He’s poised to spring, his grip firm on his glass. I’m holding him there with my silence. We both know it. The power is mine, but I’m aware he’s the one who gave it to me.
“You have me figured out.” He sips his whiskey and turns his chair to face front again. Pretending boredom like me.
Evidently he has me figured out too. What he said about me being afraid rings loudly in my head. I started therapy but quit. I ran from my hometown to hide out. I’ve been treating my father’s ashes as if they were a canister of flour rather than the remains of a man who was harder to love in life than he is in death.
Being with Nate is giving up my anonymity. Am I okay with that?
“I lack resilience,” I admit, maybe for the first time. “My easy upbringing didn’t teach me fortitude. My mother faded like a flame on a candle that’s out of wick. My brother numbed himself into oblivion. If I were raised the way you were, maybe I’d have come out swinging.”
“Now who’s full of shit?” He arches one eyebrow before turning his seat toward mine again. He sets down his glass. “Your mother and your brother share a sickness. The same sickness that killed my father and is ravaging my mother.”
“Is?” He told me he hadn’t talked to her in three years.
“I checked in on her.” His mouth pulls into a tight line. “She’s living in the same unsafe neighborhood where I was born. It’s not a nice place. If I thought for a moment she’d move into a penthouse, I’d buy her one.”
“She wouldn’t move?”
“Living in a rundown apartment on the wrong side of town is comforting to her. I’ve tried to move her into a new place before. The result was a lot of wasted time and money.” He sighs. “I may have come out of the birth canal swinging but that doesn’t mean the transition was easier, Vivian. I had no idea what was possible before I met Will and Lainey Owen.”
“I did. I’d give it up all over again if it brought me peace.”
“Has it?”
We both know it hasn’t. I press my lips together.
“What happened is in the past. Your father was accused and sentenced for his crimes and died in prison. It’s over for him. It should be for you. If you’re happy, then great. I can’t escape the feeling you want more. That you want to blaze a trail. ” He holds out a hand and I slide mine against his palm. Instantly I am less defensive. “You are a fighter, Vivian. Not like me, and that’s not a bad thing. I took down a wall with a sledgehammer and then had to replace it at my cost. I can be stupid. Reckless.”
“I thought it was sexy,” I disagree. “A buff guy in a fancy suit with a sledgehammer. Drywall dust dotting your hair.”
“Don’t forget I caught you in my arms after that. I saved your life.”
“My life?” I tilt my head in disbelief.
“I at least saved you from a concussion.”
I’ll give him that. I smile.
He strokes my hand with his thumb. “You won’t be happy until you accept that it’s okay to go after your heart’s desires. And you”—he tugs my hand and pulls me onto his lap—“are a woman who gets exactly what she desires the moment she allows herself to desire it.”
Present party included, I think smugly. I wanted him the night at the museum, and here we are.
“Including sex on that couch over there?” I whisper against his lips.
“Or right here on this chair.” He kisses me hard, deep. Not holding back.
I don’t either. It feels good to be brave again.
We had to move to the airplane’s couch after attempting sex on the seat. It might have worked if Nate was shorter. Or if I was a contortionist.
After the flight we made a quick stop at the hotel to change and then we visited the job site. A posh live-work new-build halfway done. The style is more industrial, less homey than Grand Marin, which suits the area. Nate is specific about architecture and aesthetics. He has a gift.
“No wonder you’ve grown your wealth in this sector of Owen Construction,” I tell him after dinner. We ate at a sandwich shop downtown that served an amazing mushroom Reuben. I’m going to have dreams about that sandwich, mark my words.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He hails a cab and gives the driver an address that is not our hotel’s location.
“Where are we going?” I ask as Nate settles in next to me. He smells good, as usual. And in this stinky cab, that’s impressive. He leans his back on the seat and turns his head and smiles. I nearly melt into the overly warm vinyl.
“Pint Haus. It’s…rustic.”
“Rustic.” I make a face. That doesn’t sound good.
“Not the kind of place you’d frequent, but I like it. I want to show it to you.”
When the cab arrives at Pint Haus, I blink. He was right. I’d never step foot five blocks from a place like this. The wall is crumbling, the facade has seen better days—say, the mid ’80s—and the thumping of drums leaking from the inside hints that the band is long-haired and tattooed.
“This is what you wanted to show me?”
Nate grins. “Best dive bar in town. A city kid like me is more comfortable here than in one of Archer’s posh clubs.”
“I like posh clubs.” I push out my bottom lip and he kisses it.
“You can take the girl out of the snooty neighborhood…” he teases before helping me out of the cab.
I bristle at the noise coming from the bar. I feel safe with him, though. He’d never bring me into a situation where I was in danger. And if I was, he’d protect me.
Inside, we smash in with the crowd at the bar. Nate orders two beers.
“No dirty martini?” I call out over the noise.
“You want to be laughed out of this place?” He’s so damn appealing in this environment. When he changed at the hotel, he opted for casual trousers and a button-down. His sleeves are cuffed and rolled. I run my hand along the coarse hair covering one ropey forearm. He’s so masculine. Painfully sexy.
Beer bottles in hand, we press toward to the band. After a song and a half, the lead singer lets us know they’ll be back for a second set after he grabs “tequila and a blow job.”
“Charming,” I tell Nate as the band files off stage. Long hair and ripped jeans and tattoos galore. I’m a psychic. “You don’t have any tattoos.”
“Not a big fan of needles after Dad died with one in his arm.”
I wince. He bends and kisses my cheek, then says into my ear, “You’re cute when you’re worrying about me.”
“I’m not worried about you.”
“Uh-huh.” He checks out the crowd and I do the same. “What do you think?”
There are people of all ages and creeds in here. It’s a dive bar, but one with a hell of a lot of personality. I don’t feel unsafe after all.
“It suits you. I like being in the mix with the commoners.” I sip my beer and smile to let him know I’m being purposely obtuse. “I’ll never fit in here. If half of them had any clue who I was, I’d be dragged out and tossed into the gutter.”
He doesn’t smile. “Let’s test that theory.”