Page 15 of Operation Annulment
It’s one night.
Don’t get attached.
His brows pull together, and I know I should say something to break the awkward silence, but I’m distracted by the way his shirt molds around his muscular frame.
“I could eat you for dinner,” I murmur before grimacing. “I mean, I could eat dinner with you because you look very nice. Stop laughing!”
He presses his fist against his lips. “Let’s start with dinner first, though, yeah?”
“Obviously,” I say, trying to laugh it off despite the heatflooding my face.
Nate holds the door for me before leaning down to whisper, “So, not a narcissist. I’m glad we cleared that up.” His teeth graze the shell of my ear as we approach the hostess stand, and I suck in a breath.
One night. I can do this.
I can’t do this.
There’s no way that one night will be enough. Nate is nothing like I expected, which is surprising considering I’ve made a career out of figuring people out.
Once we’ve ordered, Nate addresses the elephant in the room. “I’d like to discuss what happened yesterday.”
I swallow a sip of water. “Yeah. That was interesting?”
He holds my gaze with the confidence of a man with no secrets. The only indication he’s uncomfortable is the restless drumming of his fingertips against the tabletop. “First, I just want to say thank you for agreeing to go out with me. I get that there’s a certain stigma surrounding divorce and a—I don’t know—feeling like maybe you’ve failed.”
“I can understand that.” My fingers itch for my notebook, but this isn’t a session, and he’s not my patient. I settle for a nod and consider taking another drink of water just to give my hands something to do.
His shoulders relax, and he spins his water glass in a slow circle before adding, “It’s like, you take on the role of provider and husband, and once it’s gone, it takes this piece of your identity with it if that makes sense.”
“Do you ever talk to her?” I ask, fighting to keep my tone neutral.
“Sporadically here and there, although I couldn’t tell you why… which sounds bad.”
“What about your mother?” I ask, scanning the restaurant for our server. This conversation calls for a bottle of wine… or ten.
“What about my mother?” Nate asks, glancing around as if looking for clues.
“Um, are you two close?” This is way too personal for a first date, much less a hook-up. Then again, so is any discussion involving an ex.
“Yes… are you close with your mother?”
The therapist in me is trained to avoid his question by asking him another. “And what about your father? Is he in the picture?”
“If you’re asking if my parents are still together, the answer is yes,” he says, rubbing the back of his thumb along his brow.
I nod absently, mentally trying to arrange the pieces in a way that makes sense. “How would you describe your mother—hard to please? Domineering? Overly involved?”
An overbearing mother who undermined his sense of autonomy as a child would explain why he felt as if he had lost his identity in the divorce. It would also explain why he continues to maintain contact with an ex who, from what little I know about her, seems highly toxic.
“Jesus, Katy girl. I expected questions, just not about my family. Are you always this inquisitive?” he asks with a forced laugh. “My relationship with my mother is entirely normal. She’s pretty easy to get along with and lets her adult children make their own decisions.
I trace the wood grain pattern on the table with my fingernail as we slip into an uncomfortable silence. This is why I blackmailed Benjamin into hanging around for as long as I did. I suck at small talk and tend to jump off the deep end while everyone else is splashing in the kiddie pool.
“How about we start over,” Nate suggests before reaching across the table. “I’m Nathaniel Davis, but everyone calls me Nate.”
“Mary Katherine Quinn,” I say, my breath catching as our hands connect, sending a current of white-hot heat through my body. “But everyone calls me Kate.”
“Does anyone ever call you Katy?” he asks, pinning me with his intense gaze.
