Just His Type (Part Three) Read online

  "It's so nice to hear you laugh." His hand swept across my shoulder. "You don't seem to do it as often as when we first met. You have the most beautiful laugh I've ever heard, it's like music."

  I kept my focus on the large stained glass window at the front of the church. It was paned in simple, rainbow-colored geometrics, but lovely nonetheless. I was afraid to look at Nate and slip back into that danger zone we tortured each other in.

  "This is a beautiful church."

  Nate tensed beside me. The sudden change in topic must have caught him off guard. "I love it," he agreed after a moment. "I've always felt at home here."

  We sat silence for a long time, our gazes locked straight ahead on the stained glass window. I was aware of Nate's arm behind me, his fingers resting against my shoulder casually enough to escape being an embrace. I struggled with the urge to lean into him and nestle against his torso. I knew I would fit there perfectly.

  "Why don't you stay and have lunch here?" Nate suggested finally. "Then we can go up to Rhi and Joe's together later this afternoon."

  "That would be wonderful. Except that Rhi and Joe aren't at the home this weekend -- they're staying at Rhi's old place in town -- it's closer to the hospital."

  Nate nodded. "Sorry it slipped my mind. I do remember Joe saying something about that last weekend. Glad he's thinking ahead. Will you stay for lunch anyway?"

  My plans for the remainder of the afternoon included nothing more exciting than sitting down at home with the newest articles published by the province's Law Society. Hardly thrilling.

  "I would love to stay for lunch," I replied before I over-thought the scenario and started worrying. Nate grinned.

  "Perfect. Let me just get rid of these," he said as he gestured at his vestments. "I'll be right back."

  He retreated to the vestry, only to reappear in his typical uniform of black dress pants and a button-down shirt. Today's was a mild cornflower blue. He shrugged into his jacket as he smiled down at me. "Ready?"

  I nodded and took Nate's hand. He pulled me to my feet and kept my hand in his.

  "St Andrew's was built in 1884," he began as we got to the yellow doors. Nate flicked off the lights and we stepped into a world of grey skies and gently falling snow. I tilted my head upwards to watch the clouds as Nate locked up.

  It must have begun snowing shortly after I'd arrived. A generous layer blanketed my car and even the parishioners' footprints had begun to fill up.

  Nate continued his tour. "This is the original building, with the exception of the steeple, which was damaged during a hurricane in the 1950s and consequently rebuilt to be a full eight feet taller." He paused while I watched the heavens. Big, fluffy snowflakes settled on my eyelashes and against my skin with tiny little bursts of cold.

  "Beautiful," he whispered beside me.

  I lowered my chin to meet his gaze. "I love snow when it's like this. It's like a Christmas card." I held out my hand while fluffy flakes drifted onto my brown wool coat. Within the cluster I noticed a few individual flakes with their minute, symmetrical crystallizations. "It is beautiful."

  I looked up in time to see an unidentifiable light flicker in Nate's brown eyes. He squeezed my fingers tighter. "I wasn't talking about the snow."

  I might have blushed. No, scratch that - I did blush.

  What could be more romantic than Nate kissing me right here, right now with the snow falling over us? It was such a magical moment though and I didn't want to ruin it with the inevitable regret on both our parts.

  "You were giving me the tour?" I prompted with a smile.

  Nate blinked and brought himself back to reality. Unlike the other day at Rhi's though there was no hurt in his eyes, just a little glint of shared chagrin. He swung his hand, with mine clasped in it.

  "The manse and the lighthouse are of the same vintage as the church," he explained. We followed the path towards the house nestled between the two tall buildings. Snow swallowed up our footprints as we went.

  "Once upon a time the lighthouse keeper would have lived with the Reverend as his family, if he had one, but now everything is all automated, so it's just me and Esther out here."

  My head whirled to meet Nate's gaze as we reached the front door of the manse, painted the same sunshine yellow as those at the church.

  "Esther?"

  Nate grinned and then leaned past me. He threw open the door and gestured me inside. I took a hesitant step over the threshold.

  He whistled once, I paused, unsure. Then came the click of toenails against hardwood in a slow, loping gait. Around the corner of a door frame at the end of the hall peaked a blonde head. The golden retriever's soulful brown eyes looked on warily for a moment, but encouraged by Nate's presence at my shoulder, took the last few steps to nestle her muzzle against my outstretched hand.

  "I take it this is Esther?" I asked as I crouched down slowly to make friends. She allowed me to stroke her soft head and ears before she looked up at Nate with an intelligent nod. I guess I passed muster.

  "Ess, this is Adele. She's staying for lunch."

  At the word 'lunch', the retriever's ears perked up. Nate chuckled as we watched Esther amble away, presumably to her food dish. She moved slowly, as if she had difficultly with it.

  "How old is she?" I asked as Nate helped me out of my coat. His eyes flickered briefly over my close-fitting cashmere sweater before they met mine. The appraisal was so obvious I should have been offended. Instead, I felt warm all over.

  "I actually have no idea, older than twelve I should think. I've been here five years and she came with the house. The last Reverend who lived here moved to Edmonton with his family and they didn't think she'd make the trip. She was before their time and they were here for seven years. I agreed to keep her. She's good company and I've always wanted a dog." Nate's expression softened and it was easy to tell he was attached to his roommate. "I think she's as old as the bible, our Esther."

  As if on cue, Esther poked her head out of the last doorway on the left and subjected us to a look of long-suffering impatience.

  Nate and I laughed.

  "Well, it is lunchtime," I pointed out.

  Nate's stomach growled in agreement.

  "Didn't you eat breakfast?" I teased as I pulled off my boots.

  "Never do before Service." Nate shucked off his own coat and boots and guided me down the hall to where Esther stood in the kitchen doorway. "I preach better on an empty stomach."

  The manse kitchen was a large room at the back of the house, with a long bank of windows overlooking the sea. With the snow buffeting the glass the view had become blurred, but I imagined how breathtaking it would be in the summer months. A massive wooden table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by a mismatched jumble of chairs. Typical appliances and cupboards circled the perimeter. In one corner stood an old wood-stove, beside which lay a worn-looking dog bed. Esther issued us another longing look, turned around twice then settled with a 'huff' into her spot by the stove.

  Obviously this room was the heart of the house and in the tradition of most east-coast homes, probably always had been. It must have seen its fair share of love and laughter, heartache and grief. It was cozy and I felt instantly at home.

  Nate busied himself at the fridge, shooing away my offer for help. I sat at one end of the table and watched him work as he bustled about preparing lunch. He whistled under his breath and whenever I caught his eye, he smiled until his eyes crinkled at the corners. All of this felt so amazingly and happily domestic, I rested my chin in my hands and dreamed.

  It could be like this if I let it. He'd welcome me here any time that I wanted. The question was — could I allow myself to want it?

  A thunk of plates onto the wooden table roused me out of my daydream in time to watch Nate slide into the chair closest to mine. Our knees bumped beneath the table. The plate he pushed in front of me contained the largest sandwich ever made. My eyes widened.

  "What lovely little dreams are you weaving in tha
t beautiful head of yours?" Nate asked as he hefted his own giant sandwich in two hands and took a healthy bite.

  "It was nothing." I smiled. "And anyway, how do you know they were lovely dreams?"

  Nate cocked his head to one side and studied me. He swallowed, put his sandwich down, and traced a finger over the curve of my cheek to the corner of my lips. His touch burned against my skin. My breath halted.

  "Because you smile like that when you think them," he offered. "You know, it's quite cruel to not share with the rest of us. What makes you that happy Adele?"

  "You," I whispered without thinking to censor myself. "It's you."

  Chapter Three

  The muscles worked furiously in Nate's throat as he swallowed again, this time dryly. There was a strange sense of expectancy in the air as I waited for him to respond. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I couldn't believe I said it aloud.

  An internal struggle danced across Nate's face. I could see him fight with himself for a moment and I hated myself a bit for subjecting him to that, feeling very acutely that his life would be so much simpler if we never met each other.

  Then Nate smiled at me, just a small, slow smile that revealed nothing of what was going on behind his lovely brown eyes. "Eat your lunch, sweetheart," he prompted.

  I could feel my chin wobble a little, as if I was going to cry. How could he not acknowledge what I'd just said? I fought the urge to take a deep, shuddering breath and instead looked down at my sandwich, my appetite gone. Tears swam at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to give them leave to fall.

  Beneath the table our knees still touched. Nate reached down and squeezed mine with a tender, encouraging sort of pressure. "Eat Adele and then we'll talk. Can't face these sorts of things on an empty stomach, now can we?"

  "You can preach on an empty stomach," I said a little petulantly. Instantly I regretted my tone, knowing how hurt and childish it made me sound.

  Nate chuckled. "Yeah, that may be, but I wasn't planning on preaching to you."

  There was a husky catch in the back of Nate's throat and I raised my head in time to see his eyes darken. His gaze flickered down to my lips and then back up to meet mine. Gone was the mild-mannered Reverend. In his place was a man whose breath came just as raggedly as my own, whose pulse in the wrist resting against my knee was just as fast.

  We were slipping and we knew it. But not on empty stomachs. I smiled at him.

  The sandwich was good, even if I only managed to eat half of it before I had to admit defeat. Nate finished the remainder of mine. There was tea to wash it down with, and a few homemade cookies for dessert, no doubt made by the ample, intrusive Mrs. Macintyre. I smiled at the thought that she'd hate Nate sharing them with me. Outside, the snow whipped against the windows, falling faster and thicker as the minutes slipped by. Esther watched our silent meal with wise, golden eyes but said nothing.

  Wordlessly Nate rose, collected our empty dishes, and rinsed them off in the sink. He bent briefly to ruffle Esther's golden ears before he turned back to me and held out his hand. I took it without speaking and let him pull me to my feet. He lead me silently from the kitchen to the adjoining room, one crowded by a long, low couch, a matching armchair, an upright piano by the window, and a big fireplace centered on the wall. He stopped on the carpet in front of the hearth, released my hand, and crouched to lay fire to the already waiting kindling. It caught instantly and chased the damp chill away.

  When he stood again Nate turned to face me and captured both my hands in his. I could tell there were words perched on the edge of his lips, but instead he let his eyes roam over my face. I stood stock-still and let him look. My heart beat so fast I was sure it would simply just stop if he so much as said one word. I, in turn, didn't trust my voice not to betray my fear and excitement. Both were palpable.

  We stood so close to each other I could feel his chest brush mine as it rose and fell with the rapid rhythm of his lungs. Nate was just tall enough that I had to tilt my chin slightly to meet his eyes, and it made me dizzy to look up at him for so long without speaking, without moving. Or maybe it was just him that made me dizzy. I couldn't be certain when everything was such a muddle in my brain.

  Nate's mouth hovered over mine, so temptingly close, and yet for unending minutes neither of us moved. The moment drew out so long, stretching so delicately that it seemed as if anything could make it snap. I didn't want to lose it though. We'd lost it twice already -- a week before at Rhi's and again earlier that afternoon in the church. This time though there was no one to interrupt us. We were alone with only the wind-blown snow singing outside and the crackle of the fire in the hearth at our feet.

  My throat ached with wanting him to kiss me.

  I would have thought that with all the time it took us to get to that point, that my first kiss with Nate would be frenzied -- a desperate battle and a passionate surrender. Instead it was a gentle brush of his mouth against my own, just a few seconds of clinging contact, soft and sweet like a benediction. Still, I felt it down to my toes.

  Confused, I opened my eyes to meet Nate's. From the innocence in his kiss I expected to see the polite, Reverend's smile reflected back at me, instead his eyes were dark with something unnamed. He held his body taut, sternly controlled. I could feel his muscles tighten, holding on to something he wouldn't unleash.

  I knew his struggle. It was the same as the one inside of me, the one that longed to curl my arms around his strong neck and melt against him, the one that wanted to beg him to kiss me again, so long and hard that I'd forget how to stand. I would have given him everything in that moment, if only he asked.

  We were playing with fire hotter than the one that burned at our feet.

  I bent my head and studied our clasped hands, mine so pale and slender within his strong, finely sculpted fingers. My thumbs stroked over his knuckles, a soft promise of understanding. I raised one of his hands to my mouth and kissed the back of it. Nate in response tipped my own hand upside-down and pressed a kiss in my palm.

  He was smiling as our eyes met.

  "Would you like to see the rest of the house?"

  His voice was husky, full of all the same aching hunger I felt in my belly. I nodded.

  He tilted his head to one side in that increasingly endearing way he had. "Well, this is the living room," he chuckled. The outward gust of his breath brushed my tingling lips like a teasing caress. Nate took a step back from me, and with one hand still enfolding mine, led me back out across the hall, and through the doorway opposite.

  "This is my study." The room was dark, the curtains drawn. There was another fireplace here, this one unlit. The walls were lined in bookshelves, each crammed to the bursting point. In the centre of the room there was a monstrously large desk covered in a layer of papers and file folders. There was no computer, but there was an old typewriter on a small table in the corner. The big banker's chair behind the desk looked well loved and well used. There were a few other chairs scattered about the room, each replete with floral cushions and crocheted doilies. I traced a finger over the one at my elbow.

  "Mrs. Macintyre?" I giggled.

  Nate eyed the handcrafted bit of lace with something akin to weary acceptance. He sighed heavily. "Yes."

  It looked like a Presbyterian Minister's study should, although perhaps a little messier. My own office, by comparison, was painfully neat. I had to admit to myself that I rather liked the chaos. It looked like a comfortable place to spend time.

  "The dining room is through there," Nate nodded towards a door at the back of the room. "I never use it though. I suppose its hosted innumerable elders and local officials, but during my tenure it's been woefully neglected."

  "You should have everyone over for dinner," I suggested. I could easily see Nate residing at the head of his table, his blond head thrown back with laughter, surrounded by his friends in a room filled with love.

  "It's no fun planning a dinner party without help."

  I knew what he was i
nsinuating, but instead of answering him, I just squeezed his hand. Nate took up the hint and we went back out into the hall. To our right a staircase rose a little steeply to the second floor.

  Nate went up first and I followed. At the top of the stairs there was a small landing where four doors branched off.

  "Bathroom," Nate nodded towards the first door to the right. "Spare room is through there," I poked my head into the doorway to catch a glimpse of chintz papered walls and an old iron bedstead stacked with more cushions.

  "My bedroom's the small one at the end," Nate said vaguely. He cleared his throat with a gruff cough and for a moment I wondered a little wickedly if he wasn't going to suggest we check it out. I almost giggled like a fool.