“My whole life, with the exception of college. What about you?” he asked.

He removed his tie and I licked my lips in memory of how he’d used it earlier. He also rid himself of his suit jacket and unbuttoned his dress shirt.

“Indiana native, born and bred,” I admitted. “I moved to Indy just before college and stayed. No reason to return anyway. Not much demand for lawyers in the middle of nowhere.”

He sounded surprised by my admission. “You didn’t go out of state for law school?”

I moved past him and walked to the kitchen.

I sighed and shook my head. “No. Too much to pay out of state tuition. I’ll be paying off my school debts for another few years as it is. Even with my grants.”

He smirked before admitting his parents had paid for college, including his stint at Harvard Law. I stared at him as he spoke of the East Coast school and his time there. He was smiling as he recounted his first year at the elite establishment.

I had always known he was more than just a transactional attorney. You didn’t go to Harvard Law for such a technical position. Another piece.

I admired his smile before commenting, “You know, that mask of yours is slipping a lot lately.”

He shrugged his shoulders, his smile faltering. “There’s no point in the pretense around you.”

My heart fluttered in my chest. “But I still don’t know your secrets,” I pointed out as I opened the fridge door, and dipped down to find some vegetables for a salad.

“No, but you know there are secrets. That’s much more than anyone else. It’s nice not to have to always pretend everything’s perfect.”

I, better than anyone, knew what he meant. Even his voice had lost its pretense and was low with little inflection.

“So, why pretend then?”

“It makes things easier.” He rubbed the back of his neck. It seemed a nervous gesture to me; he didn’t like the subject matter. “It didn’t take long to learn that after… People don’t really want to know that your knee and wrist ache every day, your body hurts in ways you can’t describe, that you’re plagued by migraines and nightmares, or your depression and anxiety continue years later.”

I stood staring at him after his impromptu confession. He hadn’t given much detail, but at least I knew why. It was easier than the truth by far. It kept looks of pity at bay. It kept the memories away.

“What about you?” he asked.

I pulled away from the open door, bringing with me a variety of vegetables and a can of pasta sauce. Pasta was quick, which was good due to how late it was, according to the wall clock.

“What about me?”

He quirked an eyebrow at me. “You really want to play that game? Do you want me to say it?”

“No.”

“Why then?”

“The same. It’s easier to say I’m fine then go into detail about how I put out a confident front, but inside I’m holding the darkness at bay and one word can send it crashing down.”

“You confound me,” he said.

My brow scrunched as I stared back at him in confusion.

“You have such a poor view of yourself.” He frowned, deep in thought, and his voice was full of concern. “How did you get this way?”

“Doesn’t matter. Damage done, and I’m working to get past it.” I swallowed hard, turning away from him as I located a cutting board and knife.

He settled his hip into the side of the counter, keeping out of my way as I worked. His position meant he could continue to talk to me and also watch my every move. “Hiding it doesn’t help you get past it.”

“No, it doesn’t, you know that all too well. The thing is: I’ve at least gotten a little better over the years. Have you?” I asked as I filled a pot with water and set it on the burner, turning it on high to get it boiling.

“Your eyes say differently,” he said, diverting away from my question yet again.

“I said I’ve gotten better, not that I was healed. Downers don’t help, that’s why I don’t go out drinking with people…you’ve seen what happens.”

“Yes, but that also shows you aren’t better.”

“You make me better,” I whispered in a small voice.

He blinked at me, his face stoic.

“You make me feel like I’m all of the things they said I wasn’t. Beautiful, smart, sexy…worth something.”

“Who are ‘they’?” Nathan asked after a moment of silence. “What did ‘they’ do to you?”

“You want to know? You’re certain you want me to tell you how every day I was told how insignificant I was?” I set down the knife and turned toward him, my arms crossing over my chest. “You’re not forthcoming with information, and I get that, I do. I hope one day you’ll be able to tell me. As for me… Well, when you’re young, and the people in your life tell you these things every day, you begin to believe them. They become ingrained into who you are, and I’ve worked damn hard to push them away. Years of therapy. I’ve seen a psychiatrist from the time I was seventeen. Twelve years later I have more confidence, but everything still haunts me.”

“I’ve done that to you, haven’t I? I’ve said something to trigger you?” His tone was knowing.

“You didn’t know,” I said with a shrug, looking away. “Alcohol is a double edged sword for me. It helps me sleep, but my depression spikes.”

“Yet you drink every Friday, letting everything come back,” he noted.

“Stalking me now?” I teased.

“No, just observant.”

“Well, Mr. Observant, can you hand me the bread sitting next to you?”

I placed the vegetables on a cutting board and rinsed my hands. My skin prickled with the familiar humming that passed between us, letting me know he was in very close proximity. I took the bread from him, letting out a breath. The back of his fingers caressed my cheeks as his gaze captured mine.

“You are so much more than pretty. That was what I wanted to say to you that night. Instead I was inadvertently mean to push you away.” He pressed his body against me, pushing me into the counter. His forehead fell forward, resting against my own. “How do you do this to me?”

With a small tentative move, I tilted my head, testing him, giving him an out before my lips found his. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, but then his hands were in my hair, his tongue slipping in to find mine, his teeth biting my bottom lip when he gave in.