The Empty Jar(76)

I sit, gape-mouthed, and stare at him for several seconds, my cheeks undoubtedly beet red. I say nothing, do nothing.

I’m at a loss. A total and complete loss.

Finally, it’s he who breaks the humiliating silence. And with a voice, I’d forgotten, feels like satin sheets sliding over my skin.

“Was it?” he prompts when I continue to gawk mutely at him.

“Was it what?”

“Was his name Nathaniel?”

Then it clicks. He heard my every word, or at least enough to make me want to die on the spot. “Oh God!” I moan, dropping my burning face into my suddenly-damp palms.

Within seconds, long, cool fingers wrap around my wrists and tug gently. And for the second time in twenty-four hours, I’m struck by the nearly-tangible connection between us. It’s electric.

Lightning down my spine.

A buzz in my head.

Tingling in my toes.

It’s an invisible circuit that stretches from his body to mine, and someone is cranking up the energy.

“It-it was,” I eventually manage to eke out from between my parched lips.

“Good. I’d hate to think I was the only one who felt this.”

“This?” I ask, dazed.

Nathaniel’s thumbs brush the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrists, sending tiny shock waves ricocheting through me. “Yeah, this.”

I let out a breathy laugh. I’m relieved and embarrassed and exhilarated and…giddy, all at once. “What are you doing here?”

In the space of three unnerving heartbeats, it occurs to me that he might’ve come by to talk with me about my application. This visit might be work-related for him.

If that’s the case…

Somebody should just shoot me now.

I’ll have to move. Change my name. At the very least I’ll have to go to another bank and apply because I’ll never be able to look this guy in the face again.

And that would be unfortunate as hell!

With his next words, however, I know I won’t have to worry about that.

“I came here for you.”

I came here for you.

For you.

He came here for me.

My pulse flutters wildly for a few more seconds, but then, oddly, it settles down to a steady, heavy beat within my veins. Although I might be a tad prone to dramatics as Regan suggests, I’d swear that I can feel the presence of fate. Here. With me. Physically, like a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

And just like that I know.

Some part of me knows.

One minute I’m a nervous, mortified mess and the next, I’m as calm and at home as I am with friends I’ve had for years. Suddenly, I feel as though I’ve known this man for most of my life.

Or maybe that I will know him for the rest of it.

Like the flip of a switch, I go from awkward to confident, from frenetic to flirtatious.

A grin plays with the corners of my mouth, and I eye him through narrowed, teasing slits. “Do you do this for all your customers?”

“Not a single one.”

“Did you have to look up my name again?”

“No. I didn’t forget it.”

“Did you get lost on the way over here?”

“No. I used GPS.”

“Coke or Pepsi?”

“Coke.”

“Favorite time of the day?”

“Right now.”

I can’t help the smile that breaks out across my face or the way my belly flips over at his answer. “Do you like Bon Jovi?”

“Love them.”

“Favorite song of theirs?”

“‘You Give Love a Bad Name’ because, at the moment, I’m feeling particularly shot through the heart.”

I laugh at that. “If I ask you to dinner, will I have to fill out another loan application due to conflict of interest?”

“If you do, I’ll help you.”

“What’s your favorite kind of food?”

“Anything that doesn’t include raw fish.”

“Pick me up at seven?”

“Only if you’re okay with goodnight kisses at the beginning of a date.”

I beam. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Then I’ll see you at seven.”

With that, Nathaniel, the hot loan officer, releases his hold on me, but even then, I doubt he’ll ever release his hold on my heart. I can feel him digging in, maybe to stay. Forever.

I sure hope that’s the case, because I’ve never looked forward to seven o’clock so much in my life.





Twenty-six Something for the Pain Nate

I sit on the edge of the bed I’ve always shared with my wife, and I listen to her mumble. It sounds like she’s recounting parts of the conversation we had the day I’d gone to ask her out.

Despite the boulder that has settled over my chest, I smile at the memory.

I’d taken a chance that day. I’d known I could be written up if Lena had found my behavior inappropriate and decided to report me, but I was young and cocky and thought it was worth the risk. At least that’s what I told myself on the drive over to the clinic where she worked.

And I was right.

It had been.

Nineteen years ago, I met the girl of my dreams. She walked right through the door of my first job and explained that she wanted to get pre-approved for a home loan. I watched her eyes sparkle as she spoke proudly of landing her first job as a nurse practitioner. I listened to the excitement in her voice as she explained that she wanted to buy a small house rather than renting an apartment. I smiled at the animated way she used her hands when she talked. And with every minute that ticked by, I wanted more and more to ask her out. She was beautiful, smart, and there was something about her that drew me like a bee to honey.