Nate came back on Friday because Lena asked him to.
She hadn't asked the night Daniel left. She had washed one plate, gone to bed early and slept badly, then waited until morning to send the message.
Can you meet me tomorrow? I want to tell you what happened. Not on the phone.
He had a gap between jobs and offered to drive down. She told him he didn't have to make four hours into a favour she owed him. He replied that he wanted to see Bea as well.
She was grateful for the ordinary reason.
They met at the little bakery, where neither had a table belonging to their history. Nate stood when she came in. She put her bag down and told him he could sit.
He smiled. “I remember you hate that.”
“I hate looking as if I've arrived to present an award.”
“Fair.”
She ordered coffee and a bun. He watched her pay, then went to get his own. She liked that he didn't try to take the morning out of her hands immediately.
They sat by the window. She told him about the hotel, the invitation's purpose, Daniel admitting he had wanted her to leave.
Nate's expression changed slowly. First anger, then something she couldn't identify.
“He wanted me to—”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “I thought he wanted me gone.”
“He did. Later.”
Nate looked out at the road. She let him think. She was tired of making the facts sound sensible for everybody else.
“I'm sorry,” he said finally.
She nodded.
“Not for coming. For what that did to you.”
“Yes.”
He touched the edge of his coffee cup. “Does he know I didn't know?”
“He knows. I told him you came because Bea said I wanted you to.”
Nate sat back. “God.”
There was relief in him too. She saw it before he did. The obstacle between them had changed shape, and part of him had already begun looking beyond it.
She almost welcomed it. A morning with a man who wanted her could be a place to rest. She was so tired of knowing how much wanting had cost.
He asked about the flat. She said she'd keep it. He told her about his own place, the neighbour's new taste in very loud jazz, the plant he had managed to keep alive by being away too often to drown it.
She laughed. They ate the last of the buns. For fifteen minutes she felt something near relief herself.
Then he said, “You could come up next week.”
Lena looked at him.
“Not a work visit. A few days. I'll be there Monday to Thursday.”
“Next week?”
“We can get out of town. You don't have to sit here with everyone knowing.”
He meant it kindly. She heard the picture he'd made: Lena away from the old embarrassment, Nate giving her a better room to wake in. She wanted the picture so much it frightened her.
“The café has a party Saturday,” she said. “I've got extra closes. And the next Saturday was meant to be the wedding.”
“Then after.”
“Nate.”
He stopped.
“I asked you to come so I could tell you. Not because I had a new plan.”
His face coloured.
“I wasn't assuming—”
“You were a bit.”
He looked down at his plate. “Yes.”
She wanted to soften it immediately. Instead she let him have the embarrassment without rushing to make a promise.
“I want to see you,” she said. “I also want to get through the day I'd planned. I can't keep choosing the next man before I've left the last one properly.”
Nate watched her. “What does properly mean?”
“I don't know yet. It doesn't mean Daniel might come back.”
“Okay.”
“And I can't have you waiting for every bad night to become your opportunity.”
“That sounds horrible.”
“Yes.”
“I don't want that either.”
She believed him. She could believe a man and still need time before living inside what he offered.
They went outside. Nate's car was around the corner. She walked with him because she wanted a few more minutes, then told him that plainly before he could misunderstand the walk.
He laughed, a little painfully. “You can have the corner. I'm not pricing it.”
“I didn't mean to make it sound like that.”
“I know.”
At the car he told her he had a job the next morning and needed to leave after seeing Bea. He did not offer to abandon it. She was grateful and disappointed in a way that felt honest for once.
“Call me when you want to,” he said.
“I will.”
“If I don't answer, I might be working. Not in a drawer with my phone.”
She looked at him. The old truth hurt, but he had said it without asking to be absolved of it.
“Good,” she said.
He opened the car door, then waited until she had turned to go before getting in.
That afternoon Lena worked beside Jo. She hadn't made a fresh promise of love. She had told somebody what she could actually give today.
It didn't feel heroic. It felt like having something left to do tomorrow.