Chapter 2
Iris
What have I done?
That’s the only thing running through my head as I cross the high school parking lot, my heels clicking on the pavement, the afternoon sun turning the autumn air warm.
I’m meeting Nate, and we’re going to walk to wherever he’s taking me.
He seemed so excited, like this really means something to him.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it?
It means something to me, too. I hate how much I want this. How much I want him to want this.
My stomach twists as I approach the edge of the parking lot. I don’t know where we’re going, and that makes it worse. Did I wear the right thing? Is he going to think I look pretty?
Do I want him to?
I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. That I’d go and let the awkward silence do the rest. After today, he’ll see that he can do better.
I didn’t want to hurt him again.
That’s the only reason I’m here.
He’s leaning against his truck when I spot him in jeans and a simple white t-shirt that hugs his arms perfectly. I have to force myself to remember how to walk.
He straightens when he sees me, a big, boyish grin stretching across his face, and instantly, I’m smiling too.
“Hey,” he calls out, warm and easy, like this is any other afternoon, and not my first date ever.
“Hey,” I echo, smoothing my hands over my skirt. I stop in front of him, very aware that up close, I’m almost as tall as him.
I shouldn’t have worn heels, I think to myself, but shove it down before it turns into something bigger.
I used to obsess over that, passing, shrinking myself, making sure I took up as little space as possible so that no one would question me. I know that’s unfair to myself, and I’ve gotten better, more comfortable in my own skin.
But being here, on a date, with Nate Wesley in my hometown, brings all of those insecurities a younger version of me had back to the surface.
“I like this outfit,” He announces, letting his eyes drag over me.
“Thanks,” I mumble, crossing my arms as his gaze keeps trailing down to the inch of bare skin on my torso.
I tug at the bottom of my shirt, wishing it were longer.
“You look nice too,” I add when we’re already walking toward Main Street.
He reaches over in response, taking my hand and slotting our fingers together. “Thanks, Darlin’.”
My cheeks heat up like they do every time he calls me that. It makes my stomach feel all squirmy.
In a good way.
“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the town square. “It’s not far. They’ve got the whole square blocked off for the fall festival. Figured we’d walk around, grab a funnel cake, win some shit we don’t need—”
He talks as we walk, telling me about his brother and his classes and the mascot tripping over a water cooler during a game last week.
And I don’t even realize that I’ve been smiling the entire time until my cheeks start to hurt.
Nate’s good at this.
I’ve never met someone who could leave room for me to breathe, let me speak when I have something to say, but fill any awkward silence I might leave as if it was never there to begin with.
The closer we get, I hear the music from a live band echoing between brick buildings, and the chatter from families passing us.
And something about it makes my heart squeeze tight.
I would have come here with my family.
Before.
“You alright?” Nate asks, squeezing my hand.
“I haven’t been to a festival in a long time,” I tell him, trying to shake off the hurt feelings my family always brings up.
We step into the square, and the town shifts.
The street is glowing, with golden strings of lights hanging from lampposts, while booths line the street, selling treats, candles, jewelry, and anything else you could think of.
I don’t know where to look. Everything’s so bright and-
Nate’s still holding my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles absently, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He nods in understanding. “We don’t have to stay long if it’s too much. Just thought it might be fun.”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand. “It’s nice.”
We walk past a booth with homemade candles shaped like pumpkins and leaves, the scents labeled in cursive writing. Nate picks one up and sniffs it, and whatever it is makes him scrunch his nose up.
“Try the pumpkin chai one. It smells like fall,” I tell him with a chuckle.
“Damn. That does smell like fall.”
“You want one?” Nate asks when we reach a cart with big steaming cups of cider.
“I can get it,” I start, but he’s already handing the vendor a crumpled bill from his pocket.
“Let me,” he says, handing me the cider with the most whipped cream and clinking his cup against mine. “To fall festivals and pretty art teachers who agree to go on dates with dumb football coaches.”
“You’re not dumb,” I challenge with narrowed eyes. He practically lights up when I say that, and I can’t help but feel somewhat guilty.
I may have thought that at first.
That he was some kind of dumb jock stereotype, like he was back in high school. But that’s not the truth. Nate is a good man. He’s kind.
Someone I wish I could see a future with.
Every booth we pass, he makes a comment on it, filling the silence effortlessly. He talks about the painted birdhouses and the scarecrow contest. When we pass a woman handing out samples of some sort of dip, he tries it and regrets it the second he does.
“This is the worst decision I’ve ever made,” he complains, fanning his mouth.
I laugh louder than I have in a while.
We stop at one of the games, the kind where you throw a ball at bottles. “Alright,” Nate says, puffing up his chest. “Prepare to be amazed.”
“You’re going to knock them all over?”
“I sure am. Watch and learn from the master.”
He takes the ball and throws.
And misses.
I stifle a giggle behind my cup, but he turns and narrows his eyes at me. “I’m just warming up.” He tries again. This time, two bottles wobble, but they still don’t fall over. “Dammit. This is clearly rigged.”
“Clearly, Mr. football coach. Want me to try?”
He hands me the ball. “Give it your best shot.”
Somehow, I knock them all over.
He stares at the bottles, mouth open in shock. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Guess I’m a natural talent,” I say, sipping my cider like it’s no big deal, though I’m equally stunned. I have no athletic abilities whatsoever.
The teenager behind the counter looks up from his phone long enough for me to pick my prize, and I pick a stuffed bear that kind of resembles Nate. It’s cheesy, but this is my first date, I’m allowed to be cheesy right now.
“I’ll let you carry my prize if that helps your pride,” I offer when he’s still pouting three booths later.
He shakes his head. “No way, you’re telling everybody that I won that for you.”
“I will not.”
“I mean, seriously,” He continues now that I’ve got him started. “You know, I was star quarterback in my day.”
I know.
“And I was defeated by the fuckin’ bottle toss.” He pulls me closer to him by my waist when we walk into a more crowded area and doesn’t let go.
My brain starts feeling a little fuzzy as his warm hand on my waist takes up all of my focus. I can feel his pinky on my bare hip—
“Hell, maybe you should coach the team,” He grumbles.
“Oh my god, Nate,” I say, laughing out loud.
I never thought I would find a man butthurt about losing a game adorable, but here we are.
We wander around the rest of the festival, staying close.
The sky has started to dim, with the sun starting to set behind the courthouse.
We end up near the edge of the square, where a couple of hay bales are arranged around a small fire pit that isn’t lit yet, while the band plays an old country song I vaguely recognize but couldn’t name.
Nate sits and pats the spot next to him. “Feet hurt yet?”
“A little,” I admit, settling beside him, closer than necessary. “Heels were a choice.”
“You don’t gotta dress up for me, y’know.”
“I didn’t,” I say, and that’s only partly true.
His eyes trail over me again, and the discomfort from earlier has faded to a quiet thing I can ignore. “Coulda fooled me. You look extra beautiful today, and that’s saying something, trust me.”
I look away, attempting to hide how much his words affect me.
“What is it, Darlin’?”
“You keep saying things like that.”
“Because it’s true.”
He gives me that smile again, and for some reason, my nervous system decides now is the time to remember that this is a date and there are expectations.
“You okay?” Nate asks when a heavy silence settles over us.
And I must wait too long to nod because he continues, “You don’t have to pretend with me, Iris. If you’re not having fun—”
“I am,” I cut in, “I’m just—” I pause, reaching for the right thing to say, and he waits patiently.
“I’ve never been on a date before,” I admit, letting the fragile words hang in the air between us. I brace for the moment that things change, but when I look at him, Nate doesn’t look shocked.
He doesn’t laugh like part of me assumed he would.
“Okay,” he says simply, like I just told him the weather.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I continue. “What I’m supposed to say. How I’m supposed to act.”
“There’s no script, Iris. You’re not supposed to act any certain way.”
“Maybe not, but you, you’re easy to be around. I’m not.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
He nudges my knee with his. “Maybe not. But I thought I made it clear that I’d like to.”
“Why me?” I ask before I can stop myself, and he frowns at the question, but the underlying softness to his face never disappears.
“Iris.” He reaches over, taking my hand again. “I’m freakin’ crazy about you.”
I look down at our hands. His warm and steady, mine trying to tremble in his comforting grip. “You barely know me.”
“Maybe, but what I do know? I like. A lot.”
“You like the version of me that’s pretending she knows how to be normal on a date,” I say, staring down at my stupid shoes.
I really should have worn flats.
He shakes his head beside me. “I like the version who paints in those sexy overalls and gets real quiet when she’s nervous. The one who tries not to smile when I call her beautiful.”
I look up, opening my mouth to protest, but he raises his eyebrows in challenge, “And yeah,” he goes on, “maybe I don’t know everything yet. But I want to.”
I stare at him, my throat tight with all the things I want to say and can’t. He doesn’t push, he doesn’t expect me to say anything back, but he lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of mine.
And somehow, that means more than anything else could have.
We sit like that for a while, letting the music from the square drift between us, and after a while, I lean over and lay my head on his shoulder.
He just holds me tighter.
When it’s almost fully dark, Nate sits up straight, stretching, and gives me that stupidly charming smile. “So, was it the worst first date in history?”
I huff out a breath. “No.”
“No? Top ten, at least?”
“It was really nice,” I admit with a bit of reluctance.
“Good. ‘Cause I’m already planning the next one.”
“Bold of you to assume there will be a second date, Coach.”
“You’re still holding my hand, Ms. Patel.”