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\u201cHannah!\u201d my mother shouted from the kitchen, not bothering to look up from the flower arrangements she was criticizing. \u201cGet the door! You\u2019re not doing anything useful anyway!\u201d<\/p>\n
I walked down the stairs slowly, deliberately. My hand touched the cold metal of the doorknob. I didn\u2019t rush. I turned it, pulled the heavy oak door open, and let the afternoon light flood the entryway.<\/p>\n
There he stood.<\/p>\n
Nathaniel was six-foot-two of controlled power. He was wearing a tailored charcoal suit that fit him like a second skin, the kind of suit that whispered money rather than shouted it. His jawline was sharp enough to slice egos in half, and his dark hair was perfectly styled.<\/p>\n
His brown eyes scanned me instantly. He noted the torn jeans, the faded t-shirt, the raw tension locked in my jaw. His gaze darkened, a storm cloud passing over a clear sky, before drifting past me into the house.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you okay?\u201d he asked, his voice quiet enough that only I could hear, but deep enough to vibrate in my chest.<\/p>\n
I nodded once, swallowing the lump in my throat. \u201cYou came?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
He leaned forward, ignoring the audience I knew was gathering behind me, and kissed my cheek. \u201cOf course I came.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then, he stepped inside.<\/p>\n