Chapter Eight

Nora

A girl could get used to state-of-the-art resort amenities. After a long and stressful day, an empty gym and a fancy shower replete with luxurious soaps are just what the doctor ordered.

Fluffy white towel wrapped around my squeaky-clean body, I practically skip to The Sapling Spa's steam room and hold up my key to the card reader. An audible sigh of joy slips from my mouth as I step inside the wooden door. Wet heat clings to my skin.

"Great minds think alike."

Startling, I glance sideways. Sebastian is about four feet away, sitting on the bench that wraps around the whole room. The towel wrapped around his waist seems small, even though it's the same kind I'm wearing, branded with the Foxfire Lodge logo. His chestnut hair appears finger-raked and falls in a thick wave. Sweat glistens on his face, the mountain scene inked on his strong arm, and the skin of his bare torso.

"Great minds indeed." I squeeze the handle of my small plastic pool bag. I can't just turn around and leave. That would be even more awkward than sitting here half naked.

And I can't sit on the other side of the room. The steam isn't thick enough to obscure the space yet, so we'd just be staring at each other.

Resolved, I walk in his direction. We'll say our hellos and then I'll read until he leaves. Hallelujah for my waterproof Kindle.

My heels click against the stone floor. "Is this bench taken?"

He straightens in his seat, caramel eyes boring into me. "Is it okay to be alone in a steam room with someone other than our dates?"

I purse my lips. What's "okay" in our situation is a mystery fit for queen Agatha Christie to solve. "It's a ghost town out there this late, so I doubt anyone is coming in." I take a step back toward the door. "But if you'd rather be alone—"

"I don't," he says firmly. "Stay if you want."

Electricity zips up my spine as I perch beside him, leaving a respectable three feet or so. The hot bench bites at the back of my knees. The only sound is steam pouring out of wall nozzles in a quiet hiss.

The heat intensifies as my muscles begin to loosen up. I retrieve my Kindle from my zippered bag and scoot back to get comfortable. I don't want Sebastian to think he needs to entertain me. My fairy fantasy book can do that job for now.

I'm not sure if it's been five seconds or five minutes when he interrupts the silence. "I guess you can't wear your glasses in here."

I peer sideways in time to catch his dark eyes perusing me. My stomach flips at the careful way his gaze lingers on my face. "I use contacts for workouts, which is usually the only time I can stand to wear them. They dry my eyes out."

"Are you sure this heat isn't bad for contacts?"

I raise my brows and lower the Kindle to my lap. "Is that your gentle way of telling me to get lost? I thought we settled this."

The sound from his mouth is almost a laugh. "What? No. I don't know how they work, so I was worried." His tone takes a gruff turn. "Forget I mentioned it."

His concern flicks open the latch on whatever was containing my butterflies.

I know he's paying attention only because he's got nothing else to do, but I can't help the fluttering in my chest. It's nice to be fretted over, even in this small way. "That was nice of you. Worrying about me."

He crosses his arms. "What are you reading, anyway?"

Something tells me Lethally Bound, book four in the Fae Shadow Daddies series, won't ring any bells for him. "Oh, just War and Peace ."

A dimple carves itself in his cheek as he scoots closer an inch. "Really? My dad loves that book. I store a few of his special editions on my shelf."

I chuckle under my breath. "I'm not really reading War and Peace , Sebastian. But I love that you guys collect special editions." I gather my legs under me and angle to face him so I can see him better. "Now that I'm settled in my apartment, I've started building a collection of favorites. It's an addicting hobby."

"That feels right, given what you do for a living." He runs his hand through his hair. The thick mess sticks straight up in this humidity. "It's odd that our paths didn't cross sooner back home. Did you go to Islip High? Wait— How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven. You?"

"Thirty. Where are you from?"

A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. "My mom and I moved a lot."

He perks up with interest. "Oh yeah? Why?"

"She loves an adventure."

I don't add that she's also restless, or that her inability to stay still has been a thorn in my side and an impediment to her career, or that I became numb to goodbyes from all our moves.

"What kind of adventures?" Sebastian props his elbows on his thighs and watches me intently. "Did you live in the jungle or something? Compete on The Amazing Race as a mother-daughter team?"

"Lower your bar, sir. Nothing that interesting."The only place we were racing to was the grocery store with her food stamps card at the top of every month.

"How about I be the judge of that?" The steam is getting thicker the longer we sit here. It's becoming harder to see the details of his face, so I slide closer. He does the same as he arcs his hand in the air. "Paint me a mental picture."

At this, my brain conjures up the inside of a 1982 Mercedes and about fourteen different childhood bedrooms with astounding, visceral clarity. My life is a long, winding, inconclusive story.

But he actually seems like he wants to hear about it. He's got those tell me eyes.

Growing up, my natural inclination was to talk people's ears off, share my feelings, extend eight octopus arms of offering, and give as much of myself as possible to everyone I met. I believed that's how lifelong friendships were forged. If I wanted a friend, or the attention of a boy, I was Little Miss Open Book. It was the only way I could think to make up for lost time with my classmates who had their whole lives to get to know one another.

Turns out it never mattered how much I gave. When you have only a year or two somewhere, sometimes less, and you never know when the time will be up, true relationships are tough to make and almost impossible to keep. I could never be as important to people as they quickly became to me. Being forgotten by everyone you've ever cared about after you move, or being inconsequential to the people you wanted to care about you, makes you wonder if you're even worth holding on to.

Which is why you'd think I'd have learned my lesson and stopped opening up to strangers or fellow fake daters in steam rooms. That I'd stop trying. But as ever, I can't seem to keep my mouth shut. It's not in my DNA.

"Gosh, let me think." I study my blush-pink wedding nails, keenly aware of his leg as his foot softly taps the ground like a metronome keeping our time. "Which of my amazing race anecdotes should I share first? There are so many."

He hums thoughtfully. "Are we talking The Simpsons back catalog or Netflix releasing six episodes and calling it a ‘series?'"

"Simpsons, for sure." I spin the gold ring on my pointer finger. "Okay. Indiana was fun. Oklahoma was horrific. Key West was my favorite. My mom moved us there when she thought she found The One. It was her sixth or seventh One, to be clear. But it was the coolest place I've lived. Every house looks like it was painted by a kindergartener with access to any color their heart could ever want. We had a little dock—or rather, my mom's boyfriend at the time did—and I made it my entire personality." My skin tingles as if I'm back in our sun-soaked backyard. "Imagine my disappointment when we moved to Vegas after that. The opposite of having a dock is living in Vegas."

I feel wholly examined as his gaze traces my face. "I can imagine that was a mighty blow."

We've inched close enough that I can admire the smooth skin of his neck and the scent of his soap clinging to his body. The smell of him alone could get me drunk. I'm weak for the soap-shampoo-pheromone cocktail of a man, but it's never hit me quite this hard before.Maybe if I sit here long enough, I'll be inoculated through exposure.

Or maybe I'll get delirious and let myself imagine what it'd feel like to slide my palm over his chest.

His gaze moves over me once in a slow lick. I'd think it was an accident if it didn't happen a second time, stalling on the hem of my towel before bouncing up to my eyes. "Why was Oklahoma terrible?"

I shake my inappropriate thoughts away. "Eh, boring reasons."

"C'mon," he says, voice deep and rumbly. "Had we gone on that date I never technically asked you on, I'd expect you to tell me the boring stuff, too."

Red-freaking-alert, this guy is human quicksand. I'm sinking in the warmth of his attention. "If we were on that date you never asked me on, I'd tell you the people at my high school were rude, but I did have one friend, who became my first friend-boy."

"What the hell is that?"

"I liked him, and I'm pretty sure he liked me—he kissed me a lot, at least. But never asked me out."

Sebastian chuffs out a laugh. "I guess I can see why you'd hate the whole state over that."

"It was mostly the mean people, but there was this one particularly terrible day. He and I were in his room kissing and a tornado came through. Like during the kiss, right as things were getting good. Or at least getting horizontal. His mother rushed into his bedroom and we had to go into a small storm shelter in their garage. It was so cramped I was trapped between him and his mom, and his parents were— You are not laughing right now ."

Sebastian lifts a hand as he gasps to take a breath. "I'm sorry."

"This is my pain, Sebastian! My trauma!"

"What about his trauma? The guy had to wait out a raging hard-on while trapped in a standing coffin with his family and friend-girl."

"He wasn't…" I lose the nerve to say "hard" as he meets my eye. "That."

He shakes his head. "Trust me, Nora. He was."

His eyes meet mine, and he doesn't look away. The soft smile falls off his face and we're both just…looking. Allowing each other to look. Something shapeless and dangerous pulses in my chest as I visually trace a bead of sweat over his cheek, down past where his dimple comes and goes. Curiosity is like a third person sitting beside me, nudging me closer to him.

The door opens in a slow slide. Two older people shuffle in wearing rubber shoes, but it's too steamy to make out anything above their knees.

But I recognize a voice. Santino. He's chatting with a relative.

Sebastian hops to his feet. I didn't realize just how close we'd gotten until we were no longer alone. Head dipped low, he disappears through the door without a backward glance. Or if he does glance back, I can't see it through the haze.

I slowly take my hair out of its bun as an excuse to cover my face with my arm as I sprint to the exit, heart in my throat.Sebastian is gone by the time I emerge.

Whatever that was, it cannot happen again.