Page 65 of Romancing the Grump
I press my lips together to keep from smiling, liking a little too much that my touch has so much influence.
There’s a nervous energy pulsing between us as I grab mycoat and we make our way out to Nathan’s Bronco. It’s not awkward, really. Justnew.Like we’re still trying to figure out how to act around one another.
Somehow, this felt easier in Chicago, though then, we had a lot of momentum and forced proximity on our side. Have we really forgotten how to be easy around each other? Or is it just that we’re both so nervous? I have to hope we’ll loosen up when we’re in public because like this, we aren’t going to convince anyone we’re already in love.
Nathan gives me a shy glance as he opens the passenger side door to his Bronco, then offers me a hand, helping me into the seat. The interior smells like leather and good coffee and Nathan’s beard oil, and I suddenly feel guilty for judging Nathan and his “enormous, gas-guzzling SUV” so harshly on my first day of work.
“Are you comfortable?” he asks as I settle into my seat.
I smile and nod. “Perfect.”
Nathan closes my door and makes his way around to the driver’s side. Once he’s buckled in, he picks up a travel coffee mug from the center console and hands it to me. “For you.”
“You brought me coffee?”
He shrugs as he shifts and backs up the Bronco. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry. I thought we could grab some food after; this is just to hold you over until then.”
I take a slow sip of the coffee, which is rich and creamy and absolutely delicious. “Where is this from?” I ask before taking another sip. “It’s amazing.”
“I made it at home, actually.”
“What. You did not. How is it so good?”
“I order the beans from a local roaster over in Asheville. Best coffee I’ve had anywhere.”
It’sdefinitelythe best coffee I’ve had, and I’m the snobbiest coffee drinker in my family. I mentally addcoffee connoisseurto the growing list of things I know and like about Nathan.
If I were smart, I’d be listing things Idon’tlike about him, shoring up my resolve to keep this thing between us completelyfake.The trouble is, I’m not sure there would be anythingonthat list, so what’s even the point?
“You know, for being so adamantlyagainstdating,” I say, looking over at him, “you’re doing an amazing job at it right now.”
His expression shifts, and I can tell he appreciates the compliment, even if he won’t admit it out loud.
“It’s not that I’m against dating,” he says after a long moment of silence.
I immediately perk up. “No? You definitely made it seem that way.”
He runs a hand across his jaw. “I’m just against datingright now.While I’m playing hockey.”
Right,I think, my stomach bottoming out as I remember his words.
He can’t do both.
I remember him saying that exact thing when we were out to dinner with the team in Chicago.
After Alec’s comment about Nathan’s dad, I did a deep dive into the life and death of Russell Sanders. Well. Not atruedeep dive. I have the connections that, if I wanted to goreallydeep—hospital records, death certificates, arrest records—I could.
But the idea felt like too much of a violation of Nathan’s trust and privacy, so I stuck with what a regular Google search could tell me. Nathan’s dad was definitely a star in the hockey world. But once his injury forced his retirement, he basically went dark. A lot of guys go into coaching or broadcasting, but Nathan’s dad didn’t do either. And I couldn’tfind anything that verified his cause of death. Even the press release put out by the Boston Bruins, his former team, only mentioned “complications with a prolonged illness.” That at least leaves room for the rumors Alec mentioned to be true, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Not unless I ask Nathan outright.
If they are true, could that be what Nathan is really saying?
He can’t do both becausehis fathernever managed to do both?
I’m still getting to know Nathan, but I don’t think he’s giving himself enough credit, and I almost tell him as much. But something keeps me from steering the conversation too close to realfeelings.Probably my desire to avoid any and all indicators that Nathan only wants this relationship to be fake.
Nathan’s phone is face up on the center console, and it buzzes with an incoming text, the screen filling with a picture of his nieces. The phone must be connected to the Bluetooth in his car because an automated voice starts reading the text through the speakers.
“From Cassie,” the voice says. “Allie insisted that I send you this picture. I haven’t seen her smile like this in a while.”
