6. Nicholas

SIX

Nicholas

It's Christmas time / There's no need to be afraid.

The Auberge Residences at Element 52

398 South Davis Street

7:33 pm

I'm sitting at the lobby bar, the last remnants of my whiskey swirling in the glass as I glance down at the menu. It's quiet now, most of the patrons either tucked away in their rooms or heading off into the snow-covered streets.

I thought getting out of the room and getting a drink would help clear my head, give me some space to think, but all I can focus on is Rives.

Everywhere I look I see reminders of why I shouldn't have let her leave so abruptly. It was almost like she was testing me and I didn't rise to the occasion.

What a fucking idiot.

I can't shake her from my mind. The way she looked at dinner, those bright blue eyes of hers, the way her long brown hair framed her face, falling in soft waves that were somehow even more beautiful than I remembered.

There's something about her that just pulls me in. Always has. Even after all these years, after everything we've been through, it's like there's this gravitational force between us, and I can't seem to fight it.

I stare at the drink in my hand, wondering why I can't just let it go. I know better than this. We've been there, done that and it didn't work. Getting too close again would just open old wounds. She made it clear she didn't want to go down that path after dinner, when she pulled herself away and left my room.

Or, did she want me to stop her? There was a look in her eyes that felt a little bit like a question when she said she needed to go.

I lean back in my chair, trying to distract myself, when I spot something on the menu. Crème br?lée. I almost laugh at the memory of Rives ordering it every chance she got when we were together. Her eyes would light up when she took that first bite, savoring the crispy caramelized sugar on top, like it was the best part of her meal.

Without thinking, I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts. I hesitate for a second. Does she still have the same number? There is a good chance this isn't even her number anymore. But before I can talk myself out of it, my fingers are already moving across the screen.

Hey. I saw crème br?lée on the menu and thought of you. Not sure if you're still a fan, but if you want, I can bring some by. Thought you might like it as a little nightcap. I'm downstairs at the bar.

I stare at the message for a moment before hitting send, feeling stupid for even reaching out. She left for a reason. Why would she want me to bring her dessert? I'm just about to finish my drink and call it a night when my phone buzzes on the counter.

Well, twist my arm. I was settling in for a long winter's nap, but I can never deny a crème br?lée.

I blink, surprised. She... agreed?

I sit up straighter, a small smile escaping my lips as I read the message again to make sure I'm reading this correctly. The bartender passes by, and I wave him down, ordering two crème br?lées to-go. I know this could be presumptuous, to think she will want me to join her. In fairness, she said "I." But I can't help myself.

But I figure it can't hurt to try.

As I wait, my heart beats a little faster. I don't know why I'm so thrilled, but I am. Maybe I love crème br?lée as much as she does and I didn't realize it.

I know it isn't the dessert that has me all excited.

The bartender hands me the bag, and I grab it as I head toward the elevator. My pulse is racing. I still can't believe she actually wants this. I shoot her a quick message before stepping inside the elevator.

What's your room number?

The reply comes almost instantly.

412. Don't be late.

I make my way to the fourth floor, my mind spinning with the possibilities. The elevator dings, and I step out into the quiet hallway, my footsteps muffled on the carpet as I approach her door.

I knock lightly, holding the dessert in one hand. For a second, I feel a flash of doubt. Before I can second-guess myself any further, the door swings open.

Rives is standing there on one foot, using the door for support. Her hair is slightly tousled and she is wearing a simple sweater and leggings. She looks even more beautiful now than she did just a couple of hours ago, and the sight of her nearly knocks the breath out of me.

She doesn't say a word. Instead, she smiles softly, steps aside. Then, before I can react, she reaches out, grabs the front of my shirt, and pulls me inside.

The bag of desserts falls forgotten as our lips crash together. She leans into me for stability and I welcome her full weight on me.

Her warmth envelops me, igniting a fire I've tried to ignore for years. I cup her face, deepening the kiss as she sighs against my mouth.

"Rives," I breathe, breaking away to trail kisses down her neck. She arches into me, her hands roaming my back.

Remembering her injury, I gently lift her, careful of her knee. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I press her against the wall, supporting her.

"Nicholas," she moans, sending shivers down my spine. I've dreamed of hearing her say my name like this again.

My hands find the hem of her sweater, fingertips grazing the soft skin beneath. She tugs at my hair, guiding my mouth back to hers for another searing kiss.

The world fades away, leaving only us, our shared breaths, and the heat building between us. Every touch is electric, reigniting the passion that is very clearly still there.

The taste of her lips is intoxicating, a sexy mix of sweetness and the faintest hint of wine.

It's like I'm being pulled into another life, where memories and the present converge. Her curves mold against me, her hands weaving through my hair, pulling me closer, melding us into one.

I've imagined this moment, secretly, since I saw those beautiful blue eyes today on the mountain, seeing her there helpless and defeated. But I never allowed myself to believe it could happen. Yet here we are, the past and present colliding with a force that leaves me breathless.

My hands roam her body, relearning the contours that I once knew so well. Every touch, every sigh from her lips fans the flames of my desire. I want her with an intensity that's almost overwhelming, a need that's been suppressed for far too long.

But just as quickly as it began with her pulling me in, the world suddenly tilts on its axis. Rives hobbles back, breaking the spell. Her eyes are wide, a flicker of uncertainty passing through them.

"Nicholas, I—" she starts, her voice a whisper that cuts through the silence of the room. "I'm sorry, maybe this is a bad idea. I'm sorry."

Her words hang in the air, heavy and unexpected. I'm caught in the undertow of my emotions, my heart pounding in my chest. The taste of her lingers on my lips, a raw desire to have them back on me consumes me.

I search her face, trying to understand, to find the words that might bridge the gap that's abruptly formed between us. I desperately want to convince her that it is an amazing idea, but I'm not sure it is.

But, God, I've never wanting anything more.

"Rives," I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil within me. "You don't have to apologize. We've both been caught off guard. It's an emotional time."

She looks at me, her expression a mixture of longing and hesitation. I can see the conflict raging inside her, a storm as fierce as the one that rages outside.

I reach out, hesitating before I gently brush a stray lock of hair from her face. "I want whatever will make you feel the most comfortable," I assure her, though every part of me is screaming for her, aching to pull her back into my arms. I want her to feel most comfortable in my arms.

Rives nods, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, Nicholas," she says softly. "For understanding. I'm so sorry I lost my mind there for a moment."

The silence between us grows thicker. We both know that we've been dancing around our reality, our past, since the moment we ran into each other again. There's too much history, too much unresolved bad blood. And now, being here, alone, with no one else nor responsibilities to mitigate our primal desires, it's scary as hell.

Why can't it be more simple? A hook-up. They happen every day. A meaningless fuck.

But it will never be meaningless with us, not with our history.

Her gaze flickers to mine, and for a moment, I can see the battle she's fighting with herself because I have the same forces inside me.

She takes a small step toward me, closing the space between us once again. My heart pounds, my body reacting before my brain can catch up. I put my hand on her waist.

"Perhaps we throw caution to the wind this once," she murmurs, her voice low. She stays close and doesn't move away.

"I think worse decisions could be made," I agree, my voice rougher than I intended.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing against my chest, tentative at first, but then bolder, as if testing the waters. My hand comes up to meet hers, catching her wrist, holding it there, feeling the pulse beneath her skin. Fast. Unsteady, just like mine.

The moment hangs between us, stretched tight. One word, one move, and it could all fall apart. Or explode.

Before I can stop myself, I'm pulling her closer, my hand slipping around her low back, drawing her body flush against mine. She doesn't resist, instead, she leans into me, pressing her middle to mine.

Her breath hitches, her lips parting as she looks up at me. "Nick..."

It's been five years. Five long years, but the pull between us is still there, burning just as hot as before. Maybe even more now, because we both know this shouldn't happen. We're not supposed to be here, doing this, feeling this.

Fate seems to have other plans, and I can't stop myself. Neither can she, it appears.

I tilt my head, my lips brushing hers in the softest, lightest kiss, testing the waters to go further. She sighs into me, her fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me closer. That's all it takes.

The kiss deepens, her lips parting beneath mine, and the floodgates open. The tension, the heat, it all pours out in that one moment, years of frustration and longing crashing between us like a tidal wave. I've wanted to feel her again for so long, more than I ever let myself admit, and now that she's here in my arms, I don't know how to react.

Her hands are everywhere, my chest, my neck, threading into my hair, and I'm lost in her. The taste of her, the silkiness of her skin beneath my fingertips. My rational mind screams at me that this is a bad idea, that we'll both regret this in the morning, but my body isn't listening.

I pick her up and carry her to the bed. She looks up at me, her breathing fast, her lips swollen from the kiss, and in that moment, I can see it—the same conflict that's raging inside me is written all over her face.

"We shouldn't..." she whispers, but even as she says it, her hands tug me closer.

"I know," I whisper back, my forehead resting against hers. "But I don't want to stop."

"Then don't. I'm on the pill, and I want you inside of me."

We both know this won't fix anything, that we'll wake up tomorrow with more questions than answers. But right now, none of that matters. Right now, it's just us—two people who never got closure, who never really let go.

I kiss her again, deeper this time, and the world falls away.