More Than Words(16)

Nina sighed and tried not to feel stung by Caro’s words. She should have offered. She’d known it when her father called. It was her job now, but something had held her back. “Of course,” she said, blocking off the third Saturday of every month in her calendar as she spoke. “I’ll tell Tim he can still go on the boat, but I’ll see you and Uncle TJ there.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Caro said. “And I was thinking, in September . . .”

“Already in my calendar,” Nina said. “October, too.”

“See you soon, darling,” Caro said. Then she paused. “I know this isn’t easy. But you know you won’t have to face it alone.”

Nina had to clear her throat before she could say, “Thanks, Aunt Caro. I’ll see you soon.”





17



Nina’s dad came back to the city for good the next week at his doctor’s request, earlier than he’d planned. The thing Nina found the most troubling was that he acquiesced without a fight.

But instead of worrying about that, instead of focusing on how wrung out her heart felt, how dark a place she could spiral into, Nina focused even more intently on the campaign. Marc Johnson was polling well. They were in for a fight.

“We can do this,” Jane said, every morning, reminding the staff, reminding herself.

Nina truly believed in Rafael. She admired his determination, the way he inspired her to be the best version of herself, to think harder, to push her mind further. Being around him was intoxicating—which was why she tried to keep her distance. Alcohol was dangerous when you consumed too much of it. When it was the thing you always wanted, the thing you were ashamed to find yourself dreaming about.

In those weeks, it seemed like every time Nina looked across the room she would find Rafael’s eyes on her. While he was talking to Christian or reviewing talking points with Jane.

She wondered if it was on purpose, or if that just happened, his gaze moving toward hers. She imagined it was out of his control. And she wondered how often her gaze slid over to him, without her realizing, too.





18



It was nearly one in the morning the night before the primary. The hum of the office had disappeared, though Nina could still hear car engines and squealing tires through the open windows in the main area, where all the desks were jammed next to one another. The city never slept, and neither, it seemed, would Nina or Rafael. They were alone together in a conference room, putting the final touches on tomorrow’s potential speeches—alone for the first time since their lunch at the diner. Nina caught his eye across the conference table and then quickly turned away.

As much as she’d refused to admit it, she knew their attraction had been growing slowly over the past months, like temperature rising barely perceptibly, half a degree at a time. But those tiny invisible increments added up to something enormously detectable. Nina wondered if they’d reached that point. And if they had, if she could continue to ignore it—pretend that the sweat didn’t exist, that she still needed her jacket. Nina felt like she had to. If she didn’t, it would mean that so many pieces of her life, carefully balanced upon one another, would come tumbling down.

She kept forcing herself to think about Tim. About what it felt like when they walked hand-in-hand through Manhattan and how soft his lips felt against hers when they kissed. About how easily they fit together—their lives, their families, their expectations. About how comfortable she felt in his arms. But there wasn’t this—this pull that drew her to Rafael.

She’d been so strong, so careful all summer. But tonight she was finding it hard. Tonight, when she caught a glimpse of how worried he was, of how much he wanted to win, all she wanted to do was comfort him the way he’d comforted her about her father. To rest her hand on his.

Rafael cleared his throat. “You want a Coke?” he asked, pulling two dollars out of his wallet and standing up, scraping the legs of the chair across the linoleum floor as he did. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get through the next three minutes without another infusion of caffeine.”

“I’m good,” Nina said, shifting her eyes back to her computer screen, though she was more than a bit tired. She needed to get this done. She needed to get away from the temptation. She felt like Eve, staring at a forbidden apple. Or was the apple a kiss and Rafael the serpent? Or was she the serpent? “I’ll give version B one more pass, and when you get back from the vending machine, maybe you can try it out loud again?”

“Absolutely,” he responded. “But I hate version B.”

Nina smiled. “I know. I hate it too.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Rafael walk across the conference room. Even at one A.M., after he’d exchanged his button-down shirt and suit jacket for a T-shirt and hoodie, his face unshaven and his hair a mess, Nina felt her body trying to point itself in his direction. Carisuapo, Nina’s mother might have called him—a combination of the words carismatico and guapo. Charismatic and handsome. Though if Rafael said it, it would sound more like caliuapo. Nina had gotten used to his Cuban accent—the dropped s, the r that sounded more like an l. As she sat there, watching him walk down the hallway, she found herself trying to figure out how he would pronounce other Spanish words. Difrutal. Depue. She pictured the shape of his lips as he spoke.