Page 83 of The Story of Us
“Your dress is gorgeous,” Nate said, adding a little pepper to his soup and buttering his bread roll.
“I didn’t realise you saw it.”
“It’s not what I was expecting.” One side of his mouth curled upwards like he was trying to smile but never managed it.
“You weren’t expecting us to all be wearing wedding dresses as well? I thought that might’ve just been me, but it’s part of ‘Sybella’s wedding vision’.”
This time, Nate did give her a tiny smile, and Eloise wanted to lean across the table and pull him in close, brush her lips across his before his happiness disappeared. Instead, she settled for picking up her spoon and swirling it through her soup. When the silence between them stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable, Eloise spoke. “Is everything okay? You look like someone just kicked Echo.”
“I stuffed something up,” Nate mumbled.
“Maybe talking about it would help. I’m a very good problem solver.” She flashed him what she thought was a winning smile, but Nate just tore his bread in two, crumbs scattering around his plate.
“I’d rather not.”
Even though his words were soft, she still felt the sting of his rejection. It was just another reminder that every time they got closer, Nate would slink backwards and hide part of himself away from her.
His phone started vibrating, doing a little dance across the wooden table. The screen lit up with the name Garrett.
“Are you going to answer?” Eloise asked.
“Nope.” His shoulders slumped even further.
“What if it’s about your deal with”—Eloise lowered her voice—“Jemima Jenkins?”
“Trust me, it’s not about that.” Nate shoved half his bread into his mouth, sending a clear signal that this conversation was over.
“Hey, Nate! Eloise!” Callum called out, and they both turned towards the laneway. He and his father strode towards them, both wearing football guernseys.
“Hi,” Eloise said. “You guys off to the game today?”
“And the National Gallery of Victoria,” Callum said, with shooting Nate a quick smile.
“Really?” Nate asked, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“Yep, we’re doing things that make us both happy. Aren’t we, Dad?”
“Apparently, it’s never too late to try something new or change your mind,” Callum’s dad said, but there wasn’t any anger or resistance in his tone.
“That sounds familiar,” Nate said softly, some light returning to his eyes.
“We better go,” Callum said. “See you at art class and training!”
“What was all that about?” Eloise asked after Callum and his dad had left.
“Just a conversation Callum and I had about it being okay to want more for ourselves. To prioritise our happiness, even if it’s easier said than done sometimes.”
Nate’s phone vibrated again, and he sighed, flipping it over so the screen was facedown.
“Sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Eloise offered, but Nate just shook his head and withdrew into himself.
* * *
Nate clenchedhis teeth together and stole a look at the clock in the middle of his dash before pushing out of his seat and locking his car. Dance class was the last fucking thing he felt like doing right now. All the talking. The people. Trying to remember the steps.
Knowing Jemima Jenkins had read what he’d written.
About Eloise. About himself. He’d held nothing back.
