The Bookish Life of Nina Hill(61)

Tom was watching where he walked, trying not to trip over any of the rugs. “I’m more like him. He’s . . . normal. He likes to watch my mom do all this stuff, and cheer her on, but not actually break his leg falling off things.”

“Does she break her leg a lot?”

Tom shook his head. “Not lately.”

They had wandered across the whole meadow now and stood watching the dancers.

Tom turned to her. “Would you like to dance?”

Nina shook her head. “I’m not a good dancer. I love music, but I get nervous and then I mess up.” As if I needed to underscore my lack of adventurousness, she thought.

A slow song came on. “Girl Talk,” by Julie London.

Tom smiled. “You can’t mess up a slow dance. Come on.”

Nina shook her head but let herself be tugged onto the dance floor. “This is the most sexist song ever,” she said.

“Yes,” said Tom, pulling her close and starting to dance. “It is, but follow me and don’t think about it.”

“I can’t not think about it,” said Nina, although she was following his steps and enjoying the feeling of his arms around her waist. She’d had to put her arms around his waist, too, as he was too tall for her to hold him around his neck. “We chew the fat about our tresses and the neighbours’ fight . . . honestly.”

“But her voice,” said Tom, bending his head so she could hear him over the music. “Her voice is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

Nina smiled and looked up at him. “It is. She really did have the most . . .”

And then he kissed her. Properly. And it was just as well he was holding her, because otherwise she might have lost her balance.

Over on the side of the dance floor, Clare turned to her mom and held out her hand. “Told you!”

Lili sighed and pulled a gummy worm from her pocket. “You win.”

Clare chewed and watched Nina and Tom, who were still kissing. “I knew they were going to kiss. I could tell.”

“How could you tell? You’re six.”

“I watched you and Edward. People who are going to kiss do it with their eyes first.” Clare shrugged. “You can see it coming a mile off.”

Tom and Nina pulled apart and looked at each other silently, and Clare held out her hand. “See, still kissing. Worm me.”

Lili slapped another worm in her daughter’s palm.

Clare chewed. “And now the lips again.”





Twenty




In which Nina shares more of herself.

“Wow,” said Tom, walking into Nina’s apartment. “Those are some serious bookshelves.”

Nina held back, watching him enter her space, seeing what he looked like in her home. She hardly ever brought men back to her apartment. She preferred to go to theirs so she could leave if she needed to. Nothing worse than a date going wrong and having to throw someone out in the middle of the night or pretend everything is fine until the next morning. A shiver of anxiety crossed her stomach, but then Tom turned and smiled at her, and it faded.

“These must have been here since the guesthouse was built. They don’t make them this way anymore.” He ran his hands along the edges of the shelves.

Nina smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone compliment the actual shelves before. People are usually more focused on the books.”

“Yeah, there are a lot of them.” But he was still looking at the shelves.

“Would you like a drink?” Nina went to see if she had any wine or beer, but she didn’t.

“No, I’m fine,” he said, coming up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist. She was small, this woman, but strong. He could feel her muscles moving under his palms as she twisted around and kissed him again. There was nothing hesitant in her reaction to him, not on the dance floor, not at the wedding, not in the car on the way here, not now. He leaned into her, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and half lifted her higher against him. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle and pulled away, exclaiming.

Nina laughed as she looked down. “Oh, sorry. That’s Phil.” A small cat was standing on the kitchen floor, his tail lashing, his ears back. “He’s hungry.”

Tom bent to stroke the cat, who hissed at him. “I don’t think it’s hunger; I think it’s hatred.”

Nina was filling a small silver dish with cat kibble and shook her head. “No, he’s a lover not a fighter.” She put the dish on the floor, and Phil started to eat. “See? Just hungry.” Tom went to step around Phil, but Phil whirled around and sank his teeth into his ankle again. “Huh,” said Nina. “I was wrong. He hates you.”

Eventually, Phil allowed Tom to pass, and they headed into the sitting room area. Tom sat on the giant armchair and pulled Nina onto his lap. “Is this where you spend all your time?” he asked, between kisses.

“Yes,” she said, “it’s my favorite place in the world.” She was straddling him in the chair, and as she tugged her dress over her head, Tom smelled lemon and honey again, and pressed his lips against her stomach. “Although,” she said, undoing the buttons on his shirt, “I’ve never done . . . this . . . here before.” She finished with his shirt and started on his belt, loosening the buckle and tugging it out of his waistband.