knew she’d see something different every time she looked at it. Find a little bit more of the truth about Nate James each time.
“I painted them so I could visualise the setting properly.”
That wasn’t what she had been expecting at all. The second painting was equally detailed: a hole-in-the-wall diner with cracked linoleum seats, the tabletop dotted with plates of apple pie and steaming cups of coffee. The third depicted an open field of wildflowers with a large fir tree wrapped in crime scene tape in the foreground. “No one else has ever seen these paintings,” Nate said.
When Eloise glanced over her shoulder, he was standing with his arms folded across his body. His defensive posture didn’t bother her because, yeah, they’d shared a few kisses, but this was far more intimate.
