Page 15 of The Perfect Heart

It was an odd phrase, one I’d heard after awkward dates, one I had used myself after those dates. But it was even stranger hearing them come from Nash’s mouth. And I imagined it meant he’d had the opposite of a nice night.

And I felt terrible again because I knew I was the cause.

I glanced at my watch, a delicate gold chain, the only thing of value I had left besides the heels and dress I had shoved to the back of the tiny closet so I didn’t have to see them.

“It’s not too late. Do you want to watch a movie? For old times’ sake? Marie’s son left a few DVDs when he moved out.”

Nash’s eyebrows rose, and then he chuckled. “DVDs?”

“I know, right?” I snorted. “The only DVD player probably left in Leavenworth.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Nash opened his car door. “You know things are slow to change here. There are a few old guys who, I’m sure, are clinging to their three-channel TVs and rabbit ears.”

It was my turn to laugh as I followed Nash into the cold, our boots crunching over the snow as we crossed the yard to the apartment. I glanced down at the gum wrapper I had stuffed in the door as I unlocked it—it was still there, and I felt my shoulders loosen.

I just hoped Nash hadn’t seen it.

“It’s freezing in here,” Nash said as I flicked on the lights. His gaze swept the room, from the old, mismatched furniture to the ragged rugs, the orange kitchen cabinets, and the dusty window coverings. I was also glad I had put it back together after whoever it was had torn through my room—you couldn’t even tell now.

“The heater must have gone out again. Sometimes the arm thing falls down.”

Arm thing. I didn’t even know what to call the piece of the old thermostat so old I had to manually push an arm up and down to get it to the right temperature. And even then, it was a crap shoot whether I would get what I asked for.

Pushing the lever up to seventy, I waited a moment to see if it would stay, waiting for the furnace to turn on. It came as a roar from the closet, and I had to bite back a laugh as Nash’s head jerked toward the sound.

“Well—” he said as I tugged my boots off. I had shoved rags into them so my toes weren’t quite as damp or frozen. “This is... nice.”

This time, I couldn’t keep the laugh from my words. “I’m honestly just grateful Marie had a place. I wasn’t sure where I was going to stay. The DVDs are in the closet over there if you want to take a look.”

He crossed the room to the tiny broom closet while I set my boots near the door and removed my coat. It felt good to have someone else here, not to have to drag the dresser against the door.

“How about this one?”

I turned to find Nash standing by the closet, holding the case of a movie we used to watch in high school. But it wasn’t the title I was paying attention to—it was the man holding it. The reason I felt safe, not just here but at the bar and to and from work.

The guy who had been my best friend, who I hadn’t ever given a second look to, but who was standing there in dark jeans and a black shirt that was in danger of being slightly too tight, his hair slightly disheveled from his beanie to fall over his crystal blue eyes.

And something in me shifted.

It was enough to knock the wind from me, and I had to turn away quickly, reaching into a cabinet for a set of glasses to hide the heat on my cheeks.

“That one’s good. Do you want anything to drink? I don’t have a lot, just water and orange juice.”

By the time I turned around to hold up the glasses, I had shoved the strange feeling to the back of my mind, and my cheeks had cooled.

“Water is good.”

I filled the glasses as Nash fiddled with the TV and DVD player, his sarcastic commentary making me giggle. Turning off all but the light over the door, I scooped up an old blanket and settled onto the couch beside Nash just as the opening credits rolled. We were close, but I was too aware of that odd flash of feeling, one I couldn’t work out or place, to sit close enough that our arms touched.

Once upon a time, we had cuddled on the couch without even thinking about it, my head on his shoulder, my arm wrapped around his, comfortable in our closeness as friends. But now I held myself stiffly, entirely aware of every inch of him beside me, of the way his body and mine sank into the old couch, trying my hardest not to get any closer.

But halfway through the movie, my eyes kept closing no matter how hard I tried to keep them open. My head dropped, and I woke up a few seconds—a few minutes?—later to find my head had dropped onto Nash’s shoulder.

He hadn’t pulled away, either—he was closer. Close enough that his side pressed against mine, and I could smell his cologne and the subtle scent of smoke, alcohol, and grease from the bar. He laughed at something on the screen, the sound a rumble against my cheek, and whatever it was that had flashed through me at the door jumped again.

It was a swirl in the center of my chest, a flutter in my stomach that turned into a foreign tightening. Well, maybe not foreign, but it was definitely something I had never felt with Nash. My heartbeat began to race, and I wondered if he could feel it. I almost pulled away, but his hand suddenly lifted and settled on my knee.

My heart rate spiked again, the swirling growing more intense until I had to breathe deeply to control it.