Page 50 of Beautifully Broken
Chapter 9
Caleb
Nacho was purring loud enough to vibrate the kitchen floor as he rubbed against my ankle. I leaned over to scratch his chin, grateful for the distraction. My head was still foggy from everything.
I’d barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. Not the familiar one I’d known since we were kids, but the version of her from last night. Glowing under the string lights, smiling like she wasn’t nervous at all, dancing with me like it meant something. Because it did. At least to me.
I set my mug down and paced to the window, tugging the curtain aside with more force than necessary. The sunlight was obnoxiously bright, like the universe had decided to mock me for having feelings.
Across the street, her car was gone. Of course it was. There was a pending sale banner across the for sale sign. I didn’t even know what I’d have done if I saw her again already. Pretend like it never happened? Joke about it? Apologize?
God, I hoped she didn’t regret it.
The sound of a car door shutting yanked me from my spiral. Nate was walking up my porch steps, two coffees in hand and sunglasses shoved into his hair like he didn’t care he looked like a magazine ad.
He didn’t knock. He never did.
“Open the door, you recluse,” he called through the screen.
I opened it with a grunt, letting him step in as Nacho promptly twined around his legs.
“Still alive?” he asked, handing me a cup.
“Debatable.”
Nate took a sip of his own coffee and looked me over. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks. You’re radiant as always.”
He smirked. “I take it you remember the kiss?”
I shot him a look. “Of course I remember the kiss.”
Nate leaned forward. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly.
“That’s not good enough.”
“I kissed her,” I muttered. “I kissed my best friend.”
“And?”
“And I liked it.”
Nate didn’t even blink. “You’re allowed to like it, man.”
“I know.” I exhaled hard, dragging my fingers through my hair. “But if I screw this up…”
“You’re not going to screw it up.”
“I crossed a line.”
“Sure,” he said, “but maybe it was a line that needed crossing.”
Nacho meowed like he agreed.
I didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared out the window, half-hoping her car would pull up and she’d walk out like nothing had changed. Like everything had.
