Three Years Later
1679 Words
Three years after Nathaniel Mercer graduated, Elena saw him again because her coworker refused to take no for an answer.
“You have been here six days.”
“Exactly. I am exhausted.”
“You are twenty three.”
“I can be exhausted at twenty three.”
Sophie grabbed Elena's purse from her desk before Elena could stop her.
“One drink.”
“I hate you.”
“You will thank me.”
Elena did not thank her.
The bar on Seventh Street was packed, loud enough that conversation required leaning close and pretending that did not feel intimate.
Elena had spent the week learning a new job, a new city, and exactly how expensive rent could be when her parents were no longer helping.
She wanted sweatpants, takeout, and sleep.
Instead, Sophie handed her tequila.
“To adulthood.”
Elena tasted it and winced. “This tastes like regret.”
“That is adulthood.”
She laughed.
Then someone behind her said, “Still double counting depreciation?”
Elena froze.
No.
Slowly, she turned.
Nathaniel Mercer stood behind her.
Three years had changed him.
The college boy was gone. This Nate wore a fitted button down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was shorter. His shoulders were broader. There was more confidence in the way he stood, but not the polished kind he would wear years later in magazine photographs.
The smile was exactly the same.
“Elena Marquez.”
She stared. “Nathaniel Mercer.”
“You remember me.”
“You stalked me for an entire semester.”
“That is an aggressive interpretation of friendship.”
“You memorized my class schedule.”
“For efficiency.”
She laughed.
And just like that, three years disappeared.
“What are you doing here?”
“Master's program.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You?”
He put a hand over his chest. “That sounded judgmental.”
“You hated school.”
“I hated homework.”
“That is school.”
“I am evolving.”
She smiled. “What about you?”
“New job.”
“Finance?”
“Corporate analysis.”
“I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“That you would end up terrifying executives with spreadsheets.”
Elena laughed.
Sophie appeared beside her. “Are you going to introduce me?”
Elena had completely forgotten she existed.
“This is Nate. We went to college together.”
Nate's eyes remained on Elena. “Together might be generous.”
Sophie looked between them. “Oh.”
Elena frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.”
It was absolutely something.
Twenty minutes later, Sophie announced that friends from another department had arrived. Thirty minutes after that, she vanished entirely.
Elena found herself alone with Nate near the end of the bar.
“You planned that.”
“I met your coworker forty seven minutes ago.”
“You are resourceful.”
“I will accept the compliment.”
They left when the music became too loud to talk.
Neither suggested where they were going. They simply walked.
They talked about his master's program, her job, the terrible studio apartment she had rented, and his plans for a technology company that existed mostly in notebooks and half finished presentations.
“You are still doing that?” Elena asked.
“Doing what?”
“Planning to take over the world.”
“Not the world. Small and midsized businesses first.”
“That is much more reasonable.”
“I have projections.”
“Are they terrible?”
“They are ambitious.”
“They are delusional.”
“You have not seen them.”
“I know you.”
Nate stopped walking.
Elena took another step before realizing.
She turned. “What?”
His expression had changed.
“You know me?”
“I did.”
“Past tense?”
“It has been three years.”
“I thought about you.”
Her heart stumbled.
“Nate.”
“I did.”
She looked away. “We barely dated.”
“We never dated.”
“Exactly.”
“That does not mean I did not want to.”
The city noise seemed to disappear.
Elena looked at him. “Then why didn't you?”
“You were twenty.”
“I was an adult.”
“You had two years of college left. I was leaving. I did not want to ask you to build your life around where I was going.”
“You could have asked what I wanted.”
“I know.”
The answer surprised her.
“You know?”
“I have had three years to realize I was an idiot.”
She laughed softly. “When did you almost ask?”
“Every time I bought you coffee.”
“That was a lot of almost asking.”
“I drank a lot of coffee.”
They stood beneath the glow of a closed bookstore.
Elena realized suddenly how close he was.
“Nate.”
“Yes?”
“You are staring.”
“I know.”
She should have stepped backward.
Instead, she whispered, “Are you going to spend another three years almost doing something?”
His eyes darkened.
“No.”
He kissed her.
Three years of wondering disappeared in one breath.
Elena grabbed his shirt. Nate's hand settled at her waist, tentative at first, then firmer when she moved closer.
When they separated, both were breathing too quickly.
“Well,” Elena whispered.
“Yeah.”
“That was…”
“Long overdue?”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
They kissed again.
Later, Elena would tell herself the tequila had contributed to what happened next.
It had not.
She knew exactly what she was doing when she invited Nate upstairs.
She knew exactly what it meant when she woke the next morning with his arm around her and sunlight cutting across a room that still smelled faintly like cardboard boxes.
What she had not expected was breakfast.
Elena walked into her tiny kitchen wearing an oversized shirt and found Nate at the stove.
“What are you doing?”
“Cooking.”
“Why?”
He looked offended. “People eat in the morning.”
“You stayed?”
He turned.
Something in her voice erased his smile.
“You thought I would leave?”
Elena shrugged. “I did not know.”
Nate switched off the burner and walked toward her.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“Last night was not me finally getting something I wanted in college.”
She looked up. “Then what was it?”
His fingers brushed hers.
“A terrible first date.”
She laughed. “That was not a date.”
“Fine. Then tonight can be.”
“You are asking me out?”
“I have been trying for three years.”
“No. You have been almost asking.”
He smiled. “Dinner tonight?”
Elena pretended to consider it. “Depends.”
“On?”
“Are you paying?”
“I am a graduate student.”
“So?”
“So I am asking if you would consider tacos.”
She laughed. “Tacos sound perfect.”
Nate grinned, then turned back to the stove.
Elena watched him flip something that might have been an egg and wondered how this man had managed to walk back into her life as though there had never been an ending.
“What?” he asked without turning.
“Nothing.”
“You are staring now.”
“I know.”
He looked over his shoulder.
She smiled.
That evening, tacos became dinner. Dinner became another walk. Another walk became Nate appearing at her apartment the next morning with coffee.
Within two weeks, he had a toothbrush beside hers.
Within a month, Elena knew the names of his professors, his worst habits, and exactly how much money he did not have.
She also learned that the company idea was not a hobby.
Nate had spreadsheets everywhere.
He talked about payroll systems, payments, invoicing, and how small business owners were forced to use too many disconnected programs.
One night Elena sat cross legged on her apartment floor with his laptop balanced on her knees.
“These numbers are impossible.”
“They are projections.”
“They are fantasies.”
“Can you fix them?”
She looked at him.
Nate smiled hopefully.
Elena sighed. “Give me the spreadsheet.”
He kissed her cheek.
“Have I told you I love you?”
“No.”
“Good. That would be moving too fast.”
Elena threw a pillow at him.
Years later, when everything between them had become complicated enough to require lawyers, investigators, and security teams, that was the version of Nate her damaged memory held onto most tightly.
Not the billionaire.
Not the CEO.
Nate's apartment was not much bigger than hers. The couch sagged in the middle, the coffee table had a water stain shaped like Texas, and one kitchen cabinet refused to close.
Elena loved it almost immediately.
Not because it was charming. It was not.
Because every inch of it looked like him before success taught him how to hide the messy parts.
There were business books stacked beside sneakers, handwritten notes taped to the refrigerator, and a whiteboard covered in arrows that made sense only after he explained them twice.
Elena stood in front of it one evening and pointed to a circle labeled MERCER.
“That is your company name?”
“For now.”
“You named it after yourself?”
“I am open to criticism.”
“Good. I have several pages.”
He laughed and handed her a marker.
The broke graduate student sitting on her floor, convinced he could build something enormous if she would only help him make the numbers real.
That was the morning Nathaniel Mercer stopped being the man Elena almost loved.
And became the man she did.
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