If This Was a Movie (Evergreen Park #2)

Chapter 21 – Nate

TWENTY-ONE

NATE

Jules eats dinner with us and, just like Sophie and I schemed together while she was at practice, my daughter begs her to stay, read a book, and get her ready for bed—a request Jules doesn’t even bother trying to decline.

As we go through the routine of the night together, I find myself wondering what this would be like if it were our real life: Jules helping to brush the tangled knots out of Sophie’s curly hair, making her giggle instead of whine like she does with me, picking out her book and reading it to her while I clean up the kitchen and close the house up for the night.

Like a team.

Someone on my side. Someone on Sophie’s side.

I’ve never had that. Her mom was someone I barely was with before things ended, and I’ve never felt comfortable enough with a woman to introduce her into Sophie’s life this way.

Until Jules.

When she slips outside of Sophie’s room, clicking the door quietly behind her and tiptoeing toward the kitchen where I’m standing, watching her, there’s a small smile on her lips.

“A success?”

“She’s out like a light,” she says.

“Yeah, she gets like that after a busy day.” I continue to take her in and watch Jules’s demeanor go from comfortable to unsure, her eyes moving back and forth from the back door that leads to the cottage and the couch in the living room.

Hesitation, like she wants to sit with me there but isn’t sure where we stand.

“I guess I should…” she starts, letting her words trail off, and even if this isn’t her intention, I take the open door she offers me.

“Stay,” I say, tipping my head over to the couch.

“Stay?”

“Yeah. Watch a movie, keep me company. Like the other night.”

“I don’t—” she starts to argue, but I don’t let her.

“Do you have something else to do tonight?”

“What?”

“Do you have something else to do when you get to the cottage?”

Slowly, she shakes her head and bites her lip.

“Come on. Pick a movie, keep me company. I’ll just be answering emails and whatnot.”

She hesitates, once again biting her lip and glancing from me to the couch and back again before finally, she nods. “Okay.”

A couple of hours later, Jules is dabbing at her eyes, watching some actress stand in the foyer of her home, her husband’s best friend proclaiming his love for her via fucking flash cards, and I can’t fight the laugh back anymore.

“Are you crying?” I ask.

She turns to me and gives me the world’s fakest glare before slapping my arm that’s around her shoulders. I kind of lied when I said I had something to do. I kept my laptop open for maybe thirty minutes, clicked around before putting it down, and moved one cushion over so I was sitting beside her.

It felt like high school, sitting stick straight beside a girl and trying to spot the hint that it was okay for me to put my arm around her. But it came ten minutes or so later when her body shifted just a bit, her arm brushing against mine. I kept my eyes on the television as she quickly looked at me to check my reaction—a reaction I didn’t give her for fear I’d scare her off.

Ten minutes after that, I got tired of playing games, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and tugging her close. I didn’t care if it was the most uncomfortable, juvenile position to sit with a woman on the couch. It felt fucking great, touching her, holding her.

It was even better when a few minutes later, her body relaxed, her head resting on my shoulder as we watched the rest of the movie together.

I’m learning that with Jules, I need to give her time, ease her into things. If I do that, the overthinking slows, and she doesn’t panic about her fears, instead letting me disassemble her wall brick by brick.

Now she’s looking up at me with glassy eyes, glaring. “Stop, don’t make fun of me,” she says, trying to lean back but wearing a smile all the same.

“I’m not,” I say with a laugh, my arm tightening to pull her in close once more. “I’m laughing at the writers, thinking this is romantic enough to put in a movie.”

“It is romantic! It’s an iconic moment. He’s telling her she’s perfect to him, that he’s in love with her and knows she’ll never be his, but that’s okay, knowing her is enough.” That’s Jules’s problem: she’s willing to settle for someone who thinks knowing her is enough.

Simply knowing Jules will never be enough for me. I know that now.

“No, that’s not romantic. Romantic is a man who will move heaven and earth until she’s his.”

She gives me a small, nervous smile.

“I don’t know, this is a pretty popular movie. It’s a famous scene,” she says, tipping her head toward the TV.

A beat passes before I lift a hand and brush a dark lock of her hair back, smiling.

“What’s more romantic, this movie or meeting a girl in a bar on New Year’s Eve and knowing she’s the one for you?”

Her mouth drops open a bit, and her eyes go wide in a way that is too fucking cute for her own good. “Nate…” she says low, and I smile.

“I’m just saying. Pretty romantic, that happening. Even more romantic walking out of a store and bumping into her a year later. Like it was meant to be or something.”

“Nate,” she whispers.

I smile then settle back again, her tight against my side.

“Watch the end of your movie, dollface.” Her body is tight for just a second before she sighs and settles back into me.

“I should probably head to the cottage,” she says as the movie’s credits run, though she doesn’t move when she says it.

“Mmm, I guess,” I say, even though I’d be happy to sit here all night. Even if she fell asleep, I’d stay awake, documenting every single moment of her body touching mine, trying to convince myself this is real and not some figment of my imagination.

“I have an early class tomorrow,” she explains as if I asked. All I can think of is how I can try and steal some time with her after, since it seems I won’t be able to convince her to stop by for a cup of coffee before she leaves in the morning. “And it’s a crazy day, preparing for the recital.”

“Yeah,” I say simply.

“I gotta get up really early,” she says in a near whisper now, but snuggling deeper into my shoulder.

“Mm-hmm,” I agree.

“So I should really get up and head to bed.”

I smile wide, listening to her try and convince herself to get up when she clearly doesn’t want to. Her guard might be up still, and she may tell herself she’s sworn off relationships in order to protect herself, but brick by brick, I’m working past that wall.

I know once I get there, it’s going to be fucking beautiful.

“All right, beautiful,” I say, forcing myself not to let her fall asleep here, since she really should get a good night's sleep in an actual bed, and I don’t think I’m far enough past her walls to be able to convince her to sleep in my bed with me, even if it’s just for sleep. With a sigh, I shift her and force myself to stand before putting a hand out for her to take. “Let’s get you to the cottage.”

For a second, so quick I almost miss it, she pouts, and it takes everything in me not to smile.

“Let’s?” she asks, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s a dark and treacherous walk to the cottage. Wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t go with you.”

“I don’t need a chaperone.”

“I know that, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from these movies, it’s that you always walk a lady to her door after a date.”

She tips her head, giving me a glare.

"This isn’t a date,” she says as I shake the hand I put out to her, ignoring her. She stares at it before finally grabbing it, and I help her up, not letting go when she’s standing just inches before me, our hands clasped between us.

“It could be,” I whisper.

“Nate,” she whispers back, and I like that, my name whispered in that voice, a mix of hesitance, longing, and excitement there.

I step back, holding her hand until she’s steady, watching the quick flash of disappointment in her eyes and fighting against everything not to smile.

“Come on,” I say, stepping toward the back door but not letting go of her hand, not as I open the back door or as I walk along the walkway to the cottage, and definitely not as she uses her free hand to unlock the door, pushing it open.

“Goodnight, Nate,” she says, stepping away from me but not letting go of me either, like she wants to hold on as long as she can.

I should let go.

I should let her move into her cottage and go back into the house to continue planning how I can remove her walls.

But I don’t.

Instead, I let instinct win. I let my impulses win and tug her hand to me until she stumbles into my chest. I wrap one hand around her waist to steady her, the other finally letting go of her hand and cupping her chin.

“If this was a movie, I wouldn’t leave without a goodnight kiss,” I whisper against her lips.

Long, long moments pass while a million thoughts cross behind her eyes.

And then it happens.

Her mouth opens, lips brushing mine as she whispers, “Then kiss me, Nate.” Her soft hand moves up my neck, warm against the cold air of December in New Jersey.

I don’t give her a moment to second guess, instead leaning in the small millimeters to close the gap between us, pressing my lips to hers. It’s soft and sweet, nearly chaste.

That is, until a small sigh leaves her lips, until the hand on the back of my neck presses in, pulling my face to hers, until her lips part, her soft tongue peeking out to touch my bottom lip.

That’s when I press her back to the wall of the cottage, pinning her there and taking her mouth in mine. I let my tongue intertwine with hers, consuming her. I groan at the taste I thought I’d never have again.

Her nails dig into my neck now, and my hand on her waist moves down to her ass, gripping it tight and pulling her into me. She gasps again when she feels me through my jeans, her thin leggings doing nothing to hide my already hardening cock from the feel of her.

She grinds against it, a tiny mewl leaving her lips as she does. My mind races, trying to think of the best way to get her naked and writhing beneath me, how to get more and get it fast, and?—

Flood lights turn on next door, nearly blinding me as I hear the jingle of dog tags, then the bark of my neighbor’s Jack Russell terrier. I groan quietly as I break the kiss, the groan much different than just moments before as I press my forehead to Jules’, our heavy breathing coming out in visible puffs in the cold air.

“Nathan, is that you?” Mrs. Tarte yells over the fence.

“Yes, Mrs. Tarte, it’s just me,” I say reluctantly.

“Oh, goodness, Buster thought it was an animal or something! I could have sworn I heard growls!”

I watch Jules’s eyes light up, her lips rolling beneath her teeth as she fights back a laugh. At least she’s not embarrassed or pulling away.

“Nope, just me,” I say, waiting for her to go the fuck away.

“Oh, that’s good. How are you, dear?”

“I’m great, you?”

“Oh, just peachy. Now, you remember to send that Sophie of yours over tomorrow, I made some special cookies for her!”

I send a silent prayer up to anyone who will listen that she’ll leave.

“Sure will, have a great night, Mrs. Tarte,” I say as I hear the jingle of tags move back toward her house, Buster deciding we aren’t some great threat to the safety of the neighborhood.

“You too, Nathan.” I think we’re free, and then she says, “Next time, maybe do your canoodling inside, yeah?”

I look to the sky, bright stars overhead, and wonder why the fuck I stayed in this way too small of a town where everyone knows everyone’s business and has absolutely zero sense of privacy.

“Got it,” I grumble.

“Night, Nathan! Good night, Julianne!”

“Night, Mrs. Tarte!” Jules yells through a laugh.

The door finally closes right before Jules bursts out laughing, me following suit. When the laughter settles, I sigh, pushing her hair over her shoulder.

“You should get inside,” I say when she shivers.

“Yeah.” She bites her lips then looks up at me, a small, nervous smile on her lips. “It was a good date, Nathan.”

Something in me explodes, and I fight the sudden urge to do a victory dance.

“Yeah, it was,” I reply, feeling like I conquered Everest. “Goodnight, Jules.” I press my lips to hers once more before stepping away, holding her hand until she finds her footing, her legs a bit shaky. I don’t bother to hide the small, proud smile at that, and she rolls her eyes.

“Night, Nate.”

“Night, Jules,” I say, then stand there as she closes and locks the door.

A good date, indeed.