Page 97 of Fighting Words

After that, we’ve stayed in constant contact. I send him rambling emails, recipes, memes, funny articles, book reviews, anything. Even so, not having easy access to him has thrown me off. It’s made me start to feel insecure about his feelings for me. There is a chance, of course, that everything between us was built off the initial rush of lust and chemistry and now that we’ve both stepped away from the whirlwind and separated ourselves by an entire ocean, those feelings will start to dissipate, little by little. The emails will trail off and the phone calls will never happen at all.

I’m glad at least that work has been busy. Joy has me on three different projects, each one at various stages in the pipeline. I have three weeks to read and offer first-round edits to an author debuting with InkWell later this fall. I’m fortunate that her book is good and vastly different from what I’ve been working on with Nate.

After my meeting with Joy, I stay late and work because there’s no real reason to cut out early. When I do finally turn off my monitor and start to bundle up in layers, it’s with a crummy attitude. I don’t want to freeze my butt off on the way home. I don’t want to have to decide what takeout I want for dinner. I want my stove to get fixed and I want—

I’m just outside the InkWell building when my phone rings in my hand. I’ve kept it near me at all times on the off chance Nate calls. The fact that his name is on my screen now is almost too hard to believe.

The stars have aligned.

I swipe my finger and answer.

“Hello?” I sound skeptical, like I’m scared this is a prank call or something.

I hear the smile in his voice when Nate replies, “I was hoping you’d answer.”

Oh my god.

His voice.

It sends my heart racing.

“Hi.” It’s all I can manage without sounding like a fool. I have to gather myself now, act normal.

“Hi.”

“I miss you,” he tells me straightaway. “I should get that out of the way now. I miss you and I can’t stop thinking about you and if you’ll let me, I’ll buy a ticket right now. Come back to Sedbergh.”

“Nate.” I half-groan half-laugh. “Are you done with the book?”

He sighs, realizing I’ve won the argument for now.

“I miss you too,” I say gently.

“Have you changed—” “Do you think—” We talk over each other.

Nate laughs. “Nothing has changed, Summer.”

“Not for me either,” I confirm quickly, almost sick with relief.

“What are you doing?” he asks, turning the conversation toward something light.

“Walking home from work. What are you doing up still? It has to be close to midnight.”

“I planned to try to call you all day but I couldn’t break away earlier. I had to finish a scene.”

“Did you drive into Sedbergh?”

There’s no other way he’d have cell reception.

“I’m sitting in my car outside Martin’s shop,” he admits with a little laugh.

I’m hit with a pang of sadness. I can picture him there clear as day. I want to be in the passenger seat. I want to be able to reach for his hand.

An ambulance whirls past me, its siren blaring, and I wince and apologize.

“It’s fine,” he promises. “I can still hear you.”

I’m walking faster now, in a rush to get home. He can hear me, but I’m having a hard time hearing him and I don’t want him to think we should try again another time. I’m desperate for five minutes with him. “I can’t believe you called.”

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