Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,159

vacillate between painfully uptight and reluctantly open; like any smiles or jokes or laughs she threw at him were a charitable endeavour she regretted almost immediately. But she’d spent the afternoon smiling at Zach without hesitation.

Yes; this was what his mind chose to focus on. Not that odd moment upstairs when, for a second, he’d looked at her and found himself unable to move. Unable to pull away from the soft, vanilla scent that hovered around her, from the velvet texture of her skin or the amber flecks in her dark eyes. He saw no reason to think about that incident at all.

She waited for him by the front door, standing arrow straight, mouth set in a plastic smile. Her skirt was covered in grass stains and there were little white ovals that might be daisy petals caught in her hair. But none of that mattered when she held herself so stiffly and watched him so distantly. She seemed almost alien in her perfection, removed from his reality, as bright and untouchable as a star in the sky.

And lonely, too. He didn’t mind the perfection, but he didn’t like that loneliness. He’d been lonely before.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll be in touch, I suppose? About moving.”

She nodded politely.

“I know it’s kind of fast, but obviously I can help, so—”

She gave a little huff that might’ve been a snort. “If you don’t think I can organise moving house within a week, I’ve severely misrepresented myself.”

“Fair enough,” he said wryly.

“Wonderful.” She clapped her hands together like a judge banging a gavel, and that, he supposed, was that.

Except he didn’t want it to be. Because something about her still seemed so… sad. He had no idea what, or why; he just wanted it to stop.

Maybe he was losing his mind. That would explain why, instead of saying something sensible like Goodbye, he blurted out, “You’re kind of bossy, you know that?”

She arched a brow. “I am thirty years old. If I had gone this long without identifying my key character traits, I would be suffering from a sad lack of self-awareness.”

He grinned, leaning back against the hallway wall. “So you do know that you’re bossy.”

“Of course.” She cocked her head. “Are you waiting for me to apologise?”

“Now why would I want that?” he murmured. He was genuinely confused, actually. “Is that what people usually want? For you to apologise?”

She sucked in her cheeks for a moment, her jaw shifting, eyes narrowed, suspicion clear. She was so electric, so brimming with energy, and yet she seemed so determined to contain it. He wondered if she realised how utterly she failed. It was kind of cute.

He arched a brow and waited.

She arched two brows, as if they were in some sort of eyebrow-raising competition. If they were, she’d just won. Nate did not have three eyebrows.

“Hannah,” he said, his voice almost sing-song. He was enjoying this far too much. “Are you going to answer me?”

She flicked him a disgusted look. She was damned good at it, too, and she really took her time. Her dark gaze raked over every inch of him—twice, as if to be sure—before turning away dismissively. It reminded him of the way she’d been at school, sitting alone at the front of every class and glaring at anyone who mocked her. Had it always been so intoxicating, that look?

No. No it fucking hadn’t.

“I don’t know what you’re leaning for,” she finally muttered.

“Leaning?”

“Against the wall.” She glared at him again, or maybe at the wall. “You look like an oversized teenager.”

Why was he so very pleased to hear her insult him?

Nate grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets. He was almost tempted to slouch, just to piss her off even more. “I had no idea you cared so much about posture.” Lie. Anyone who’d ever set eyes on her would know she cared about posture.

She snorted as if to say the same thing. But her lips twitched, just a bit, like she was actually fighting a smile. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“Oh, I haven’t?”

“No,” she said dryly. “You always did strut around in your black clothes thinking you were cool—”

“I was cool.”

This time she actually smiled outright, even as she ignored his interruption. “—with your cigarettes and your dyed hair—”

Nate rolled his eyes. “I have never dyed my hair. I don’t know who started that rumour.”

“People just assumed,” she smirked. “Because it’s rather…”

“I think the word you’re looking for is black.”

“Thank you so much,” she said dryly. “I would’ve