Page 77 of Fighting Words

“I love you,” he said, and it brought me back to the first time he said it to me in that loud whisper in front of my family. I felt the exact same pressure on my chest, only this time, I didn’t say it back. I leaned over and kissed his cheek then pretended to fall asleep.

A part of me wishes I’d just said it as a way to force the future and tip the scales in that direction. Better yet, if I’d said I love youandwe’d had sex, it would be clear to us both that we were officially back together. Everything would be out of my hands. No more crippling indecision.

According to my family, I would have done the perfect thing. Fast-forward to Connecticut summers, a three-car garage, a boat, a brownstone. Smart little children running off to private school and my husband, the successful investment banker, making me feel loved and cherished for as long as I live.

What more could a person want?

The snow is picking up a bit now. The flurries are so light the wind swirls them around and around. I feel like a little figurine standing inside a snow globe: a girl with her face in the window, a steaming cup of tea partially blurring her features.

I don’t think I’ll ever get around to actually drinking it. It’s not very good and I already added generous amounts of honey and sugar to it. At this point, it’s more dessert than drink, and yet somehow itstilltastes bitter.

Suddenly, I feel Cat. I look down to see him twine himself between my legs, rubbing his face against my calf. He loops back through to do it again, and I smile at him.

“Where have you been, you minx?” I ask him, though I already know. We put him in Nate’s room earlier. But if he’s out here, that means—

Nate steps off the last stair and freezes when he sees me standing near the kitchen window, peering at him over my shoulder. The sight of him steals my breath. He’s shirtless, wearing navy sleeping pants that sit low on his tapered waist. It’s not the pants that draw my attention, obviously, but I look at them because I can’t keep staring at his chest. There’s a dominance about him that’s impossible to ignore, a quiet strength. Nate has interrupted my moment of solitude, and it only takes milliseconds for my heart rate to respond, racing to catch up to this new development.

I catch a glimpse of the veins running up his biceps, and then I berate myself for looking again.

“Aren’t you cold?” I tease.

His gaze drops pointedly to my bare legs. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I have socks on,” I say by way of lame excuse. “You’re barefoot.”

He shrugs one beautifully sculpted shoulder and finally pads into the kitchen. “I was just coming down for some tea. I didn’t think about a shirt.”

“Here, have mine.”

“Your shirt?”

I narrow my eyes, but his mischievous smile wins me over before I can show any real annoyance.

“Mytea.”

I hold it out for him and he comes over for it, stopping close enough that our legs bump together as he settles himself against the counter. He takes the mug from me and drinks a long sip. Thenhepulls a face. “Yeesh, that’s sweet.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t ask me my secret recipe.” I lean in and lower my voice to barely above a whisper. “Sugar.”

He smiles and takes another sip. Apparently, he doesn’t really mind the taste.

“Why are you awake so late?” he asks with a disapproving tone.

I glance over to the side wall. “The clock over there says it’s a little past 2:00 a.m., so technically, you should be asking why I’m up so early…” He doesn’t like this response, so I roll my eyes. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He nods. “That bed probably isn’t big enough for two people.”

I shrug and reach out to tilt the tea mug my way again, just to taste it one more time. Nate doesn’t mind. He helps me take a sip and now we’re sharing from the same mug.

I shake my head. “Still gross.”

“Andrew didn’t seem to have a problem with the bed?” Nate asks, his gaze on the tea.

“No, not last I checked. He was out cold. Have you slept?”

“Not a wink.”

His broad chest is bare from his neck down to that delicious V at his hips, and I don’t look. I keep my attention up on his face. Difficult doesn’tbeginto cover it. I’m getting eye strain from fighting against the urge to check him out.

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