CHAPTER NINE
Beth
So flash back three years, I’m in Nash’s bed and after I leave his hotel suite I have no idea on when I will see him again, the only difference is now I’m not sure how that makes me feel.
I should’ve known better than to stay the night or let myself get close enough to form any sort of attachment to Nash. It was easier when I thought he was just an arsehole playboy.
I watch him as he stirs and opens his eyes; as soon as our eyes meet he has the brightest smile spread across his face.
“Hey, sweetheart. Are you watching me sleep?”
“Yeah, a little.” I wiggle in closer to him.
“Kind of creepy, but I’m glad you’re here. I thought I’d dreamt up last night. Sleep well?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“How about some breakfast in bed?”
“You mean food right?”
He chuckles, “Of course food. What do you want?”
“Coffee and bacon. Please.”
“Is that all you want? Just coffee and bacon? No eggs or cereal or toast?”
“Yes to all of that, and juice.”
Thankfully, it wasn’t Nash’s red-headed Amazonian goddess ex-fling who delivered breakfast to the room. The food was delicious; as soon as it was wheeled in the aroma had me salivating.
“Will you have lunch with me today?”
“Nash, we’ve not even finished breakfast.”
He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair back behind my ear. “I know, but I want to spend the day with you. Would that be okay?”
“What did you have in mind? Assuming something other than room service?”
“Maybe a picnic in the park or something?”
“Picnic? No. I don’t think so. Too many ants and bugs. Pass.”
“The beach?”
“Too much sand.”
“Where do you want to go, Beth?”
“Home, Nash. Come home with me. I’ll order Chinese takeout and we can hang out there, no ants, no bugs and no sand in your butt crack.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, well, I need to get a change of clothes anyway.”
“Sounds good, I’ll call for a taxi.” He stands to search out his phone.
“Won’t you want to pack first?”
“You mean you want me to come and stay with you?”
“Sure. I mean, you’re leaving anyway, so two birds and all.”
“So, this is where Bethany Spencer lives.” I fumble with the key in the lock, twisting it with success and the door swings wide. “I was expecting something taller and in ivory.”
“Yep, this is home. Don’t make me regret inviting you here.”
“There is that sass that has been missing.” He smacks me on the backside as he crosses the threshold, his leather overnight bag in one hand and suitcase and laptop in another.
“The bedroom is through there if you want to leave your bag? And the lounge room is through there, I’ll get us some plates and glasses.” Having Nash in my house gives me a wave of anxiety; it was a complete unknown sharing my space with a man longer than a couple of hours, and never a man like Nash Gibson when there were guests.
I had just started to open the takeaway containers of the Chinese food we’d purchased on the way over when Nash returns to join me for our meal.
“Wine?”
“Please.” He pops the cork from the bottle and evenly pours wine into both glasses, sliding a glass along the bench to me, as he casually takes a sip of his own. He is so sure of himself, as his own confidence radiates. I wonder if there is any situation Nash Gibson could find himself in that would cause his feathers to ruffle.
Lunch with Nash in my house is kind of nice, comfortable in fact, and not at all what I had led myself to believe it would be like.
“So Beth, when I get back to London would it be okay if I called you?” His attempt at being blasé about asking sets me on edge. He avoids eye contact as the realization suddenly hits me; this fun arrangement with an expiration date, now has the possibility of becoming more.
“Well, I guess so, if you wanted to. Maybe I’ll answer.”
“Good to hear, but what I want for the immediate future is to kiss you again.” He leans forward and steals the kiss. “What do you want to do tonight? Do you want to stay in, maybe cook some dinner and watch a movie?”
“Dancing. I want to go dancing.” Maybe I can test that confidence of his after all.
“Are you taking the piss?”
“Not in the slightest. Is there a problem?”
“Not at all, it’s just been a while since I went dancing.”
Perfect, he’d already confessed to enjoying a challenge, so a night out dancing will be another one for him. In the silent war that had been waged, maybe this was a battle I could win.
“Okay, sweetheart, so it’s a date?”
“No, it is dancing.” I correct him.
I couldn’t help but smile, I was about to enjoy Nash’s discomfort tonight more than I had enjoyed just about anything else over the last few weeks. I’d already started planning what I was going to wear in my head and it was going to be my greatest weapon.
We sat chatting whilst we finished our lunch. I learn that Nash has a younger sister who is currently travelling through Europe before she returns to start University. He tells me about his travelling, and a passion he has for photography.
“I want the evidence of the life I have lived even when I am too old to remember it. I always carry my camera with me when I go somewhere new.” I can see just from the look in his eyes that he is being sincere; his passion is something I would have never been able to guess about him. “What is your passion Beth?”
I hadn’t given it much thought until now, I couldn’t narrow down one thing in my life as actually being a passion. “I’m not sure I have one.”
“Sure you do, everyone does.”
“No, I don’t think I actually do.” I think it over as I refill my glass with the last of the wine.
“So, you’re telling me that there is nothing that gets your heart racing but brings you peace at the same time?”
“You mean other than an orgasm?” I crook my eyebrow at him, he doesn’t falter to even challenge me about my comment, and the question was rhetorical, being simply for shock value anyway. “Well, if that is what it means to have a passion, then shoes. I realise they aren’t as exciting as travelling the world and taking photos, but I love shoes.”
“I probably should’ve been able to guess that given the scolding you gave me the day we had that incident with the coffee.”
“I did not give you a scolding!”
“You did so, I felt terrible all day about it, could barely eat my lunch.”
“They were my favourite green pair of Jimmy Choo’s. They’re more than foot accessories, they’re pieces of art. Shoes like that deserve respect, not lubricating in any form.”
“I know that should mean something to me, but I’m going to need some time to work out exactly what it is.”
“Maybe this is why I can’t trust people like you.” I quip. An element of truth to my blasé statement, a person like Nash Gibson broke hearts, turned world’s topsy-turvy worse than any earthquake could.
“So you admit it now, you don’t trust me.”
“I didn’t mean you specifically, I just meant people who were ignorant to a pair of shoes.” I attempted to ease the sting of the truth by deflecting it into a joke.
“Categorized, just like that hey?” I could tell he was baiting me. “So the ones I picked out for you were no good?”
“See, and that there, is a complete contradiction of what you just said, Nash. Those shoes you picked out for me are a limited release and not yet available here, so I have no idea how you managed to even get hold of a pair, let alone claim to not know anything about shoes.”
“So I did good?”
“Yes, in more ways than one. How am I ever supposed to work you out when what you say and what you do are polar opposites.”
“Do you want to work me out, Beth?” His voice lowers, any trace of humour was now gone.
“I suppose a part of me did, but the point is moot now.” The reality was he is leaving again and dancing around that fact was also a moot point.
“I would say you know me pretty well already, sweetheart.” He gives me a wink before getting up to carry our dishes to the kitchen. “What do you want to do for the rest of the afternoon?”
“Movie?”
“Yeah, maybe we could watch the end of the one we watched the other day.” He chuckles, and it makes my heart ache a little to hear that sound.
“Maybe a movie is not the best idea then. Would you like to go over and see Gretna and Ella?”
“What I would like to do is keep you all to myself for a while longer.” He returns to the seat beside me, pulling me into his lap and lifts his hand to cup my cheek. “Beth, don’t make me share you just yet.”
“Okay. I won’t.” My voice comes out in only a whisper.