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"Yeah, I decided to wait it out too," I say, feeling a strange relief that I’m not alone in the building.
We stand there for a moment, the tension between us palpable—not just from the scare but from everything we left unresolved this morning. Natalie breaks the silence, holding up her thermos. "I've got some coffee here. Jack got it for me," she offers, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Right, Jack. Where is Jack?" I ask, accepting the offered thermos and pouring myself a cup, grateful for the warmth, but nervous about the direction of this conversation.
"He went home this afternoon, before the storm got really bad," she replies, watching me over the rim of her own cup as she takes a sip.
The warmth of the coffee only adds to the growing heat between us, a different kind of storm brewing here in the quiet office. The closeness of the room, coupled with the howling wind outside, creates an intensely intimate atmosphere that has Nat shifting from foot to foot.
"So... looks like we’re alone together again," I say, stating the obvious, a hint of amusement in my tone to lighten the mood.
"Looks like it," Natalie agrees, her voice soft. She looks around the small office, then back at me. "We should probably talk about it."
My stomach churns, but there's no avoiding it now. As I nod, agreeing silently, the space between us feels charged with all the complex emotions that our previous encounters have stirred. Despite the discomfort of the impending conversation, there's still that undeniable pull—an attraction that, like the storm outside, refuses to be ignored.
Natalie glances around the office nervously, as if she's not sure whether or not she's intruding on my space. What she doesn't realize is how little space I actually want. I want her to stay, to talk this thing through, to sort out more than just the awkwardness with Jack.
"You know,” I start, not wanting to lose her. “This office has the best heating in the building. The radiator's pretty efficient." I gesture towards the quietly humming radiator tucked beneath the window, its gentle warmth a stark contrast to the cold that’s seeping through the building due to the storm.
She hesitates, but after a moment, she nods slightly and moves towards the sofa in the corner of the office. "Okay, thank you," she says softly, ditching her raincoat before arranging herself on the cushion. At some point during the day, she swapped her overalls for a pair of sweats and matching hoodie, and I can't help but feel a little envious of how cozy she looks tucked into the couch like that.
I settle back at the desk, where various blueprints and project files are spread out—a testament to the long hours already spent in this makeshift command center. At least this desk chair is large and fairly comfortable.
The silence that envelops the room is heavy, each of us waiting for the other to begin. The sound of rain taps steadily against the windows and the occasional gust of wind rattles the panes. I pretend to be unbothered, feigning a casual glance at the documents in front of me, but my mind hasn't strayed from Natalie for one second.
Finally, Natalie breaks the silence. "Jack was asking about you," she starts, the words moving a little too quickly. "Maybe you should talk to him. You two used to be so close."
Her suggestion stirs a mixture of nostalgia and regret within me. I pause, my hands stopping their absent-minded shuffling of papers. "Yeah, we were," I admit, the past tense like acid on my tongue. "But I messed things up. Said some things I shouldn't have when I was in a bad place. We haven’t really spoken since."
Natalie’s gaze is fixed on me, her expression thoughtful. "He's forgiven you, you know. Jack doesn’t hold grudges. He understands that people can go through rough times. So, why won’t you forgive yourself?"
Isn't that just like Natalie, cutting through all the crap and right to the chase. Honestly, I should have come to expect it by now, but I'm not sure I'll ever get used to her directness. It’s a challenge, a call to confront my own lingering guilt and the walls I’ve built up since my return from the Marines and the subsequent collapse of my marriage.
"I don’t know," I finally respond, my voice low. "Maybe I'm afraid that if I try to fix things and fail, it'll just prove that I still am the person I was back then."
Natalie’s gaze softens, understanding flickering in her eyes. "We all change. You’re not the same person you were. Neither is Jack. Maybe it’s time to show him that. To show yourself that."
Her encouragement, simple yet profound, resonates deep within me. The idea of reconciling with Jack, of perhaps reclaiming a piece of my past that wasn’t marred by the shadows of what I’d been through, suddenly seems not just necessary, but healing.
"Maybe you’re right," I acknowledge, feeling a shift within me, a loosening of a knot I hadn’t realized was still so tight.
Natalie smiles gently, then turns her gaze back to the storm outside, giving me space to process her words.
As we sit in the quiet office, the storm outside intensifies, the rain beating down even harder against the windowpanes and creating a relentless drumming that seems to echo the turmoil inside me. Every so often, a particularly fierce gust of wind throws itself against the building, making the old structure creak and groan as if bearing the weight of our confessions and fears.
Natalie has been so patient with me for weeks now. She deserves to know why I've been putting her through this noncommittal hell. And if I want to be better than the man I was, than the man I worry I still might be, then I have to take a step forward. I have to be honest with Nat.
"I'm worried," I finally admit, my voice barely above a whisper as the words nearly stick in my throat. "I'm worried I'm not good enough for you, Nat. That I’ll mess everything up."
I pause, struggling to articulate the deep-seated fears that have plagued me since my return from overseas. "The Marines... they forced me to rely on myself, to be tough, to handle things alone. It also made me see how messy and chaotic the world can be. I lived through some pretty brutal shit. And after that, and after everything with my ex... I don’t know. Maybe I'm not good enough for anyone. Maybe I'm doomed to be a major fuck-up for the rest of my life."
The words, never uttered out loud before, feel foreign despite their painful truthfulness. Natalie listens, her eyes cool and clear as she absorbs my fears. After a moment, she speaks, her voice tinged with her own vulnerabilities. "I think the same about myself sometimes," she confesses quietly. "My ex cheated on me with our neighbor. It was so humiliating. Makes you wonder if it's something about you, doesn’t it?"
Her admission, raw and honest, bridges the gap between us, her own insecurities mirroring mine in a way that feels both comforting and heartbreaking. How could anyone think Nat wasn't enough?
She shifts slightly, turning to face me more directly. "Maybe we're both a bit broken," she says softly, a sad smile touching her lips. "Doesn’t that just mean we should try even harder to be better? For ourselves, and maybe for each other?"
Her words hang in the air, a challenge wrapped in a gentle offer of companionship and mutual understanding. It’s a perspective I hadn’t fully allowed myself to consider—that perhaps our broken pieces don’t make us less, but rather uniquely equipped to understand and support each other in ways others might not.
