Where the Heart Is (Hearts Series Book 1)

by L. S. Pullen

  I still his hand on my stomach, leaning back so our lips part. I place my other hand over his chest to push him away, then slide off the car, my breathing laboured. He grabs my elbow.

  “Please, wait—” he says on a ragged breath. “Shit…sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I mean…you’re gorgeous. Please don’t walk away, I can’t handle you being upset with me. Not right now.”

  I shake my head. “God, I’m not upset with you. I’m annoyed with myself. Things are already complicated enough.”

  Emotions are high, that kiss proves it. I’m not ready for whatever that was. Kisses we’ve shared in the past pale in comparison, and I’m sure as hell not ready to deal with that right now.

  “Listen, I’m sorry. I admit it’s selfish—me needing you. I haven’t been there for you, and that kills me. I should have been a lot of things, but mainly I should have been a better friend.”

  I inhale before I reply. “Let’s be clear on one thing. No matter what, we’ll always be friends. But with everything that’s going on, we don’t need to further complicate things. Agreed?”

  He nods.

  “Agreed,” he says before he pulls me into a hug.

  My stomach grumbles.

  He snickers as he pulls back and checks his watch.

  “Dinner will be ready in thirty,” he says.

  I smile. Maybe some things don’t change.

  I’m so famished when I enter the kitchen, that the aromas greeting me make my mouth water.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” I say, kissing Evie on her cheek.

  “Yes, can you please go see what’s keeping Nate?”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  I opt for the back staircase; it’s the quickest route to his room. I keep thinking that maybe he’s already on his way down, but that’s disproven when I get to his room, and he still hasn’t materialised.

  I rap my knuckles on his door. It feels weird—knocking. I’ve never knocked before. I clear my throat.

  “Nate, it’s me,” I call out but get no response.

  I wait before twisting the handle. My eyes scan over the contents of the room. Everything is so familiar—even the scent of his aftershave. I pause when his voice travels from the direction of his bathroom. I gravitate closer, trying to listen.

  “I don’t give a shit if it was yesterday or a year ago.” He pauses before speaking again. “Well, there won’t be a next time.” He lets out a gruff sound. “It was sex—nothing more. You and I both know that.”

  I should probably feel guilty for listening, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I’m uneasy at the mention of sex, but he’s so brazen about it.

  “Whatever. For the first time, I think I actually pity your boyfriend.”

  Oh my God. I cover my mouth with my hand.

  “Of course, I have a fucking conscience. It looks like you’re the one who doesn’t.”

  Nate comes strutting out of the bathroom, phone to his ear, spinning a tube of cream in his free hand.

  I forget why I’m here.

  The room becomes smaller as every inch of my body tingles to life. Swallowing hard, I look him over…standing in front of me in only a towel. Nate stops dead in his tracks.

  “Rachel, I have to go.” He places his phone down and cocks his head.

  It takes me a moment to gather a coherent thought—undecided if I’m more embarrassed about eavesdropping or that I blatantly just checked him out. My face heats.

  “Sorry… I did knock. Evie sent me after you,” I say, as I scan the length of his body. How does he manage to look better every time I see him? I fan my face—it’s really hot in here. “I’ll let you finish getting ready,” I say, and turn away.

  “Actually, can I ask a favour?” he says.

  I look over my shoulder. “Okay.”

  I’m so quick to answer, he lets out a small laugh.

  “Would you just rub some of this cream on my tattoo, please?”

  I let out a breath. “Yeah, just let me wash my hands.”

  I brush past him, entering the bathroom. I’m flustered, and my upper lip is sweating. His blurry reflection is what I see when I look up to the partially steamed mirror—he’s leaning against the doorframe. I dry my hands on the nearest towel.

  I hold my hand out for the tube of cream and signal with my finger in the air for him to spin around, pushing his back enough for us to get out of the bathroom. I make quick work of rubbing the cream in. “All done.”

  I’m twisting the cap back on, and when he turns to reach for it, his towel drops. My eyes dart down. He’s as naked as the day he was born—his manhood standing to attention.

  “Whoa,” I blurt out before looking away.

  “Oh shit,” he says, laughing as he steps around me, tucking the towel back into place.

  “Shut up, you,” I say, my face burning as he continues to laugh, which becomes infectious. Maybe it’s my nerves, but before I know it, I’m laughing, too. I shove at his shoulder, but he grabs my hand, pulling me towards him, raising his other hand to wipe away the trail of laughter tears that have escaped my eyes.

  I inhale a sharp breath, mesmerised by his eyes. He clears his throat.

  “Could you tell them I won’t be a minute?”

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak. All I want to do right now is kiss him, but I don’t move. It isn’t until he speaks that I realise I’m still standing here like a moron.

  “Err, Flick, you’re killing me here.”

  Looking down, I see what he means, and I cover my mouth as I retreat from his room. Out on the landing, I lean against the wall in an attempt to compose myself.

  “Felicity are you all right? You look a little flustered,” Nana asks when I enter the kitchen. Why does she have to be so observant all the time?

  “I’m not, I’m fine.”

  “And Nate?” she asks.

  “What about Nate?” I fiddle with the glass in front of me.

  “Is he coming down?”

  Shit did I leave my brain in his room?

  “Yes, sorry. He got caught up in the shower. I mean when he got out of the shower, he was getting dressed…” I smack my lips together to stop talking. Neither Evie or Nana quite know how to respond to my babble. Instead they continue to potter around and make room for plates and server platters.

  Then Nate appears.

  “Hey sorry,” he says sitting down next to me.

  I feel my face heat, damn it. “That was quick,” I say, leaning towards him so he can hear me.

  “What was?” he asks, coming even closer.

  My eyes land on his lips.

  “You, getting dressed,” I say on a whisper and wave my hand up and down his body for emphasis.

  He knows what I meant, and he lets out a small rumble of laughter.

  “I just threw on jeans and a t-shirt,” he says with a shrug.

  “Commando—” I say out loud, and then slap a hand over my mouth as a blush creeps over my face. I peer towards our grandmothers who seem oblivious.

  The corner of Nate’s mouth quirks up before he lets out a sexy laugh. His eyes gleam with mischief as he reaches for his glass. I don’t know where that even came from.

  His hand rests over my wrist. I look down, eyeing the indentation marks from where I’ve been pinging my hair band. When he removes it, I look up. Nana’s eyes are trained on me. I give her a half-smile then make myself busy with my knife and fork.

  During the next few hours, I try hard not to look at Nate. Instead, I retreat into my own head. I begin to relax as we listen to my Nana and Evie reminiscing. Nate insisted on clearing up, so I left him in there to do it. I retreated to the sofa giving me time to compose myself.

  Nate joins me. “You’ve been quiet. What’s up?”

  “Just tired.” It’s only half-true. I can’t un-see him naked. Or ignore the kiss we shared. It’s sitting there, in the back of my mind—haunting me.

  “Sorry. It was a long day, and me dragging you to
the studio was selfish.” He flicks my arm.

  “Don’t be daft—”

  Nana interrupts us. “Good night you two, we’re off to bed.”

  “I’ll come up, too,” I reply.

  “Dear, you’re in your prime. Enjoy it,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Okay, goodnight.” I stand and give her and Evie a kiss before they make their way out of the living room.

  Left alone with Nate, a weird weight settles over the room. I squirm in my seat.

  “Drink?” Nate asks as he stands, pointing his thumb towards the door.

  I nod. “Why not?”

  We make our way to the kitchen.

  “What would you like?” he asks, opening the fridge.

  “Hmm…a beer is fine.”

  He tilts his head.

  “Beer, huh?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” I shuffle from one foot to the other, unable to keep still.

  He gives a lopsided grin. “Why are you apologising? Last time I checked, it wasn’t the nineteenth century. Women can even vote now, too. Who knew?”

  He pulls out two bottles. The caps rattle as they hit the counter before he passes me one. The coolness from the condensation on the glass is welcome.

  “Cheers,” he says, clinking his bottle with mine.

  I take a nice, long gulp. Nothing beats an ice-cold beer. Simon says it’s not very attractive—girls who drink beer. But it’s not attractive when men stand there with their hands down their pants, either, but there you have it.

  I peer over my bottle to catch Nate watching me.

  “Who knew drinking beer could look sexy,” he says, his mouth turning up into a smirk.

  I let out a snort of laughter. My stomach sparks to life.

  “Fancy watching a film?” he asks, rolling the bottle between his hands.

  I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t think I could manage an entire film, but I’ll give it a go.”

  Truth is, when I’m with him, an image of what could be flashes through my mind. I feel my pulse quicken in my throat.

  We leave the kitchen, but he continues past the living room. I stall, mid-step. He looks over his shoulder, and I slant my bottle towards the living room.

  “DVD player’s in my room, but if that’s not okay…” His face drops.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, it’s fine, why wouldn’t it be?” Because we would be alone together, that’s why.

  I take a swig of my beer.

  “It’s been a while… I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

  Typical. Now he’s the one giving me an out. Or is this reverse phycology—a test?

  “Nate, it’s fine.” He doesn’t make me uncomfortable, well not in the way he might be thinking.

  “Good to know,” he says with a wink. Cocky bastard.

  In his room, he wanders over to the cabinet, thumbing through the dvds.

  “Got it,” he announces. Waving the box in the air, he strides over to the TV and loads it into the DVD player.

  He places his beer next to him on the bedside table, and I do the same with mine. I glance at the couple of photos. One is of him alongside his parents, and the other one is of us two in the tree house. I reach for it.

  “That was taken the last time you were here.” His eyes dart to the picture in my hand.

  I glance around, noticing the beanie toy. “I didn’t know you still had this.” I place the framed photo back down and pick it up. It’s soft and squidgy.

  “Why wouldn’t I? Besides, it means a lot to me. I love that damn bear.”

  “You big softy. What do the girls think?” I ask, raising my eyebrows

  “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have girls in here.”

  I’m strangely relieved to hear that.

  “Ready?” he asks, tossing the remote in the air then catching it. He does that—he did it with the cream and his car keys—it’s his tick. I put down the beanie toy and grab my beer, picking at the label.

  He switches off the big light and turns on the lamp before hopping on the bed.

  “Come sit.” He pats the bed.

  I swallow the lump in my throat, my heart beating in my ears as I sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Get your backside up here already.” He grabs all the pillows, stacking them against the headboard.

  I hold my breath as I shuffle closer, then reach back over for my beer before sitting back. I see him from the corner of my eye, smirking before he hits play.

  “The Goonies?” I say, snorting—unable to keep the smile off my face.

  “Only the best for you,” he says with a shrug.

  It warms me from the inside out. I haven’t seen this in years. I relax, and then as if on cue, we both ad-lib the opening scene word for word.

  I feel like I’m home.

  Nate is on his side, facing me. The soft hum of his breathing, and the buzz from the TV trickles across the room. I try to move as quietly as possible, so not to wake him.

  I turn off the TV and pull the throw over him. I take him in for a moment, the crinkle he usually wears on his forehead is smooth, his eyelashes so long, they’d make any girl jealous. I’m so pre-occupied by his scent, I lean closer, itching to touch him. My breath quickens. His lips separate. His head moves in my direction. I tense, needing to leave before I do something stupid. Like kiss him.

  The house is silent—with the exception of the grandfather clock—as I head back to my room. I take my phone off charge. One missed call from Simon, and a text from Sophie.

  I send her a quick reply, promising to call her tomorrow.

  I text Simon that my phone was on charge. Moments later, his name flashes on the screen. I let out a breath.

  “Hey. you.”

  “Hi, it’s late, why you still up?” I ask

  “I couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

  “Nothing, just getting ready for bed.”

  “How did it go today?” he asks, stifling a yawn.

  “It was…let’s just say…emotional.”

  “Why do I get the impression there’s more to that than you are letting on?”

  I chip away at my nail polish.

  “What are you talking about? I’ve barely said like five words.”

  He laughs before replying. “It was more like six, actually. Besides, your tone is a dead giveaway,” he drawls in an American accent.

  Not only is he talented, he’s super smart—photographic memory smart. I found him a little intimidating when we first met.

  I cover my face with my arm, even though he can’t see me blushing. I mumble my reply.

  “Fine, we may have sort of…kissed. There, you happy?”

  Simon practically squeals.

  “Whoa, what do you mean, sort of kissed? Where did he kiss you exactly?”

  I choke on my saliva—I need to wash my ears out. He’s such a saucy little shit. I stifle my laugh, but cave. I need to tell someone, so I do, omitting the fact that Nate made me feel things I haven’t in so long, it’s foreign to me.

  Simon stays on the phone until I fall asleep. It’s a thing he started doing when I was at my lowest—even if no words were exchanged. There’s something about listening to his breathing as I begin to doze off that I find comfort in.

  I feel a deep sense of unease. Pulling the cover up to my chin, I clutch it between my fingers. I used to feel like this when I’d think about dying when I was younger. I’d be paralysed to my core, wishing I were brave enough to run to my Mum and Dad’s room to make sure they were both still breathing.

  Of course, it would pass, but not before it filled me with dread—the uncertainty of what’s to come.

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s been a peculiar couple of days. Nate and I have fallen into a routine of sorts, always ending the evenings chatting over a bottle of beer and watching a film. But for some reason, unbeknownst to me, I’m yet to keep my eyes open long enough to watch an entire film. I can’t wipe the smile off my face while I stretch. There’s somet
hing self-satisfying about waking free of my usual nightmare.

  “Well, that’s a sight for sore eyes.”

  I cover my chest with my hand and look to the side. I straighten. Nate approaches, holding out a bottle of water towards me. Why does he have to be so damn charming?

  “Thought I’d join you for a run.”

  I nod as I take the bottle—grateful he’s wearing joggers…not shorts. I don’t need the added distraction.

  “It’s your garden.” I shrug with indifference.

  He takes a sip of water. “You snuck out on me again. What time did you go to bed?”

  I look away. “Just after twelve. We fell asleep again.”

  A cocky grin crosses that smug face of his. “I noticed.”

  I turn to look at him. “What do you mean?”

  He doesn’t even try to hide his smirk. “I watched the rest of the film while you snored your head off.”

  I squint my eyes at him. “You should have woken me.”

  “Why? Your snoring wasn’t that bad,” he says with a laugh.

  I elbow him hard, but from his lack of reaction, you’d think it was a butterfly kiss.

  “Ha, bloody, ha. Come on then, shall we run?” I ask, waving my hand out in front of us.

  He smiles and nods. We head off, falling into a comfortable rhythm. The sounds of our feet drumming the ground mix with birdsong.

  Sweating, our breathing heavy, I am ready to call it a day when he speaks.

  “How about a final sprint? First one to the lake wins?”

  Before I have a chance to answer, he darts off ahead of me. I break into a sprint, trying in vain to catch him.

  I can’t help but smile when we run under the cover of the green branches. Overhead, arches intertwine hands, the light breaking through the slits of their fingers, casting hundreds of lightning shadows—like an old black and white silent movie. I blink as we make our way into the clearing—the light a brilliant white—until my eyes adjust to the perfect seaside-blue sky reflected in the calm, crystal lake. When I was small, I used to reach out my arms as wide as they’d go, imagining I was a giant and this was my lake.