Page 87 of Fun at Parties
He shakes his head. “That’s different. I just don’t think something you dislike should be such a big part of your job.”
He’s giving me too much credit. My brittle patience cracks. “What are we doing here?” I ask.
“I thought we could talk and hang out here tonight. Maybe do an easy hike near Black Mountain tomorrow. It’s supposed to have a great downtown we can check out afterward.”
That, right there, is a romantic getaway for a real couple. Nateknowsthis isn’t going anywhere. He’s just enjoying pretending otherwise, and I can’t blame him. But I don’t know how much more pretending I can do. That’s why this place is making me itch.
He shifts on his feet and glances over to a sliding glass door I didn’t notice until now. I follow his gaze. “Wait,” he says, but I don’t.
The door leads out to a deck, high above where the property drops off and the valley stretches on. What looks like a homemade dinner sits on a square table. Roasted spaghetti squash stuffed with turkey Bolognese, I think. The kitchen does smell like simmering tomatoes, now that I think about it. Wine and water. A stack of battered boxes piled on a side table: board games. Yahtzee, Operation, Scrabble. And a bunch of glowing white candles. Unscented.
My stomach sinks down to my toes.
It’s getting dark, and in the distance, one house sits on its own high up in the mountains, lights twinkling at us. I dimly wonder who’s there, and if they’re looking back at us, wondering the same thing.We’re not doing anything.We’re standing out here, suspended in the air, trying not to move until we have to.
Or at least that’s what we’re supposed to be doing. But this—the candles, the view, the carefully planned evening—is too much. It’s a step in a direction we can’t go.
“What’s this for?” I ask.
“I’m realizing that it’s probably not the best time, so let’s just—”
“I thought you were working on your pitch.”
He gives me a pleading look. I stare him down. The events of the day have rubbed me so raw I’m incapable of letting it go. A breeze sweeps through the trees, rustling the leaves. Eventually, he gives up, opening his arms and throwing up his hands. “This is a pitch too, Quinn.”
My lungs contract. “For me?”
He nods.
I force a swallow. “Okay. Make the pitch.”
His chest rises and falls, one, two, three times. “I know what you’re telling yourself this is. Temporary. But nothing about how I feel is temporary. Every time you look at me, I feel like the luckiest person in the world. We would be so good together, Quinn.” He takes a step closer. “I will never let you down. I promise you that. Look at this whole trip. I’ve had your back the entire way, and I always will if you let me. Please don’t make this something that ends.”
A sharp pain slices through me. Two years ago, Iwould’ve killed to hear him say those words. I have to bite down on my knuckle to keep my face from crumpling. “I’m going back to L.A. You know that.”
“Do you have to, though?”
“Yes. Of course I do.”
A staring contest follows. Eventually, he backs down, then nods a bunch of times in a row, his hands flexing at his sides. When he disappears into the house, I follow him.
He’s facing one of the big windows in the living room with his hands on his hips, the trees framing him through the glass. His breathing is ragged.
“If you’re upset, let’s talk about it,” I say.
He lets out a dry laugh. “That is a very interesting request coming from you.”
That stings. I rest a hand between his shoulder blades. “Did you think I wasn’t going back to L.A.? To CycleLove?”
“I hoped I could show you that not going back was an option,” he says. “I hoped that by the time we left here, you would want the alternative.”
“The alternative,” I repeat. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
He turns around. Looking him in the eye isn’t any easier than watching him turn his back to me. “Since Denver, at least. When I realized you wantedme, and not just someone who wasn’t Caleb. Since then, I’ve been trying to do this the right way, show you what it could be like if we were together. How good it could be.”
“I know how good it can be,” I say. “And it’s been incredible. But this is a vacation. You know that.”
“What I know is that you hate your job—”
