Chasing Jane (4 page)

I thank him profusely before I return to Nate. The man grins
and waves at Nate before he moves on with his sheep.

“Was he laughing at me?” Nate asks.

“No. I don’t think so. I couldn’t understand him very well,
but I think he said that my lad didn’t look very happy.”

“Your lad?”

“He might not have said that. He was hard to understand. But
he was very nice, so you don’t need to be sneering in his direction.”

It looks to me like Nate is trying to suppress his bad mood,
and his voice is less curt as he asks, “So what did he say about getting back?”

“He said we can keep going this way and we’ll run into a
road. Then we turn left, and it will lead directly into the village.”

“Okay. Good. Let’s go.”

We walk for a long time before we finally reach the road.
Nate stops and looks at it. Then he looks left and right. He sighs. “This is
the road we took into town yesterday. We went
way
out of our way.”

“Oh, who cares, as long as we get back?” I take his arm to
get him to walk.

We’ve been walking for a few minutes when a car speeds past,
giving us a honk as it goes on.

Nate scowls.

“He was just being friendly,” I say.

“He was probably honking because you’re hardly wearing a top.”

I gasp and look down at myself again. Since I’ve been
sweating some, the fabric is more transparent than before, and the lace of my
bra is clearly visible. “You’re the one who told me to take my shirt off.”

“That’s because I thought I’d be the only one to see you
like that.”

I peer up at him, trying to pinpoint what’s provoking his
tone. It’s almost like he’s being possessive, like he doesn’t want anyone else
to see my boobs.

Irrationally, I kind of like this idea.

“Well, it’s too hot to put the shirt back on,” I say at
last. I kind of want to put it back on, but it would feel like a defeat, after
Nate’s grumbling. “So you’ll have to deal with it.”

“Did I say it was a problem?”

“Actually, yes you did. You just said that—”

“Okay, fine. Whatever. Let’s just walk.”

“We are walking. You’re the one who keeps snapping my head
off. I already said I was sorry about making us go to that lake and getting us
lost.”

Nate gives a soft groan. “I never blamed you for that. I
just don’t like getting lost.”

“I know you don’t. And, believe me, I don’t like getting
lost with
you
.”

We walk the rest of the way back in silence. By the time we
reach the village, I’m about to collapse with exhaustion, and we still have
half a mile to go to the cottage. I really need to stop and rest, but I refuse
to say so. I just press on, no longer having enough energy to even speak.

When we get to the cottage at last, I limp inside, heading
immediately to my room.

I go to the bathroom and then splash water on my face. I’d
like to take a shower, but I don’t yet have the energy, so I fall onto my bed,
on top of the covers, and try to catch my breath.

I don’t know what Nate’s doing, and I don’t really care.
He’s been a jerk all afternoon.

I haven’t yet recovered enough when Nate taps on my door. It’s
not closed all the way so, when I don’t answer, he pushes it open.

“Are you okay?” he asks, after taking a quick assessment of
my condition.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m tired.”

“You should have told me you needed to rest.”

“I didn’t need to rest. I needed to get back.”

He’s frowning as he walks into the room, closer to the bed.
“You look terrible.”

I scowl at him. “Same to you.”

He looks hot and tired too, although he’s obviously not as
winded and exhausted as I am. His face is flushed and he’s been sweating and
his hair is doing some crazy flips and kinks.

He still looks adorable. I wish the same could be said of
me.

He groans and lowers himself to lie beside me on the bed. I
stare up at the ceiling while he turns his head to look at me.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last.

“For what?” If he says he’s sorry for getting us lost, I’m
just going to have to give him a shove.

“For acting like an ass.”

I turn my head to look at him now too, and our faces are
only inches apart. “Are you?”

“Am I an ass?”

I give a breathless huff of amusement. “Are you sorry?”

“I am. I know I was a jerk. I knew it while I was acting
that way. I tried to stop myself, but I guess I didn’t try hard enough.”

I smile at him, feeling better about the world in general.

He smiles back. “I’m sorry it turned out to be a crappy
day.”

“I didn’t think it was a crappy day until the last hour or
so. I had a good time with the rest of it.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” After a minute, he adds. “Me too.”

We lie in silence for a minute, and I feel the ridiculous
impulse to hold his hand. Fortunately, I manage to resist the urge.

After a while, Nate murmurs, “I want you to have a good time
on this trip.”

“I am having a good time.”

“I’ll try not to mess it up for you again.”

“You didn’t mess it up. I mean, I don’t want you to get all
mean and cranky again, but it didn’t mess up the whole trip. I don’t have to be
happy every minute for it to be a really good trip.”

Nate shoots me a quick look, and I can’t figure out what
he’s thinking. “Where did those words of wisdom come from?” he asks at last.

I don’t know how he always seems to know when I’m
paraphrasing something from Rochester, but he does. “I might have read them in
a note from a friend this morning.”

Nate groans. “Don’t tell me.”

“Well, you’re the one who asked.”

“He’s full of all kinds of crap, isn’t he?”

“It’s not crap,” I say, feeling defensive. I haven’t thought
much about Rochester today at all, but that doesn’t mean I want Nate to insult
him. “He’s really…I don’t know…wise.”

Nate groans again.

“Don’t act like that,” I tell him. “He’s really kind and
thoughtful, and he has a beautiful way of thinking.”

“A beautiful way of thinking?”

I ignore the sarcasm. “He does. He’s written the most
beautiful things to me.”

“Well, you need more than beautiful words for a relationship
to work.”

“I know that. But he really seems to get me. I don’t think
it’s all talk.”

“It seems like a lot of empty romantic babble to me.”

“That’s not what it is. It’s not empty.”

“How do you know? You don’t even know the man behind the
words.”

“I do know him. I really think I know him. You don’t
understand.”

“I guess not.” Nate has been looking at me as we talk, but
now he stares up at the ceiling. “But love is more than words, you know.”

“I know it’s more than words. But words are nice sometimes,
you know.”

“Sure they are. If they’re proven by actions. You don’t need
a guy who just talks pretty to you and conjures up romantic notions. You need a
guy who believes that you’re the most important thing in his world. You need a
guy who is always there when you need him. You need a guy who’s willing to
rearrange his entire life for you.”

I stare at Nate in breathless astonishment. I’ve never heard
anything like this from him before. He’s usually so dry and clever. Almost
never earnest like this.

And I like it. I like it a lot. It makes me feel full and
rich and confused and tangled up inside.

He darts a quick look over to me, evidently feeling a little
self-conscious at his outburst. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be sorry,” I say. “The truth is, I don’t think any
guy will ever be that way with me.” I sigh as I admit the truth to myself. “No
one but you.”

I reach over to pick up his hand and hold it the way I
wanted to earlier.

He tightens his hand around mine, and he suddenly feels full
of tension, like something is about to release inside him.

I wonder what it is, and then I’m all breathless and
excited, waiting to find out, even though there’s no reason for me to think
that something important is going to happen.

But then I remember that this is Nate.
Nate
. The boy
I used to see-saw with for hours as kids. The boy who helped me with my math
homework year after year, all the way up until College Algebra. The boy who has
always been the bedrock of my life.

Him and my mother.

I’ve lost my mother, and it was almost too much to take.
There’s no way I can lose Nate too by messing things up between us.

I’m suddenly terrified—terrified by all of the horrible
possibilities—and I scramble out of the bed. “I need to take a shower,” I say,
trying to sound casual when Nate sits up, looking astonished and concerned.
“I’m sure I stink.”

I’m in the bathroom and shutting the door when Nate replies
in a voice that sounds almost resigned, “You don’t stink.”

After we shower and rest, we take a
bus to Steventon, which isn’t far away and is the birthplace of Jane Austen. We
walk around the village, look at the various sites connected to Austen and her
family, and then have dinner in a pub.

Things are back to normal between me and Nate, and I have a
really good time. I think he does too, although I occasionally catch him
looking at me with a strangely watchful expression. I hope he doesn’t suspect
that I’ve been feeling things for him I shouldn’t be, but he’s always been
sharp and observant.

I’ll have to do better about hiding it. I’ll have to do
better about not feeling that way.

Since we’re both tired after a long day and an extended
walk, we decide to just take it easy this evening. I soak in the hot tub, but
tonight Nate doesn’t join me. He sits by the fireplace and messes around on his
tablet.

I assume he’s doing email, but I don’t actually ask him.

It’s probably good for us to have a little time apart, but I
feel strangely lonely as I sit in the hot water and think about Nate.

I should write to Rochester tonight, but I’m not sure I even
feel like it. I don’t know what happened over the last two days, but my
enthusiasm for him has definitely dampened.

I feel relaxed but a little depressed as I finally get out
and go to change into my pajamas. When I emerge from my room, Nate has
disappeared, and his closed bedroom door tells me where he is.

I sigh as I stare at his shut door and encourage myself with
the idea that things will be normal again tomorrow morning.

After I go into the kitchen to get a bottle of water, I
notice that things are scattered around the living area, so I automatically go
to pick them up and return them to their places. I pick up Nate’s empty coffee
cup and his tablet.

He must have just gone to his bedroom because his tablet has
dimmed but not gone to sleep. As I carry it with the mug to the kitchen, I
can’t help but notice the word
Jane
on the screen.

I’m not a particularly nosy person. I try to respect other
people’s privacy—particularly Nate’s. I would never read his email or personal messages
without his permission.

But my name is right there on his tablet screen so I find
myself tapping the surface to brighten it enough to read.

I freeze when I see the message I wrote to Rochester this
morning.

It’s right there, next to the name Jane and the icon of Jane
Austen’s portrait that I use on the dating site. The most obvious explanation
is that he’s somehow snuck on to my profile on the site, so he can read the
messages between me and Rochester, but I don’t believe that for a moment.

Nate would never do that.

So I scan farther down the screen and blink when I see
Rochester’s name and a textbox, in which are written a couple of paragraphs.

This is not a message that Rochester has sent me. I’ve never
seen it before, although it’s obviously his style and personality. It’s only
partly finished. In fact, the last sentence has been left hanging.

It takes me embarrassingly long before I figure out what is
going on. In my defense, it’s such a bizarre notion, so far from the way I’ve
ever understood the world, that it’s not a conclusion I would ever come to, if
the evidence hadn’t been clearly leading directly there.

I click on the profile button for Rochester, still unwilling
to believe what seems to be happening here. I read over the profile—some of which
I’ve seen before and some of which has been hidden from me until the two
months’ communication period is over.

There’s no doubt about it. Nate is Rochester.

I’m paralyzed with shock and pain and bewilderment, and I
can’t move from where I’m standing in the kitchen with the tablet in my hand.

Even when I hear Nate coming out of his bedroom, his
footsteps in the hallway, I can’t move—not even to keep him from knowing I’ve
been invading his privacy.

My invasion isn’t half as bad as his invasion of me.

“What are you doing?” he demands, sounding surprised,
slightly outraged, as anyone would be if they saw someone snooping on their
tablet without permission.

I’m finally able to look up from the screen, but I can’t
really see Nate’s face. My eyes are blurred over. “He’s…he’s you?”

As inarticulate as my question is, Nate obviously
understands it. He takes a step forward, reaching out a hand, “Jane—”

For some reason, his saying my name like that breaks through
my stupor. I drop the tablet onto the counter like it’s burning my hand. “He’s
you
,”
I hiss, backing away as Nate approaches me. “
You
did this to me? What is
it? Some sort of spiteful…trick?”

“No!” He’s trapped me against the opposite counter, and he
reaches out toward me, his face twisting with strong emotion. “That’s not what
it is. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“But you did!” My voice is shrill, out of control, and I
hate the sound it. But there’s nothing I can do to stop it. It feels like my
whole world—everything I’ve built my hope and faith and affection on—is
crumbling down around me. “You tricked me. You lied to me. You…you took
advantage of me! All this time, I thought I was…we were…I was opening up my
heart, and you were just laughing behind my back!”

It hurts so much that I can’t stand it anymore. I jerk out
of his grip and stumble out of the kitchen, trying to reach my bedroom.

Nate is right at my heels. He grabs my arm before I can
reach my room and swings me around to face him. I’ve never seen him like this
before—urgent, demanding, incredibly intense. This is not my sweet, laidback
Nate. I don’t even know who this man is.

“I was not laughing at you,” he says roughly. His
startlingly blue eyes are deep and full of emotion I’ve never seen there
before. “How can you think I would do that?”

“How can I think—” I’m almost choking as the hallway spins
dizzily around me. “You’ve had this whole underhanded scheme going! I have no
idea what you would do. I took this seriously. I was completely vulnerable. And
you—”

“I was vulnerable too,” he interrupts, moving one of his
hands from my arm to my shoulder. “Listen to me. I was vulnerable too.
Everything I wrote to you was real—”

I can’t hear any more of this because what he’s saying right
now feels true to me, feels authentic. I desperately want to believe it. But
that simply doesn’t match with what I’ve just learned about him. I jerk away again
and make a dash for my bedroom door. “It was not real! You pretended to be
someone else!”

He’s coming after me again when I slam the door in his face.
I fumble with the lock until I get it closed, just as he’s turning the handle.

“Jane!” he bellows.

“I can’t talk to you right now.” I try to sound firm, but
I’m starting to cry, so the words are garbled and broken.

“Jane,” he says again, softer now, his voice cracking.

“I can’t talk to you,” I say again, feeling irrationally
guilty, even though I’m the wounded party in this scenario. It doesn’t feel
fair to run out on an argument with Nate, but I’m about to fall apart, so I
really don’t have any other choice. “You know how much I…I love you—”

“I love you too, Jane. You know I do.”

I have to pause a minute to control the sob that’s
strangling in my throat. “You know how much I trusted you.”

“You can still trust me. I promise you can.”

“I can’t. I…
can’t
. I can’t believe you did this to
me. You had to know what you were doing. You had to know how bad it was. I just
don’t understand why…” I have to stop talking now. I’m leaning against the
door, covering my face with my hands as my whole body shakes with tears.

It sounds like Nate is slumped against the other side of the
door now. His voice is thick, resigned. “Because I wanted to say things to you
I was never able to say in any other way. Because I wanted you to see me…to
think about me…like I could be the hero of your story.”

 It’s simply too much to take in. There’s no way I can
possibly process it. I try to stop crying but can’t do it.

“Oh, God, Jane,” he rasps, “please let me in. I can’t stand
for you to cry like that.”

He wants to comfort me—the way he always has. I can hear it
in his voice. And I desperately need that comfort.

But it’s impossible now. He’s not the boy I’ve always known,
and I don’t know if he can ever be again.

“I can’t right now,” I manage to say. “We can talk in the
morning.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding sad, battered. I’ve never heard
him like that before. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

I listen at the door and hear him walking away. Then I go to
my bed and cry some more.

***

About an hour later, I’m lying on my
bed, feeling sick and paralyzed by emotions. I stopped crying a while ago, and
now I’m in that heavy, aching haze that follows it.

I should just try to go to sleep, but my mouth is parched
and I left my water bottle in the kitchen.

When I finally summon the energy to get up, I go the
bathroom and then wash my face. I look horrible, pale and pitiful with messy
hair. There’s nothing to do about that now, however. I go to my bedroom door,
unlock it, and peek out at the hall. It’s quiet, so I lean out enough to see that
Nate’s bedroom door is closed.

The cottage is absolutely silent, so I decide it’s safe to
go out.

I pad quietly into the kitchen and grab my water.

As I return to my room, I stand for a minute and stare at
Nate’s door.

I still can’t believe he’s Rochester. I still can’t believe
he had it in him all this time to talk about life and the world and feelings as
deeply and genuinely as he did in our messages. I still can’t believe he said
he wanted to be my…hero.

When we were Juniors in high school, my date dumped me right
before the prom. Nate hadn’t been planning to go. He’d been all excited about a
golf weekend with his father down in South Carolina. But, on seeing me so
crushed, he told his dad he had to stay in town, and he took me to the prom
himself.

We had such a good time that evening. I wasn’t even that sad
about being dumped by the first and only high school football player who ever
asked me out.

Nate has always been my hero.

I turn off the lights and crawl into bed, and I cry a little
more in the dark.

I have no idea how much time passes before the bedroom door
opens. The lights are out, but I can see Nate silhouetted against the light
from the hallway

“Sorry,” he murmurs when I stir. “I was just checking on
you. Were you asleep?”

“Are you all right?” I have no idea why I ask that—just that
he sounds as broken as I feel.

“Yeah. I couldn’t wait until morning. Can I come in?”

“Yes.”

He walks into the room, and I can see in the faint light
from outside of the room that he’s wearing pajama pants and nothing else. He
stands beside the bed. “How are you?”

It’s the most ridiculous question I’ve ever heard. I stretch
out my arms toward him, suddenly realizing that he’s still my best friend in
the world and that’s never, ever going to change. “Nate.”

With an odd throaty noise, he lowers himself into bed, gets
under the covers, and gathers me into his arms. I cling to him, try to burrow
into his warm body.

“God, baby, have you been crying all this time?”

“No. Just sometimes.” The skin of his bare chest sticks to
my cheek. He smells like Nate, like strength.

“I’m so sorry, Jane. I didn’t set out to hurt you, but I
know I did. And I’m so sorry about it.” His arms tighten, and I can feel his
breath against my hair. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“Yes.” My heart is racing and my breathing is growing shallow,
and I really don’t know why. Just that something big is about to happen.

“I love you more than anything, Jane,” he murmurs thickly, stroking
my hair and my back.

“I love you too.” I have to say it because it’s true, and no
matter what else has happened, I can’t leave his declaration hanging in the air
unanswered.

“I love you in every way a man can love a woman.”

“You do?” I shift against him, trying to get even closer to
him. The room is very dark and utterly silent. I’m starting to put pieces
together, so many little signs and clues that are suddenly all making sense.

“I do. And I want you to love me like that too.”

I don’t know what to say in response to that. The world is
spinning around me again, but not as dizzyingly as before. It’s still terrifying,
but now it’s more than that.

Now it’s thrilling too.

In the dark of the room, it feels like Nate and I are alone
in the world—where doing certain things might finally be safe.

My lips are right next to the skin of his chest, so I kiss
him there. No particular reason or conscious thought. I just want to feel him
as much as I can.

He makes a soft, husky noise, and I like the sound of it. So
I press my lips against his skin again. He feels so good. So warm and hard and
strong. I need him.

I need him so much.

Nate has lowered his face some, and I can feel his breath
against the side of my throat. He’s breathing just as quickly as I am, and I
can feel his heart racing just like mine.

I tighten my arms around him. I can’t seem to get close
enough. I tilt my face up toward his, and his lips find mine in the dark. The
kiss is soft, tender, but hungry. So hungry. We’ve never kissed this way
before, and it feels good.

So right.

“Jane,” Nate murmurs against my mouth. He pulls away from me
slightly, his body tenser than ever.

I make a choked sound and draw him back against me. “Please
don’t leave me, Nate.”

“I’m not going to leave you.” His voice is too low, too
thick. “But…”

As I shift against him, I feel something unexpected against
my middle.