Page 44 of The Perfect Heart

AS THE SMELL OF PANCAKES filled the air, I was grateful I’d splurged a little bit on the mix and the eggs to go along with it. Bacon had been out of the question for my budget, but at least I had orange juice. The thought of waking up after such an incredible night to a sad piece of toast was mortifying, and I had been beyond relieved to find them in the cupboard when I’d gone searching.

Flipping a pancake, I stared at the tiny bubbles in the sizzling batter as it mixed with the hot butter, still trying hard to believe last night had happened. I had woken up and wondered for a heartbeat if the entire thing, the date, and mind-blowing sex after, had been a hopeful dream.

Except when I had looked beside me, Nash had been there, his face peaceful as he slept. It was a wonder to be in an intimate space with him, tousled curls falling over his forehead, his jaw dark with stubble, his head on the pillow beside me so that I could feel the heat of his bare skin on mine.

I couldn’t pinch myself enough to make it real, but it was. And that meant last night had been real, too.

Before our date, I hadn’t known what to expect. As Emily had said, I had gone in without any expectations, trying to be calm about the unknowns and the awkwardness, about the possibility we could screw our friendship, about the confusion over my feelings for Nash.

But even before the sex, the night had been so much more than I could ever hope for. We had finally found our stride as friends again, talking, laughing, and sharing stories like we used to. But there had been that current of attraction running between us all night, shimmering around us in the way we touched and laughed.

When was the last time I had felt this kind of attraction to someone? Probably not since I had seen Jack across the room at that bar. Except this had been something more significant than that because with Nash, I felt safe, felt appreciated. But more importantly, I knew I didn’t have to play any games or pretend to be anyone else but myself.

When was the last time I had felt that way?

The way the tension had built all night was unlike anything I’d experienced. And then the sex.

Wow.

I’d never had sex like that. Certainly not with the boys barely out of their teens who didn’t know their way around a paper bag, much less a woman’s body. Not with the guys who had seemed interested until they got me in bed, then disappeared, never to be heard from again. Not from Jack, either, selfish lover that he was. Lover wasn’t even the right word—it was hard to love someone, to feel something with a guy who saw you more as a possession than his partner.

But I’d felt Nash’s care for me in everything he’d done, from the way he’d looked at me to the way he had spoken to me and the way he had touched me—respectfully, reverentially, adoringly, as though he, too, couldn’t quite believe it was happening but was grateful for whatever twist of fate had put us there. As though he were grateful for me.

Nash had always been a good guy, someone who thought about others. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have been best friends. But I had never once considered that it would extend to the bedroom. I wasn’t even sure why it hadn’t occurred to me, except I had never thought of Nash that way until a few weeks ago.

But it made sense. If he was thoughtful about the people he cared for, why wouldn’t he extend that courtesy to his lovers? Or girlfriends.

Or whatever I was.

Definitely not a girlfriend. It was way too soon for that. Right now, all we’d had was a date and sex. Well, that and years of a friendship so deep we’d rarely been apart.

There was that.

Nash had been moving around the bathroom, and the door opened to reveal him dressed in his clothes from last night. His hair might have still been a tousled mess, the tight curls hanging lower over his forehead than usual, his jaw dark with stubble, but he looked just as good as he had when he’d picked me up. Even better, really. I kind of liked the rugged, messy look on him.

A smile blossomed on his face when our eyes met, then darkened with something I could definitely identify, especially after last night, and I felt my cheeks heat.

“Good morning.”

He’d already said good morning when he’d opened his eyes to find me watching him, trying to memorize the changes five years had brought to his face, trying to commit last night to memory. His eyes had fluttered open, momentary confusion gone in a flash, replaced with satisfied happiness, his “good morning” gravely with sleep. Then he’d pulled me to him wordlessly, and we’d held on to each other, satisfied to be in each other’s arms, no words needed, until the time had come to get up.

But I didn’t mind a second good morning. Especially when it came with a sexy smile and a kiss on the neck as he wrapped his arms around me for a moment.

“Oh, by the way.” He held up my phone and then put it down on the counter. “I accidentally took your phone instead of mine. Someone just tried to call you on a private number. I answered it, but I didn’t hear much. Maybe breathing? Or a phone moving around in someone’s pocket like a butt dial. Anyway, I couldn’t tell, so I hung up.”

“That’s weird.”

I’d been getting a number of unlisted calls on my phone lately, but who didn’t? They seemed to be a constant now, no matter what you did—scam calls, robocalls, people calling to sell things. It was the reason I never picked up unless I recognized the number. And I knew there was no way Jack had my number—I’d paid cash for my phone and minutes, so there was no associated account with my personal information.

“I wonder where mine is—” Nash was looking around the floor, and I saw him move to the couch and begin digging into the cushions. “It was in my coat pocket when I took it off last night.”

“Where did you put your coat?”

“I think I draped it over the couch—ah! Here it is.”

He held up the thin rectangle in triumph, then pressed his thumb on the screen several times, his mouth turning down into a small frown.

“Dead.”