Page 122 of First in Line

The couple of weeks we spent together in Europe now feel like a fever dream. I can’t believe I impulsively dropped everything to join him a “third of the way” around the world. But despite my doubts and fears, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. That’s what he does to me. Reason and logic have no room where he’s concerned.

And while I know that coming home was necessary, I can’t help but wonder what we’d be doing right now if I hadn’t left. The Austrian Grand Prix is this weekend, in Spielberg, and given the fact that tomorrow is media day, it’s likely we’d already be on our way there.

We’ve been talking, either calling or texting. But between everything I had to catch up on and his busy schedule, we have had little time for it. It definitely hasn’t been enough. I’mexperiencing withdrawal after only five days away from him. I’m so pathetic.

I check my phone, hoping to find a notification despite knowing I haven’t received any in the past ten minutes.

No, I can’t let myself be distracted like this. I have to finish reworking the floor plans for the Carters. This is my biggest project to date, with a budget that exceeds what I’ve been working with since Cynthia took me in. But Mrs. Carter has been testing my patience, changing her mind every couple of weeks, demanding new designs and features over and over. It comes with the job, though, and I realize this is her dream house, not mine. Too bad she has terrible taste.

I’m almost done with the edits on the ground floor when the doorbell chimes. Already knowing who it is, I save my work and head to the front door.

Anxious about the encounter, I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth. Then I force my hand to lower the handle and tug.

Nathan stands on the other side, wearing a white shirt and light gray slacks, holding a cardboard box in front of him. He looks at me like a sad puppy, and I can’t help the twinge of remorse that pinches my heart.

I should feel bad about the end of our relationship, but I don’t. I do have remorse for hurting him, but not for breaking off our engagement. I was fond of Nate, and I did see myself spending the rest of my life with him. But meeting Jackson again reminded me of just how raw, intense, and extraordinary the real thing can be. The love I thought I had for Nate was only a pale imitation of it.

My ex-fiancé offers me a small, sheepish smile, which I return. Aside from the occasional glimpse—an unavoidable consequence of working in the same building—I’ve only seen him once since our separation. We were both getting ourmorning coffee at the same place, right by one another in line. It was awkward and tense, but we got to arrange this exchange of boxes today.

“Hey,” I greet him.

“Hi.”

“Come in, your box is in the living room.”

He steps in, his body language stiff. “Do you want a coffee or something?” I ask once the door is closed.

“I’d love a coffee, if you don’t mind.”

I walk over to the kitchen as he sets my box down and turn the espresso machine on.

“You look great, Evie,” he says, having followed me. “You’ve tanned. Cynthia told me you were visiting relatives?”

I wince, regretting the lie. The truth will have to come out eventually, and Nathan should be the first one to hear it. I owe him at least that.

“I was in Europe, actually. Monaco first, then Spain.”

Surprise lifts his eyebrows. “That’s unexpected.”

“Yeah, uh… Jackson invited me to join him for a couple of races.”

“Oh… So, youaregetting back with him after all.” Now he looks hurt, and I’m not sure how to ease his pain.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I explain. “It sort of… happened.”

“I see… Well, you, uh, look great.”

“Thank you.” The coffee maker is ready, so I place a cup on the tray, a capsule in the slot, and press the double espresso button.

“I really am sorry, Nate,” I tell him while the machine does its thing.

“It’s fine. I mean, from the moment you told me about him, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s not like I could ever compete with a man like him.”

“It really wasn’t a competition,” I say. “Jax and I have a lot of history, and I thought I could move on from it with you. But it’s more complicated than that.”

“I get it.”

His coffee is ready, so I hand it to him and make one for myself. “And you? How have you been?” I ask while it brews.