“What’s up?” Nate asks. His voice is kind of gravely; it’s huskier than usual. I wonder if Jessa notices the difference.

“Mom was looking for you, she wanted you to help her move some tables. I’ll just tell her you’re busy.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I was just going to head back to my room. I’m feeling a little tired.”

Nate sighs. “I’ll be right there.”

Jessa walks out, and I tug the towel tighter around me as I look over at Nate. His arms are crossed on the side of the pool, his forehead pressed against his arm, looking down. Maybe I should say something, but I don’t. I just turn and walk away.

WHILE NATE and I were having dinner, Amy moved my things into the last spare bedroom that was available in the main house. It just so happens to be right at the beginning of the hallway that leads to Nate’s room. I’d only spent a few minutes in here earlier when I changed into my swimsuit, and honestly, I don’t really want to be in here right now. I want to be back at the pool with Nate. I regret leaving the way that I did; I regretted it the second that I walked away.

I reek of chlorine, and every time I smell it I remember the way Nate looked at me when I was touching him. Those kinds of memories make it impossible for me to think straight, so I walk into the bathroom and turn on the faucet. Once the water is hot enough, I strip off my suit and step into the shower.

Under the warm, relaxing water, my mind drifts back to Nate, to what we just did. Or what I just did, I guess. I don’t know why I feel so drawn to him; it’s completely ridiculous. I’ve known him less than a week. The thing is, I love talking to him and being around him. It’s stupid for me to try to ignore that, isn’t it? But when I’m around him, I just want to kiss him. I want to talk to him for hours. I want to wake up with him, I want to share my bed with him. I remember feeling the same way with Ethan, even though those things didn’t come nearly as quickly.

Nate was right, not everyone is like Ethan. Maybe Nate wouldn’t cheat on me, but maybe he’d leave like my dad did. Or maybe things just wouldn’t work out between us for whatever reason. That would hurt just as much.

This is the reason that women like me aren’t cut out for one-night stands. I can’t separate the feelings from the sex, even with a stranger. And I tell myself that this isn’t a stranger, this is Nate. I wouldn’t be feeling this way if he hadn’t shown up at this wedding though, would I? Maybe I could’ve just gone on with my life and let the sex be sex, even though I did have difficulty leaving him the morning after. Ugh, this is maddening.

I just want to turn off my brain and have fun. Why is that so difficult for me? He flat-out told me that I could use him for his body, and I know he wasn’t kidding, so it’s not like he’s averse to the idea. What’s so wrong with me enjoying his company while he’s here? Even if I do have feelings, what can even become of them? On Sunday we’ll leave. He’ll go back to Colorado and I’ll go back to Texas. A long-distance thing wouldn’t ever work between us. And there can’t be heartbreak waiting for me on the other side of something I knew wouldn’t work out anyway, right?

I’m young, and I should be out in the world having fun. I know that when I leave here I’ll regret keeping him at arm’s length more than I’ll ever regret him being closer, especially since shutting him out means I’m missing out on a good time with a great guy, however short that good time may be. I can’t keep having this argument with myself; it’s a waste of time and energy.

When the water starts to cool, I turn off the shower, towel dry my hair, and put on my pajamas. I feel like I need to make a peace offering to Nate for running out on him earlier, and I have the perfect idea. I sit down on my bed and fire up my laptop, then pull up Photoshop, more inspired than I’ve been in years. It doesn’t take me long to work up a few draft logos based on what he told me about his start-up company last night. When I’m satisfied with the few samples that I have, I work up the courage to walk down the hall to his room.

I STAND in the middle of the hallway between Nate’s room and mine, staring at the rectangle of light that streams across the shiny wooden floor. Nate’s door is open, like he hoped that I was going to walk in. Maybe he knew that I would want to, I’m not sure. He seems to understand some things about me that I haven’t quite gotten a handle on myself, and it’s both disconcerting and wonderful at the same time. It’s nice to have someone around who instinctively knows what you need.

Quietly drumming my fingertips along the edge of my laptop, which is tucked under my arm, I take the few steps forward until I can peer inside his room. He’s sitting on the floor, his back resting against the bed. His right leg is hiked up, the other one stretched out in front of him. His his elbow is resting on his knee, and he’s holding a book. He’s intent on what he’s reading. I can’t make out the title of the book, but it’s thick and dog-eared, like he’s read it a hundred times. Some passage is making him smile, and the temptation to just stand there and watch him is overwhelming. In order to keep my creepy level as low as possible, I knock on the doorframe so that he knows I’m standing here.

Nate’s head snaps up, and he looks at me like I’m the only person in the world that he wants to see. His eyes dart down to the laptop that’s cradled under my arm, but then he smiles at me and all of a sudden I can’t remember why I was nervous to come to see him.

“Hey,” he says, closing the book and laying it on the floor beside him.

“Hey. Mind if I come in?”

“Never.” He moves to his right a little, even though there’s plenty of room on the floor for me already. He pats the spot next to him and I walk over and lay my laptop on the bed, then fold my legs under me and sit down.

I owe him an apology, and for whatever reason, it doesn’t come easy. I wring my hands together, my fingers practically white at the knuckles until Nate places his hand on top of mine. The second his skin touches my skin, all the tension in my body just melts away. Even though he knows I have something to say, he doesn’t press me for it; he just gives me all the time I need.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “I’m really sorry that I left the way that I did earlier.”

He lets out a little laugh. “It’s not like we could’ve kept going.”

“No, but I could’ve stayed. I just-”

“It’s okay.”

Finally, I turn my head and look over at him. His eyes are clear, his expression soft, and the smile on his face is genuine. I get lost in that smile for a beat longer than I should before I make myself turn away. Looking at the floor in front of me, I notice all the photographs scattered there. Next to them is a photo album, opened to a page somewhere in the middle.

“What’s this?” I ask, leaning forward and plucking a photo out of the pile. It’s a picture of Ben and Nate, and it has to be at least ten years old. They both look nearly identical, only their faces are less angular, still softened by the early adolescent pudge they hadn’t quite lost yet. The two of them are standing in the middle of what must be a forest clearing, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. They’re both wearing white tees with The Wright Stuff written across the chest. Try as I might, I can’t help but laugh. “What are these shirts?”

Nate shakes his head like he knew this was coming, but he doesn’t really look all that embarrassed and there’s something about it that’s endearing. “That was taken at some family reunion. That year was the Wright family reunion, so the theme was The Wright Stuff. Of course we had to have shirts. Mom’s also really big on the mister Wright with a ‘W’-slash-mister right with an ‘R’ comparisons, just so you can prepare yourself for that when she gives her toast at the wedding on Saturday.”