Last Summer(38)

Ella studies him from her chair at the table, piecing together the man she spent hours binge-watching the other day compared to the man she went hiking with. This man with her today is more reserved and cautious than the icy rudeness she was met with yesterday. And right now, he seems relaxed, comfortable in his own skin. All three versions are a far cry from his television persona, the man she expected to meet. On-screen he was confident. He attacked each episode’s challenge with precision, guiding his guests with skill and finesse. It was never lost on him that the snap of a rope while rappelling down a cliff face or slip of the foot on loose pebbles on a trail no wider than the width of his boot above a steep ravine could send him and his guest careening to their deaths. As intense as he’d be one moment, he’d crack a joke the next. His brilliant smile would light up the screen.

Today, though, he’s a shadow of the man he used to be. The Nathan leading them along a trail that followed the mountain ridge seemed to doubt his own abilities. He’d been hard on himself, second-guessing his assumption she’d been ready for the hike.

Ella powers up her laptop, plugs in the Wi-Fi password Nathan gave her, and furiously types notes from the day’s discussion. She also uploads the voice recordings and backs everything up to the cloud. She’s not going to risk losing or misplacing her notes again.

Nathan carries a platter of steaks and asparagus to the sliding glass door. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

“I’ll get that,” she says, pushing up from the table and opening the door for him. A rush of crisp air trades places with him when he goes outside. She shivers and rubs her upper arms. Shutting the door behind him, she remains there, watching.

Nathan sets the platter on a table and lifts the grill cover. Smoke billows, carried off by the wind. He preps the grate, scrubbing off burned bits from the previous time he used the grill. He puts on the steaks and closes the lid, then just stands there in the cold and wind, arms folded tight over his chest. He gazes off toward the woods. What’s he looking at? What’s he thinking about?

Wind sweeps up from the valley, hitting the house. Windows creak and wood groans, absorbing the impact. Nathan’s shirt billows and hair ruffles.

Isn’t he cold?

Ella shivers again despite the fact that the heater is on.

Masochist.

The word floats into Ella’s mind, and she’s quickly drawing her own conclusions about him. Nathan seeks out pain. He wants to feel its sharp edges. He wants to live and breathe his losses. But if he continues to wallow in them, he’ll spend the rest of his life holed up here on the mountain. Forgotten.

Ella needs to write his exclusive before that happens. His fans could lose him. She could lose him.

Whoa.

She steps back from the door as though the glass burned.

Where did that thought come from?

Thin air. It’s just the altitude, messing with her mind, she reasons.

She returns to her notes, dictating them since she speaks faster than she can type.

A short time later, Ella wraps up her thoughts. “It’s my opinion that Nathan—”

The door slides open with a blast of cold air. Nathan comes inside smelling of smoke, pine, and grilled meat. He shuts the door. Ella turns off the voice recorder.

“Don’t stop on my account.” Nathan sets down the steaks and covers the platter with tinfoil. He joins her at the table, sitting across from her. He leans forward, weight on his forearms. “What’s your opinion of me?” He nods at the recorder, urging her to continue. A dare.

She arches a brow and presses the record button. “I think Nathan idealized the life he had with his parents. He attempted to re-create that life with his wife, Stephanie, but he always fell short.”

Nathan frowns. His chin presses into his neck. “That’s a little harsh.”

“The truth can be harsh.”

“Your opinion of me is harsh.”

“I didn’t draw the same conclusion before?”

His frown deepens. “No.” He glances away. “I don’t know. You didn’t dictate in front of me. You’d wander off.”

“Well, maybe I thought the same thing and didn’t tell you. Or maybe I did and that’s why you pulled the exclusive,” Ella says, going on a hunch. “You didn’t like what you heard.”

He folds his arms over his chest. “That’s not why I pulled it.”

Ella’s eyes widen. It was him, not her.

Rebecca said she wasn’t going to let Ella kill the article again, but for the life of her, Ella can’t imagine why she would have killed it in the first place unless she had a good reason.

Unless Nathan had been the reason. He must have convinced her. Why?

“Why’d you pull it, Nathan? What happened?”

His gaze lifts and meets hers. “You’re angry.”

“No, frustrated. Okay, maybe a little irritated. I thought I’d killed the article, but it was you. Why?” she asks forcefully.

He nods at the recorder in her hand. “Hold that thing any tighter and you’ll break it.”

She looks at the recorder and wills her grip to soften. “Sorry.”

She pushes out a breath and pretends to read her notes. She’s frustrated she can’t remember anything from before and she’s taking it out on Nathan. The fact she’s so physically attracted to him doesn’t help either. It makes her wonder if she felt the same before. Did she act on those feelings? If so, does Damien know? It would explain why he was so adamant about her ditching the interview. But wouldn’t he have been more insistent? Wouldn’t he have told her she had an affair?