***
I end up sleeping the entire afternoon. My eyes snap open and I push myself off my back, searching the covers to find my phone.
I'm not sure when I fell asleep, but judging by the light filtering through my window, it seems to be late afternoon. I'm annoyed with myself for the impromptu nap, not that I had anything to do today.
My hand closes around a smooth, cold object and I drag it to my face. My phone illuminates and my eyes zero-in on the time—6:24. Shit.
Three new message notifications are also displayed and I click into the most recent one:
Mom - Having a blast! Make sure to water the house plants!
I type back a quick message saying I'm happy her and Dad are having a good time and confirm I'll checkup on the several plants scattered around the house. Once sent, I check the next message:
James - Hey Em. Won't be coming home tonight. I think I saw some hot pockets in the freezer if you get hungry.
I roll my eyes, as if I'd stoop so low. I send back an okay 👍 and close out of the conversation. The last message is dated 28 minutes ago:
Moose - I'm in the area running some errands. Doing anything later tonight? Tacos Jalisco's is still open if you're down to go there for dinner
I smile. This man... I'm happily surprised that he hasn't forgotten my favorite hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant.
Absolutely, when are you thinking? I send back and slip out of bed.
I hop into the bathroom and run a brush through my hair while I wait on Moose's reply. I'm guessing I have about 30 minutes to an hour to get decent, meaning I should start now.
I pull up the weather app on my phone and see the current temperature is a frigid 34°. Seems like layering will be my friend tonight.
Walking back into my room from the bathroom, I strip off my long sleeve and sweats and begin to rummage through my suitcases for an outfit. I packed enough clothes to last me three weeks here, proudly managing to shove them all into two suitcases.
It takes me a few minutes, but I compile an outfit of fleece-lined yoga pants, a thick wool sweater, and a sherpa-lined denim jacket. I also throw on wool socks and a beanie for good measure. After everything is on, I check myself out in the floor length mirror—not too shabby, Em.
The doorbell rings and I jump at the sound. My apartment in Portland doesn't have a doorbell, meaning I've lost my desensitization to the sharp tone.
I grab my phone to check if Moose messaged and I missed it while I was changing, but no new messages are displayed on the screen. I shrug and place the device in my pocket, he's probably just used to coming over whenever.
Grabbing my purse, I head out of my room and down the stairs to the front door. Before opening it I shove my feet into my boots and give myself one last glance into the mirror hanging beside the door. I didn't bother putting on any makeup, but that's okay, right? It's just my brother's best friend and a friend of mine for several years.
Right?
I groan and shake my head—I'm getting way too worked up about seeing Moose for absolutely no reason. I take a deep breath and plaster a smile on my face, opening the door before I can overthink anything again.
Nash. My face falls.
Standing outside the door is Nash, his hands shoved into the pockets of his tan waxed canvas work jacket. He's wearing black jeans and a pair of black boots, and I can't help but notice the way the denim hugs his thighs. On his face he wears an annoyed expression, as if I wasn't who he was expecting.
"Hey," I attempt, my voice coming out weak and strangled. I clear my throat.
"Is James here?" He doesn't bother to greet me, glancing around my body and into the living room, no doubt looking for my brother.
I shake my head. "Nope, sorry. He won't be back tonight. He's over with Vanessa." I explain, actively focusing on anything but Nash's face.
The trees. The porch boards at my feet. The slight peak of ink peaking out from under his right sleeve...
Well, of course he has tattoos.
Nash sighs in frustration. "That fucker," he grumbles, pulling his phone from his pocket.
I stand there, holding the door open, suddenly feeling very awkward. "Do you want to come in? It's freezing outside."
He glances up from his phone and we make a split second of eye contact. The breath leaves my lungs.
He thinks about it for a second. "I guess. I'll call him and then I'll be on my way," he promises.
I nod and step back out of the doorway, giving him room to come inside. He brushes past me and I can't help but inhale his cologne. A mixture of pine, musk, and something spicy that I can't quite put my finger on. It's intoxicating.
What the fuck is going on with me lately? I shake my head to try and clear my thoughts and close the door.
Nash has already taken a seat on the couch, elbows on his knees as he hunches over his phone. I pause for a second, unsure if I should also sit down. Instead, I decide to check my phone for messages from Moose. Sure enough, there is a message notification on my lock screen:
Moose - Sorry, something came up and I need to head back home. Tomorrow?
I sigh. Maybe I will be eating that hot pocket after all.
"Townsend. We made plans for 6:30 tonight. Where are you?" Nash's voice cuts through my thoughts. I glance over and see him leaned back on the couch, knees apart, phone up to his ear. His gaze is on me.
I quickly look back down to my phone. My heart is beating quickly in my chest, just like every time I seem to be around this man, and I can hear the blood pounding in my ears.
"Mhm, you forgot. Right. I'm not sure I'm convinced, but I'll bite. Stop by my place in the morning—we have a lot to talk about." I watch out of the corner of my eye as Nash ends the call and sets his phone down on his thigh, his eyes still fixated in my direction.
"Emma, is it?" He questions.
I cautiously lift my eyes from my phone and nod. "Yeah, it's Emma."
“Considering you’re here and James isn’t, and you answered the door, I’m assuming you’re related. A sister, maybe?”
I nod.
"Strange. I've known James for the past four years and he's never once mentioned you."
The admission sends a pang of hurt through my body and I wrinkle my brow. Why wouldn't James mention me? "Well, I moved to Portland four years ago, which could explain that."
He hums. "Sure. We'll go with that. What made you leave?"
I pause before answering. Very few people know the truth of my departure, and I'm not planning on telling anyone else, especially Nash. "I got a job offer down there. I'm a pediatric nurse." It's not entirely a lie, and I'm happy with the confidence in my voice.
Nash nods at my answer, seemingly accepting it. "And is this your first time back since you left?"
I nod.
"Sorry for all the questions. I'm just curious as to why not even Moose or Russell have said a word about you." He pauses. "Are you sure you're not an axe murderer or something?"
I see the hint of a smile on his face and I roll my eyes, crossing my arms across my chest. "I'm absolutely not an axe murderer, that kinda goes against my whole "do no harm" thing. Though, if I was, do you honestly think I would tell you?"
Nash pretends to think for a second. "Nah, I suppose you wouldn't. You'd probably just lure me into your home," he emphasizes, referencing his current position on the couch. "And then get me to let down my guard by talking about how you're an innocent and kind nurse who saves children. Before drugging me and ultimately chopping me up into little tiny pieces."
I raise my eyebrows at his story and we make eye contact, though I feel no adverse effects from his gaze this time. Maybe because my heart has yet to stop it's frantic beating since I noticed it was Nash and not Moose at the door.
I throw my hands up in the air in mock defeat. "Fine. You've caught me. I'm a serial axe murderer and my friends and family have been keeping me under wraps ever since I butchered a guy for asking too many questions," I say pointedly.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry." Nash holds his hands up in surrender. "How about you ask me a few questions to even it out?"
"I can't promise anything, but that's a start," I nod and take a seat in the chair across from the couch. "How do you know my brother?"
"College. We had a class together, though I honestly can't remember what it was, and became friends."
"What are you studying?"
"I graduated last year with a degree in Business. I run a small company, of sorts."
"That sounds great," I say honestly. "The business world is tough and I commend you for sticking with it. What does your company do?"
Nash shakes his head. "Nope—you're all out of questions." He checks his phone. "And it's about time for me to head out anyway."
A pang of disappointment shoots through me at his announcement. I'm unsure of when it happened, but sometime during our conversation my wariness faded and I felt almost excited to get to know Nash.
"Right, of course," I nod. Both of us stand up at the same time and I follow him to the door.
"See you later, Emma," he says, turning the handle and stepping outside.
"Bye, Nash." I watch as he crosses the porch and bounds down the steps over to the black truck parked in the driveway. Before getting in he shoots me once last glance and gives a small wave. I wave back and shut the door.
Once again I'm left with more questions than answers.
***
