Page 190 of Boyfriend of the Hour
Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door.
Xavier turned. “Marie must have forgotten her key.”
But it wasn’t Marie. It was someone else entirely.
“Joni?” The familiar voice that had been weaving through my dreams for the last two months sounded deep and tired through the old wood door. “Joni, it’s Nathan. Please let me in.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
MORNING ROUTINE
Step #4 dont forget to shower
Xavier glanced back at me, a silent question:Do I let him in or not?
I was frozen in place, unable to move. Unable to answer. He was here. In Paris. After two months of trying and failing to convince myself that whatever we had was fake from the start, Nathan Hunt stood on my threshold, as real as it got.
In the end, I didn’t have to make the decision.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Marie called behind him. “I managed to grab the last bundle of parsley, but it’s Italian, not curly—who’s this?”
She came to a stop next to Nathan while Xavier moved back into the kitchen and leaned against the counter with folded arms, apparently satisfied that Marie could take over, though he’d remain for support.
Neither Nathan nor I answered. We were too busy staring at each other across the doorway while Xavier and Marie looked between us.
“I think it’s the doctor,” Xavier finally answered Marie’s question. “Hunt.” He glared at Nathan. “Took you long enough, mate.”
Marie mouthed an “Oh” to herself but didn’t say anything more as she hovered behind Nathan, who was currently taking up most of the doorframe, hovering on the threshold like a vampire waiting to be let inside.
But he wasn’t a vampire, cold and heartless. My Nathan was the definition of warmth, solid flesh, and endless soul.
Well, notmyNathan. Not anymore.
Oh, my heart ached.
“Hello, Joni,” he said, brown eyes deep and mournful on the other side of his lenses.
“Hi, Nathan.” I felt like I was shrinking. My voice, my body, everything.
My body. Otherwise known as the flesh sack that probably smelled like sleep, eggs, and three days without washing.
Gross.
Immediately, I backed away from the door.
“No,” Nathan started, reaching out. “Don’t?—”
“Joni, hold on,” Marie started. “Just give him a chance.”
“I just, um, gotta j-jump in the showerberightbackbye!” My speech was a blur as I turned and sprinted for the tiny bathroom.
Before anyone could stop me, I locked the door, started the water, and took several deep breaths to calm my tap-dancing heart.
He was here. After months apart and nothing but replays of that horrible night to fill my head, he was here.
And I had no clue what to say to him.
It was the longest shower of my life. Not just because it had been several days since I’d bothered to clean myself at all, but because I was avoiding the fact that Nathan Hunt was sitting in the middle of my sister’s apartment, presumably making smalltalk with my family members, and waiting for me to come out and face whatever he had flown all the way here to tell me.
