< by Jill >

I always loved Nate.

At first, it wasn’t the pitter-patter of my heart that belied this love, but rather the smile that crossed my face when he walked into The Daily Cardinal‘s office.

“Hey boss!” he’d say, striding in on long legs.

With Nate at the sports desk, I felt completely at ease. I could run his pages to the printer without a second look. His capable leadership and strong reputation attracted top-notch sports reporters, high web hits, and a lift in office morale.

At that time, my love for Nate was purely professional. He came in, did his job plus a bit more, and never complained. A boss’ dream.

One year after our tenure at the newspaper ended, I returned to campus for a visit. I met up with Nate and we went out to bars with a mutual friend whom he had been dating. When she ditched us for another guy, I gave him some unsolicited relationship advice.

The next day, I issued an apology:

Nate said it was no biggie, and we returned to our old ways, touching base now and then about jobs and visits that never happened. But then, on New Year’s Eve 2010, one of those visits manifested.

When he came to my apartment, we sat on the couch and talked for hours, or days, or who knows how long because people swirled around us and I didn’t notice.

Finally, we went to a wine bar. With about 15 minutes between us and 2011, he put his hands on my shoulders and we squared up.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“I am thinking that I am going to kiss you at midnight whether you like it or not,” he said.

I smiled. And at midnight, when he kissed me, my heart went pitter-patter.