delicacy.”
And just like that, the conversation drifted away from our weekend. I placed a hand on Nathaniel’s knee and he reached down to intertwine our fingers.
I squeezed his knee.
He returned the squeeze.
“I’d better head home,” Felicia said two hours later, when the last dish had been put in the dishwasher, following the high-spirited dinner. “Abby promised to help me finish the table seating arrangements.”
Jackson leaned against the countertop. “Explain to me again why we care where people sit?”
Felicia huffed and picked her purse up from beside the refrigerator. “We just do.”
“But, baby, you’ve gone over the table arrangements five times already.” He winked at me, obviously enjoying pushing this particular button of Felicia’s. “We’ll be just as married if the Tompkinses sit beside the McDonalds or not.”
She ignored him. “When did you say your dad was getting into town?” she asked me.
“Thursday before,” I answered, slipping my hand inside Nathaniel’s. He had mentioned how much he was looking forward to meeting my dad. A thought flitted through my head:
She put her hands on her hips. “Think he’d like to sit with the Tompkinses?”
“Even I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Nathaniel said. Of course he wouldn’t think that would be a good idea. Who wanted his current girlfriend’s parent to sit next to and have dinner with his ex-girlfriend’s parents?
“In that case, I guess Abby and I have a lot of work to do,” Felicia said.
Nathaniel pulled me to the door. “I’ll take you home.” He nodded to Jackson. “We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”
His cousin had eyes only for his fiancee. “If I make it to tomorrow. I’ll make you a deal,” he said to Felicia. “I won’t say another word about table arrangements if you let me keep the trophies in the living room.”
Her hands were still on her hips as her lips curled. “As long as you know I still think they would look better in your office.”
He moved to her, a twin smile covering his face. “And as long as you know I still don’t know why we care where everyone sits.”
He’d made it to her. Their arms came around each other. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pressed closer to him.
Nathaniel and I walked out of the kitchen, still holding hands, and left through the front door.
“Meet me for lunch tomorrow?” he asked.
“Sushi?”
“I can always do sushi,” he said. “Though I do prefer when you and I make it.”
We’d made it to his car. “Then how about we do sushi Tuesday night and do something else for lunch tomorrow?”
“Tuesday night sounds great,” he said. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”
I picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his shirt, just because I wanted to touch him. “Final dress fitting.”
“Fun.”
“Not really, but I’ll survive. Especially if I have Tuesday to look forward to.”
He smiled. “Tuesday night we make sushi.” His voice dropped. “Will you stay the night?”
I leaned toward him. “Yes,” I said, and I felt his breath on my cheek.
His lips grazed mine. “Thank you.”
“If I can’t apologize”—I put my arms around him—“you can’t thank me.”
His laugh was warm and deep in my ear. I pulled back and smiled. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
As he, once more, moved close to me, I shut my eyes and breathed in the scent of him. He smelled dark and woodsy.
Our lips touched, gentle at first. I sighed and ran my fingers through his hair. He moaned and parted his lips, deepening the kiss. Then what was gentle grew passionate and what was soft became laced with need. But we both knew we could not give in to our need. It wouldn’t progress beyond the kiss.
When our lips parted, he sighed against my cheek. “I love you.”
—ABBY—
I turned the rice cooker on and walked to where Nathaniel stood cutting cucumbers, carrots, and avocados. I reached under his arm and grabbed a peeled carrot.
“Hey.” He spun around. “I was just getting ready to use that one.”
“You have plenty.” I took a small bite, enjoying the satisfying crunch.
He narrowed his eyes and watched me with mock ire as I chewed and swallowed.
“FYI,” I said, shaking the carrot at him. “I will never pick peas over carrots on a Tuesday night. Unless they’re cooked. I hate cooked carrots.”
His eye crinkled up at the edges and his mouth gave way to a beautiful smile. “Point taken.”
“Now.” I reached for the peeler and took another carrot. “Since I’ve deprived you of your peeled carrot, the least I can do is peel another one for you.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, his hand brushing my shoulder just slightly before moving away from me. “The very least.”
I knew he was working hard, trying to let me dictate our weekday time. He had been hesitant at lunch the previous day, a change from the cookout with Felicia and Jackson when he’d touched me almost constantly.
I turned to him and stroked his hand. “I like it when you touch me. Don’t stop just because you’re afraid I’ll take it the wrong way or will feel obligated.”
His smile grew even larger. “You know me so well.”
I lifted to my toes and gave him a small kiss. “Sometimes.”
The look in his eyes told me he didn’t believe me. I decided not to pursue it further. Besides, there was something else I wanted to talk about. I turned back to the counter and began peeling the carrot.
“You wanted to ask me something about this weekend?” I asked.
He took another carrot and we worked side by side.
“You’ve heard me talk about Paul?” he asked.
Paul was Nathaniel’s mentor. I knew that. The man who had been his instructor. Nathaniel told me once that Paul was the only person he’d ever subbed for. My mind still couldn’t wrap itself around that—Nathaniel subbing for someone. Even if there wasn’t any sex involved, it still confused me.
“And Christine?” he asked.
Paul’s wife. And submissive. They had a three-month-old son, Sam. Paul had e-mailed Nathaniel pictures of the pudgy baby. Sam was cute as a button and had a precious toothless grin.
“Of course I remember you talking about Paul,” I said. “Hard to forget that one.”
The image of Nathaniel willingly submitting himself to anyone wasn’t anything I could easily forget.
“I spoke to him,” he said. “He’s invited us to New Hanover this weekend.”
“I told him I’d talk to you about it, get your thoughts,” he said. “You could talk with Christine some. She’s a submissive, and I think it would be a good idea for you to talk with someone you can relate to like that.”
I kept peeling the carrot. Someone to talk to? Someone who wasn’t Nathaniel? Would that be weird? How did one start that conversation, anyway?
“He also mentioned the two of them playing for us,” Nathaniel said. “Perhaps something on your soft limit list.”
