Chapter 3: Almost Intimate

One night, holding an invitation, I knocked on Nathaniel’s office door. My hands were clammy, and I hesitated a moment before tapping lightly, feeling a flutter of nerves.

My heart pounded as I waited, the soft glow of the hallway lamp throwing long shadows on the floor. I could hear the low hum of his radio through the door, the distant strains of jazz mingling with the clatter of typewriter keys. I took a deep breath, bracing myself.

“Come in.”

His voice was muffled but warm, carrying that calm certainty that always seemed to settle my nerves. I felt a little steadier just hearing him say it.

I slipped inside, careful and quiet. Nathaniel was sprawled on the recliner, reading. His hair was still damp from a shower, loose around his face. His T-shirt hung loose, revealing a glimpse of fair skin flushed pink. My face flushed, and I hurriedly looked away, wishing I didn’t notice.

The room smelled faintly of soap and fresh linen. I fidgeted with the invitation in my hands, suddenly aware of the soft hush that filled the space between us. My heart skipped a beat.

“What’s up?”

He didn’t look up from his book, but I could hear the curiosity in his voice. It was always like that—he’d listen, even when he seemed totally absorbed in something else. Sometimes I wondered if he could read my mind.

I almost forgot why I was there. I swallowed, then handed him the invitation.

My fingers brushed his as I passed it over, and for a split second, I wondered what it would be like if things were different between us. My stomach fluttered.

“Mrs. Whitmore invited me to a polo match this weekend.”

I tried to sound casual, but my voice wavered. The Whitmores were the kind of people who threw parties just to show off their stables. I’d never felt quite at home among their crowd, always a little out of place.

Nathaniel didn’t answer right away. I watched him, trying to guess what he was thinking.

He studied the invitation, his brow furrowing in thought. I watched the way his lips pressed together, waiting for his verdict as if it were a court ruling. I held my breath, not daring to interrupt.

He looked up, met my eyes, then looked away. “You want to go?” he asked. I hesitated, trying to read his face.

His tone was even, but I could sense the hesitation beneath it. It was as if he was weighing the risks, trying to protect me from something I couldn’t quite see. I wondered what he was afraid of.

Before he made partner, I still had things to do at home—laundry, cooking. Now that he’d moved up, we had a housekeeper and a cleaning lady. Other than making sure his aunt took her medicine, I had nothing to do. Sometimes the quiet was overwhelming.

I’d grown restless, pacing the hallways with nothing but my own thoughts for company. Sometimes I’d stand at the window, watching the world go by, wondering if I’d ever feel useful again. Was this all there was?

So when I saw the invitation, I was genuinely tempted. But I didn’t dare nod. My father’s troubles had made me wary. I was afraid these social events might somehow get Nathaniel mixed up in political drama. What if I made a mistake and it cost him?

It felt like every gathering was a chess game, and I was always scared of making the wrong move. The pressure was exhausting.

“If you want to go, go,” Nathaniel said, picking up a towel. “If not, just say you’re busy.”

He handed me the towel with a small, reassuring smile. I could tell he meant it—he never tried to control me, never made me feel small for wanting something of my own. For a second, I felt seen.

I couldn’t help but feel happy, taking the towel from him like I’d accomplished something. I smiled, feeling a little lighter. “It’s getting cold. Let me dry your hair, Nathan.”

I moved closer, gently tousling his hair with the towel. He closed his eyes, letting me fuss over him, and for a moment, it felt almost intimate—like we were just any other couple, sharing a quiet evening at home. My heart ached with longing.

Once his hair was dry, Nathaniel said nothing more, just calmly went back to his book. I stood there holding the towel, not sure what to say. The moment slipped away.

The silence stretched between us, comfortable and awkward all at once. I lingered for a moment longer, hoping he’d say something, but he just turned another page, lost in his own world. I sighed quietly.

Night deepened, the lamplight flickered. A breeze from outside carried in the scent of maple, and my mind wandered. Nathaniel was still engrossed in his book, showing no sign of being tired. I leaned on the armchair, stifling yawns until my eyes teared up. The soft light played over his handsome face. I wondered if he ever noticed me watching him.

Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle sounded, low and mournful. I watched the shadows dance across the walls, feeling the weight of the moment settle around us like an old quilt. I wished I could freeze time, just for a second.

The next morning, my maid woke me, saying I needed to get ready for the polo event at the Whitmore estate. Still half-asleep, I opened my eyes to find I wasn’t in my usual bed. My maid was smiling, with a look I couldn’t quite read. Looking around, I realized I’d slept in Nathaniel’s office. On the chaise to the side, a thin quilt was neatly folded—Nathaniel must have made do with it for the night. I felt a strange mix of guilt and gratitude.

I felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he’d spent the night shivering while I dozed in the warmth of his chair. I hugged my knees to my chest, wishing I could turn back time.

“Great, just great,” I sighed, rubbing my eyes. The embarrassment crept in, slow and steady.

I tried to muster a smile, but my embarrassment got the better of me. My cheeks flushed as I sat up and smoothed my hair, wishing I could disappear.

The maid looked puzzled. “What was that, ma’am?” Her voice was gentle, but I could hear the curiosity in it.

She tilted her head, her eyes full of curiosity. I just waved her off, too flustered to explain. Sometimes I wished I could just vanish.