A few days into the new year, Nate finally gets the key to his new apartment and I still can't wrap my head around how quickly he's settling in. The TV and a couple of bulky gray couches are the first items to arrive. I direct the movers to where to place them, and once they're gone, I flop down on one of the sofas.

This is pure bliss! The wool fabric feels soft and warm, and these small, checkered cushions are definitely going to be my new snuggle buddies. I close my eyes and listen to the rain pattering against the windows. The shadows of raindrops flash against the hardwood floor when a lightning strikes. Everything seems so pretty from where I'm lying. But duty calls, and I have to get up and reply to my clients.

I grab my laptop, cross my legs on the couch and dive into my emails until Nate rings the bell.

When I open the door, I find Nate standing in the hallway, shivering, with water dripping all over him. He steps in while I quickly take the soggy grocery bags out of his icy hands and carry them to the kitchen.

He's crazy! Why did he buy all this stuff? Lettuce? Bread, tomatoes and mayo? He doesn't even have plates!

"I'm going to make sandwiches. Got us some beer too," he calls from the master bedroom. "Fuck... Abby?"

I leave everything on the kitchen counter and head to the bedroom. Nate is crouched between stacked cardboard boxes in the dark, squinting at their labels. Leaning against the doorframe, I hit the light switch and cross my arms.

"Thanks," he says, flipping back his wet hair with a charming grin. "Do you know where the towels are by any chance?"

I point at the box in front of the bathroom. "Want me to unbox these for you?"

His face beams. "Would you?"

How can I say no to those glowing eyes? I nod, returning his warm smile. "Are you staying here tonight?"

"Yeah," he replies, glancing at the window over his shoulder. It's like dooms day out there, with raging thunderstorms and sleet falling from the sky. "Looks like you're staying here too."

"You better make us some pretty good sandwiches, then."

"Can I put some clothes on first?" Nate shoots me another lopsided grin. When I roll my eyes, he shoves a couple of boxes aside, and starts making his way to the one I pointed at. I can't help but chuckle as I watch him, he's tiptoeing around the mess like he's walking in a mine field. He finally picks a box—the wrong one—tears it open and turns it upside down.

"Not that!" I warn, but it's too late. His underwear and socks have now joined the cardboard party. I rush over and slap his hand, ripping a snort out of Nate. Then I find him a towel and throw it around his neck. He looks cute, sitting between the boxes with his wet hair stuck on his forehead.

Nate gives me a nod of thanks, picks another box and tears into it.

"Stop!" I sigh, grasping his shoulder. And damn, his shoulders are hard! "I'll bring you something to wear. Go. Get started on those sandwiches. I'm starving."

Nate jumps up, clicks his heels together, then leaves me alone in the cardboard jungle.

Thanks to Nate's helpers, everything's clearly labeled. And fine—maybe I peeked into most of his stuff, so I know where everything is. Still, it takes me a while to dig up a pair of sweatpants and a sweater for him.

Once I have everything, I drag my feet down the hallway. Nate's cheerful song echoes between the bare walls, putting a smile on my face. I'm bringing him socks too, with his naughty smirk printed all over them. Who prints their face on socks anyway?

But then I see him in the kitchen and—

Oh. My. Lord...

Nate's standing by the kitchen island with his back turned, wearing nothing but that tiny white towel I handed him minutes ago. It's wrapped around his hips, barely holding on. His shoulder blades pull closer with every slice he cuts into the bread in front of him. And those arms? Don't even get me started on those arms... Those, strong, muscular, arms...

I clamp mouth shut, eyeing the clothes strewn across the floor... Right, I must have dropped them. I clear my throat and start picking them up. My cheeks are on fire. Is it getting hotter in here?

Nate wipes his hands on his towel and flashes me a grin over his shoulder. "Almost done. Hope you like pastrami or turkey... I can make you one with pesto and mozzarella if you don't—"

"Uh-huh." My gaze lingers on his broad shoulders and chiseled chest before meeting his eyes. "I'll be..." I gulp and point toward doorway. Then I take a few steps into the hall...but, fuck! I'm still holding the clothes... I return to the kitchen and leave them on the counter.

By the time I throw myself on the couch, I'm practically hyperventilating.

Breathe, Abby. In and out. Deep breath in, slow breath out.

Don't get me wrong, I know Nate is hot and all, but I can't afford to catch feelings and ruin what we have. Because that's what I do. I screw things up. My ear itches. I rub it with the back of my hand.

Thankfully, Nate is fully dressed when he walks into the living room. The tower of sandwiches he's carrying looks glorious. My stomach growls. I forget all about the awkward tension in the kitchen as he takes a seat on the couch across, and we down everything with our cold beers. Food was exactly what I needed. Once we're done eating, I lay on my couch, stuffed to the brim, and turn on the TV.

The apartment is far from furnished, but it feels cozy with the flickering TV lights, our mindless conversations, and laughter filling the air. The wind is howling outside, but in here, the underfloor heating is working at full force, keeping us toasty. I'm not sure when or how I fall asleep.

I stir in the darkness when a shadow falls over me. Soft lips brush my cheek. "Is it morning yet?" I mumble, half-awake.

Nate is crouched by my side, tucking some hair behind my ear. "Yeah, but it's early. I gotta stop by my old place before work."

"And the rain?" I push myself upright, glancing over my shoulder at the window—though, I don't really need to. Rain is tapping against the glass, but it's not as heavy as last night. "The coffee table and bed are supposed to arrive before noon. I hope they don't cancel the delivery."

Nate takes my hands and looks into my eyes. "Thanks for everything, Abbs."

It's the least I can do after the fiasco at the charity ball. "Don't mention it," I reply as Nate kisses my fingertips and heads for the door.

"See you later."

His footsteps fade as I sink back onto the couch, rubbing my face. It's going to be another big day today, but I'm looking forward to ending it with my best friend.

***

Most of the furniture arrives within the next week. A cleaner's been coming every other day to help me set the house and organize the kitchen. Nate and I have been staying here since that very first night, sleeping on our separate couches in the living room...even though his bed arrived a couple of days ago.

Why doesn't he sleep there?

It'd probably be too boring.

I can't blame him. We never have a dull moment when we're together. First of all, Nate is a great cook. Okay, he sticks to the basics—pasta, steak, or roasted vegetables—but he has a sense of his ingredients. He knows when to flip the steak to get that perfect crunch outside while keeping it pink and tender inside. And his veggie game? Always spot on. I look forward to hanging out with him every night, especially when one of us remembers to bring the beer.

Every morning, I leave the apartment to run errands and grab some clean clothes from my place. I don't need much—a pair of socks, because Nate has feet like the Yeti compared to mine, jeans, and some clean underwear. I usually borrow Nate's t-shirts or sweaters; he doesn't mind me wearing them. By noon, I'm back, usually with a poke bowl or salad from the café around the corner, sitting on my couch, editing ads. Later in the afternoon, I'm in the bedroom unpacking Nate's clothes—which feels like a mix of therapy and a weird addiction.

His boxers and socks go in the drawers. His shirts take up an entire wall in the walk-in closet, color-coded like those fancy brand stores. His pants and jeans are neatly folded on the shelves, and his shoes and sneakers are all polished and lined on the shoe rack opposite the closet doors.

This evening, I'm in Nate's closet with the last few boxes, sorting through his t-shirts. Some have holes—probably from a violent moth attack. Some seem too small, and others have stains. Clothes keep piling up around me as I pick everything one by one and decide what to keep, donate, or throw.

That dark blue t-shirt with a leather puzzle design? Definitely staying. I love it when blue hues reflect in his eyes.

As I fold the puzzle tee, a sweet, smoky scent sneaks into my system. Not Nate's usual oceanic cologne—something different. It takes me back to our dance at the charity ball. I look around the closet, but it's just me, the clothes, and the boxes.

I lift the t-shirt, take a sniff, and close my eyes.

God... it's the collar. But what is that smell? It's like it's seeping into my chest from my nose, pulsing through my heart and raining down my spine. I press the soft fabric to my face. Is it Nate's new perfume, or an old one?

I grab the next shirt, and sniff it too. Same smell! I quickly put it down to pick up another, then another. They all have it. I bury my face in the collar of one, and fall back into the pile of clothes behind me.

"Abbs? You okay?"

Crap! I didn't hear Nate come in.

I sit up straight and look over my shoulder. He's standing by the closet door, watching me with a concerned furrow.

I turn away, clutching the t-shirt in my lap. "Uh-huh. All good." Why does my voice sound so shaky?

I quickly fold his shirt and drop it on the floor.

The air in the closet feels thicker. Is it just me, or is it harder to breathe? I run my fingers under my bangs, wiping away the sweat.

Nate's footsteps on the carpet break the awkward silence. I glance over—there he is by the giant bed. His back is turned. When he looks over, I quickly shift my gaze back to the t-shirts. My heart is racing for no reason.

We do this every night, and this never happens. He's just my friend. Just Nate.

I hear the soft rustle of fabric as Nate takes off his shirt and leaves it on the bed. His footsteps move across the floor. A drawer opens. I sneak a peek—yeah, he is in a white t-shirt now, pulling on gray sweatpants over his blue boxers.

Nate freezes, hands at his waist. His back muscles tense. My lips feel dry all of a sudden, my throat parched. The air definitely feels different, charged, as if something is about to crack and snap. Like an electric current caught between two magnets... Goosebumps cover every inch of my skin. I tilt my head, ever so slightly, to watch him from the corner of my eye while keeping my gaze on the tip of my shoulder. Nate's body is facing me now, a small, innocent smile playing on his lips. He seems serene... But I can't dare look at him.

He heads to the drawer again, opening it with a quick swoosh. Then he bends down. The soft clink of objects fill the room.

My heart's pounding. My head is spinning. I grab another t-shirt, tossing it aside without even folding it...and then another.

Nate's shadow falls over the growing mess beside me as he straightens up. I hear him open a box. Something crunches and zips as if he's torn something. The drawer closes with a swoosh. When I look over my shoulder again, Nate's heading to the door with a hand in his pocket. "See you inside, Abbs. Don't stay too long."

Once he's gone, the air feels lighter, and I can finally breathe again.

Damn...

I toss the t-shirt aside, pressing a hand against my chest. What's wrong with me? Is it the smell? I touch my cheeks. They are on fire. I slowly get up and head for the shower.

The cold water soothes my skin. Maybe I'm just overworked. This tension can't be related to Nate. Nothing's changed between us. I'll stop smelling his clothes like a lunatic, get dressed, hit the couch and munch on whatever he's cooking tonight.