Page 65 of Carter

He frowns. “How so?”

“She’s stubborn, like you. And… protective.”

Something flashes in his eyes, but I can’t tell what it is. I don’t think too much into it either.

I take a sip of my wine then eat more of my food. The mashed potatoes are so creamy, and the carrots are perfectly sweetened in whatever glaze they’ve put on them.

“So, who takes care of you?” I ask. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my gaze dips to my wine. The damn culprit. Why would I ask him something like that? It’s fine though. Nash doesn’t judge. In fact, he laughs. That rough, husky sound that makes my stomach warm and twisty.

“I’m thirty-six.”

“That wasn’t my question,” I add, reaching for my wine. May as well. I haven’t felt this loose in a while. Maybe I should drink wine more often.

But… he’s thirty-six? I guess I assumed he was around that age, but some things about him feel younger while others feel older. Guess it makes sense to meet in the middle.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” he adds as he reaches for his wine.

“We all need someone to take care of us, Nash.”

“Who takes care of you?”

I take a deep breath and lean back in my seat.

“No one,” I say softly. “The person who did is gone, and I’m trying to figure out how to do it myself.”

“That’s the trick, unfortunately.” His plate is as clean as mine, but the glass of wine is still half full. “You learn from the beginning how to take care of yourself, not rely on anyone, and that’s how you don’t get hurt.”

I shake my head. “If you don’t allow yourself to be vulnerable with someone, you’ll never know what true love is,” I say, bringing the glass to my lips.

He gives me a soft, understanding smile. “This conversation sounds familiar.”

I smile behind my glass before taking the final sip. It does, and I wonder how we keep getting into these intimate conversations so easily.

“And your answer hasn’t changed,” I comment.

He shakes his head once, that small smile still on his face. My eyes dip to it without my permission, and I take in his full lips and his dark mustache and beard. My eyes slowly make their way back up to his, and he’s still watching me carefully. Like he’s trying to understand something.

“No,” he says. “It hasn’t. But maybe one day it will.”

“Do you really think that?”

He shrugs. “No, but I’m open-minded enough to admit that it’s possible.”

Nash pays the bill. We get into the car and he starts the drive to my house. It’s comfortable this time. I feel light. Free. Happy.Thank you, wine.

“Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas comes on, and I immediately raise the volume to sing along.

I feel Nash’s gaze on me; a smile on his face like I’ve never seen before.

I know every word, hitting it at exactly the right time. My key is off, of course, and I’m sure I sound like a dying cat, but I don’t care. Not now.

When the song ends, I don’t lower the volume, but I don’t know the song that comes on next. Nash’s mood seems lighter though—same as mine. We pull up in front of my apartment and he turns the truck off. I watch him carefully as he opens the door,wondering what he’s doing. By the time I step out, he’s already around my side.

“Let me make sure you get upstairs okay.”

“I only had two glasses of wine.”

“It’ll make me feel better.”