Chapter 5
Caleb
By the time we make it back to the room, the boys are still little energizer bunnies wrapped in towels, dripping pool water on the carpet, recapping everything they just did.
“Quick rinse off,” Nash instructs. “Then we’ll go eat dinner.”
The boys scramble, each grabbing their clothes and taking their turn in the bathroom.
Somehow, Benji manages to drop one sock and a shirt in the ten steps he takes to get to the bathroom.
Nash laughs as he bends down to grab them and hands them off to him, who yells a quick “thanks!” as he closes the door.
He’s only in there for a few minutes before he comes out and Sam runs in.
Nash tugs on a hoodie and turns to me. “You good with the restaurant downstairs?”
“Perfect,” I quickly agree, more than ready for a real meal and not just half-finished ski lodge chicken tenders.
He smiles at me softly, and there’s just something about Nash that makes the space around him feel less chaotic. Which, in a hotel room with two energetic kids, is nothing short of a miracle.
When Sam comes out of the bathroom, we head back downstairs. The restaurant has a warm, laid-back feel with a mix of booths and high-tops, and the smell of garlic and herbs makes my stomach growl.
“Hi there, four tonight?” the hostess asks us.
“Yep, thank you,” Nash confirms.
It’s such a normal thing, but I appreciate how he didn’t pause or defer to me.
Even on the rare occasion I go out with friends, it feels like I’m always the one asking, therefore, the one planning.
Unless it’s one of those forced parent hangouts with Sam’s friends’ parents, but I wouldn’t call birthday parties and awkward playdates “fun.”
I’ve carried every decision on my own for so long—what to make for dinner, when to call the dentist, how to handle every holiday, every meltdown, and every morning school rush.
I didn’t even realize how much I’ve wanted someone to step in and just handle it once in a while.
At least, I didn’t dare let myself imagine having it since dating as a single parent seemed like too much.
Not that Nash is my partner or anything. But still.
The hostess leads us through the dining room, and we settle into a round table tucked near the back. Nash pulls out the chair next to mine, and knowing he wants to sit next to me makes me smile.
We all pick up our menus as the hostess walks away.
“I think I want a burger,” Benji shares after looking at the menu for thirty seconds.
“Does it have bacon? If it has bacon on it, it’s probably good,” Sam says, completely serious, and I glance up from my menu to make eye contact with Nash as we both try to hold back a laugh. Kids are so funny.
“I’m getting the one with onion rings on top,” Benji decides. “I’m starving.”
“That chicken tender fuel running out?” Nash jokes.
“Yeah.” Benji shrugs. “That was hours ago, Dad.”
“I’m starving too,” Sam adds on, and it’s a mystery how in sync these two are already.
Nash shakes his head at me, grinning. “We’ve created monsters.”
“Hungry monsters,” I agree.
I let out a small laugh and lean back in my chair. This whole thing feels surprisingly easy and comfortable.
“Hi, I’m Cassy. I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you anything to drink besides water?” the waitress asks, setting a jug of water down on the table.
“Water is great,” Nash tells her.
“That works for me, too. Thanks.”
“I want the onion ring burger,” Benji pipes up.
“Oh, are we ready to order?” Cassy asks.
Nash turns to look at me, and I give him a nod.
“Seems like it. Sam, do you want to go next?” he asks, and my heart swells.
“I’ll do the bacon cheeseburger! Can I have fries?”
“Of course,” Cassy says as she writes down the order.
Nash turns to me instead of Cassy. “Caleb?”
He’s just being polite, I remind myself. But, seriously, if this sweet, thoughtful, ridiculously considerate man keeps doing stuff like this, I’m going to need someone to tie me down before I float away.
I’ve spent so many years making sure Sam goes first—and he always will—but it’s rare for anyone to pause long enough to also see me in the equation. Nash not only prioritized Sam, but he’s prioritizing me, too.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, uh, I’ll do the chicken sandwich, please.” At least my voice sounds steady, I think.
“I’ll do the steak, medium, with fries,” Nash says, rounding out our orders.
“Great, I’ll go put that in. It shouldn’t be long,” Cassy confirms, holding her hand out for the menus.
As soon as she’s gone, the boys dive into a debate over whose burger will be better.
Nash leans back in his chair, arm draped casually over the top of Benji’s, and I glance over at him.
My eyes land on the sliver of skin peeking out from beneath his shirt.
There’s the start of a happy trail that leads straight to…
somewhere very happy. I lick my lips before my brain catches up, and I immediately look away.
Jesus, I need to get it together. This is not the place.
When I glance up, Nash is already looking at me, an amused smirk tugging at his mouth like he’s waiting for me to say something.
Heat crawls up my neck as I fumble for words.
“They really hit it off,” I blurt, because apparently we’re just repeating conversations now.
Nash chuckles. “Yeah, Benji will make friends in line at the grocery store if you let him.”
“I can imagine that.” I laugh. “Sam’s usually a little more reserved. Takes after me, I suppose. It’s good to see him enjoying himself like this.”
“Well, you’re both easy to like,” Nash says with a smile.
I smile back, feeling overwhelmed in the best way. I truly can’t remember the last time I smiled this much in one day. It feels good, really good.
I glance at Sam, who’s dramatically reenacting a cannonball for Benji using just his hands and facial expressions, and smile softly at him because he seems to be having just as much fun as I am.
“You’re doing a good job, you know. With him,” Nash says, pulling my attention back to him.
Compliments always hit me sideways, mostly because I feel like most of the time they’re not genuine, but this one lands right in my gut because coming from Nash, I know it is. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”
“Yeah, well,” Nash says, “I don’t think any of us do. But it’s obvious you’re doing your best, he’s a great kid, and that’s honestly all you can do.”
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
He said it as if it were obvious. Little does he know, I’ve spent years wondering if I’m doing enough.
If I am enough. If I messed up Sam’s life because it’s ultimately my fault his mom left.
I’ve tried my hardest to give Sam the best life possible, and for once, Nash makes me feel like I am.
He just… sees me. And damn if that doesn’t undo me a little.
Before I can come up with a semi-normal response that won’t embarrass me further, the waitress returns with a tray full of food. The boys perk up immediately, shuffling items on the table to make space as she lays down our plates.
“Whoa,” Sam says, eyes wide as he grabs a fry from his plate as soon as Cassy sets it down. “So many fries, this is awesome.”
“Make sure you eat your burger, too,” I remind him before he eats only fries for dinner.
“I know, Dad,” Sam huffs, and I shake my head before I take a bit of my sandwich, trying to resist the urge to look at Nash.
Except he shifts in his seat and his leg brushes mine under the table. It’s barely a tap, but he doesn’t move it. If anything, he presses it further into mine.
My heart stutters, and suddenly, I forget how to chew.
I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s doing this on purpose.
Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe I just imagined it because I want it to have been on purpose.
But I’m not. We are touching. And now if I move my leg, will it seem like I’m pulling away?
But if I leave it there, is that—what, flirting? Am I flirting?
Oh god.
I finally swallow and glance up at Nash. He’s cutting into his steak, and he doesn’t look fazed at all.
I, on the other hand, am deeply fazed. He’s sent me into an emotional free fall from gently nudging my leg under the table with his because after this? We’re going to go upstairs… to share a bed.
A freaking bed.
With one blanket.
And no clear boundary line.
I need to focus.
Focus on Sam.
On my food.
On literally anything other than the man across from me, who might’ve just flirted, or maybe he just shifted his leg without thinking. I don’t know, but I know what I want it to be.
I shove another fry in my mouth and nod like I’m part of the conversation the boys are having about whether or not ketchup counts as a vegetable, though I’m pretty sure it’s a fruit.
It doesn’t matter, though, because I can still feel the heat of Nash’s leg against mine, and I’m too scared to open my mouth out of fear of what might come out.
I’ve already embarrassed myself enough for one day.
But even as I sit here, pretending to listen, one thought keeps circling my head: I don’t know what’s happening between Nash and me.
I just really, really don’t want it to stop.