Nathan watched her turn to the coffee maker to start the coffee before he busied himself with the plating. He was too tired, his head too achy to fully appreciate the moment they were sharing here. They moved across the kitchen like a unit, silent and efficient, dodging and working around each other with easy smiles. She fetched mugs, silverware, set that and other things on the tray, all while Nathan picked out the most edible of the pancakes to set on the plates. He fetched the rest of their berries from the fridge, a bowl of fruit, served in a bowl they could share. He was usually in here by himself, Emily seated across the counter on a barstool, keeping him company while staying out of the way.
He hadnât realized it until he was carrying the tray into the bedroom, Emily following behind him, how smoothly that all had gone once they worked together. He hadnât been in her way, she hadnât been in his. Nothing else burned down. Nathan usually didnât like people in the kitchen with him, but they flowed together. They hadnât bumped into each other once. They fit. It crept up on him slowly, watching her climb back into bed, Nathan nodding for her to grab the mugs off the tray to set them on the nightstand, so the coffee wouldnât slosh around everywhere as he climbed in on his side. They fit, like his arms were made to hold her exact shape, and he wrapped them around her, holding her as she scooted closer, the tray with their food left on his nightstand.
His nightstand. His side of the bed. All of it here, with her. Nathan kissed her back slow, following her lead, a contented hum in his throat at the feel of her hands on his face. He gave in to the sensation of her fingers at the back of his head, her thumbs on his cheeks, like her touch alone would chase away the throbbing in his temple. She pulled back, leaving a little smile on his lips, Nathan laughing lightly at her joke. âThese are the best ones. They will be perfect.â Nathan had left the doughy ones behind and plated the rest. The misshapen ones, the unevenly cooked ones, they were all going to be the best pancakes heâd ever had.
His arms were loose around her, a slight knit creasing his brow at the sudden change in her expression. âAnd I love you,â he said, just as certain and sincere, managing to get the words out before she spoke of last night, apologizing, blaming herself. Nathan wanted to interrupt her right there, to stop her from thinking that all of it was her fault. She always did that, made herself carry the responsibility of everything on her shoulders, and for what? What was the point of a relationship if they couldnât carry it together? Her hands fell from his face, stunning him into silence long enough for her to keep going, explaining her side of it. He reached for them, pulling his arms from around her waist to take her hands loosely in his own.
âI want you to listen to me,â he said, eyes on their joined hands. âYou are good enough.â His voice was quiet and serious, inviting no argument, like he was stating a fact. âThe people youâve been with hurt you and made you believe something that isnât true. So I want you to hear me when I say this to you: you are good enough.â Nathan gave her hand a light squeeze, kept his gaze downcast. âAnd Iâm sorry I havenât done enough to make you feel it, but you are, Emily. Youâre everything I want.â She was much more than that, but he couldnât push the words past his throat to say it. To tell her she had made him believe he was someone worth loving, that she reached into his heart and torn out the barriers heâd unknowingly put up there. His mouth stayed closed around the words, Nathan breathing in deep before changing track.
âAnd Iâm sorry too.â Because he had reacted poorly as well. This wasnât all her fault. âIâm sorry I walked away. I shouldâve stayed. We shouldâve talked it out, so Iâm sorry I left you there, I just⌠felt likeâŚâ He didnât dare look up, eyes tracking his thumb as he moved it back and forth on her skin, the crease in his brow becoming more pronounced. It had felt like an ending, her believing that lie so readily. Nathan hadnât wanted to confront it. Heâd been a coward and walked away. His voice was quieter when he spoke, finally sorting his thoughts into something easier to explain. âYou didnât even ask me if it was true.â That was the catalyst of it all, of what had felt like the end. âBecause I wouldâve understood, if you asked. If you needed to hear me say it wasnât true. Of course I would.â He had known about her exes cheating, knew the insecurities she carried because of them. Of course he wouldâve understood her needing reassurance.
âBut you didnât ask. You just decided it was true, without talking to me. You believed it right away. It made me feel likeâŚâ And here, he paused again and swallowed the words. It wasnât because he didnât want to be open with her. It was the years and years of diminishing his feelings, bottling them up and telling himself it was all stupid and didnât matter. He struggled against that conditioning now, forcing himself to say how he felt, no matter how dumb he had been to feel the way he had, now that she was here, still with him, still loving him. âIt made me feel like I⌠like I donât show you that I love you enough, or, or that I donât do it right, like I donât love you how you want to be loved, or show you in ways that count. And I donât think Iâve ever given you reason to mistrust me, so it just felt likeâit made me scared that something has been lacking these past three months, that thereâs something Iâm not doing, or doing wrong, because I donât make you feel safe and loved like you should. But I do, Em. I love you. I love you, and Iâm sorry that IâmâŚâ Not enough. âLike this,â he said instead, still not meeting her eye, his shoulders giving a little shrug. âIâm trying. Iâll keep trying.â
