Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Lucy
I swing open the truck door and lower myself to the ground, thrilled to be out and about without crutches for the first time in weeks.
“Careful!” Nash calls from the other side of the cab. “That boot can only do so much to protect you from yourself.”
“I’m fine, Nash. I’m more than fine. It’s a gloriously clear Florida afternoon, my armpits aren’t rubbed raw from crutches, and I get to see your mom and the guys for the first time in…
what? Fourteen years?” I stare out at a view I used to know by heart, now blurred by time.
For a moment, I feel bad that I’m here to see Nash’s family when I’ve barely even talked to my own since that day at the coffee shop.
I promise myself I’ll text Mom when I get home and reach inside the truck to grab a tray of brownies I made—the famous Kincaid recipe Violet serves at the bakery and Nora herself taught me when I was young.
“You think your mom will remember?” I ask, a breeze stirring the hem of my dress as Nash comes around the front of the truck.
“No one could forget you.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m blushing and smiling too, which makes my face feel like it forgot how to pick a reaction. “Not me, Mr. We Should Have Boundaries but Only When I Draw Them.” I wiggle the tray. “These. The brownies she taught me how to make when I was a kid.”
“Oh. That.” Nash gives me a look I can’t unravel, then shrugs in that delightfully dismissive way of his.
I look toward the house—cheerful yellow with white trim, a rocking chair on the porch, and a bright blue door draped in a leafy seasonal wreath.
Homey. Not fancy. But every inch of it says someone loves it deeply.
I used to love coming here. There was warmth and goodness inside those walls, something I never seemed to get my fill of.
The second Nash opens the front door, it’s chaos. Dogs barking. Nora Kincaid’s voice coming down the hallway with a heavy dose of nostalgia trailing behind. “Back! Sit! Good gracious Beau, get your paws off me!”
Nash and I step inside and are immediately met by a rush of fur and tails. A golden retriever launches at me like we’re long-lost soulmates, and I stagger back a step, the heavy boot thunking beneath me.
“Beau!” Nash grabs the dog’s collar and hauls him off, a hand on my shoulder to steady me. “Down. You menace.”
“He’s fine,” I say, laughing as I plant a hand on his big square head. “Hi, sweetheart.”
The other dog—a chunky older mutt with graying fur and sleepy eyes—ambles over and leans against my leg like it’s his solemn duty.
“That’s Rufus,” Nash says. “Must mean Gideon’s here. Go figure he didn’t tell me he was in town.”
“Oh my stars,” comes a warm voice behind us. “Lucy Calder. Look at you!”
I turn and find Nora Kincaid, the warm hug of my childhood memories. Her russet hair is streaked with gray. Her gray eyes—the same color as Nash’s—sparkle with warmth and good humor. She cups my face and smiles.
“You grew up so beautiful,” she says. “But more importantly, I hear you grew up strong enough to give my Nash a run for his money.”
“Someone has to, right?” I laugh through the sudden sting in my throat. I’d forgotten how much Nora meant to me.
“Truer words were never spoken.” She squeezes my hands, eyes shining. “Left on his own, he’d slide into a life of work and grumpiness.”
“Wow, Mom,” Nash deadpans. “Good to see you too.”
Nora lets go of me to reach up and squish his cheeks between her palms. “Stop frowning and hug your mother.”
He complies, grumbling as he pulls her into a half-hug, her face warming as she leans into his shoulder. Bennett ambles into the hallway only to pause when the doorbell rings. He makes a show of counting heads.
“But we’re all here.”
“Are we though?” Nash asks, too casually, eyes glinting in that wicked, older-brother way that seems so at odds with the glowering doctor we know and love.
“I’m not a fan of that look,” Bennett mutters, cautiously eyeing the people around him. “I’m not gonna like what’s waiting out there, will I?”
Nash crosses the entryway and opens the front door to a smiling Stella.
“Hey!” She steps inside in a sundress and ankle boots, a bottle of wine in each hand and a spark of mischief in her eyes. “I figured if Bennett and I were going to be in the same room together, it was a two-bottle event.”
Nora beams. “Stella, sweetheart, you look radiant. Come give me a hug.”
Bennett eyes his mother and brother like one of them just committed treason. “You invited her?”
“Careful,” Stella says, dropping him a wink. “Scowl any harder and people might mistake you for Nash.”
The table is packed. Grayson’s face smiles at us from the screen of a laptop propped up on cookbooks at the far end.
Gideon sits like a quiet wall of muscle, sipping sweet tea and looking exactly like the kind of bodyguard who says very little while clocking every detail.
His dark hair and gray eyes mark him as a Kincaid, but there’s something heavier about him.
Foreboding. An edge sharper even than Nash’s.
If I didn’t remember him from when we were kids, I might be a little scared of him, even with sweet old Rufus dozing at his feet.
The food smells amazing—roast chicken, green beans with garlic, cornbread muffins, something with lemon that makes my mouth water. Beau lies under the table with his head on my boot. And Nash? Nash keeps looking at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to unravel.
“This is so weird,” Gideon says, his deep voice warm and low, softening that edge. “If Gabby were here instead of Nash, I’d swear we time-traveled back to middle school.”
Across the table, Grayson leans closer to the screen. “Speaking of Gabby, how is she?” he asks, going for nonchalant and failing horribly.
Stella’s smile falters. “She’s fine.” She glances at me, then back to the screen. “She’s not yours to worry about anymore, Gray.”
“With all due respect Stella, Gabby will always be mine to worry about.”
The statement surprises me, given the choice he made after high school, though the looks on the faces of his mother and brothers suggest this isn’t a shock to them. Nash even said as much at the music festival at the pier.
“You lost that right when you left her behind,” Stella replies, quiet, steady, sure.
“She’s not wrong,” Bennett mutters. “Which is rare. And terrifying. And hurts to admit. But true.”
Stella’s eyebrows raise. “How much of that wine did you drink?”
Instead of a reply, Bennett polishes off his glass and pours himself another, smirking as he tips the bottle towards her in salute.
“Now that we’ve cleared all that up,” Nora says with a sweet smile and no-nonsense tone, “let’s pass the chicken around before it gets cold, shall we?”
The conversation loosens after that. Laughter returns, slower at first, like a song restarting mid-verse.
Grayson tells us about the new album he’s recording—long nights, finicky producers, a weird synth-heavy track he’s convinced is going to be a sleeper hit.
Stella talks about the possibility of a contract for her event company with Stillwater Bay, something about running their centennial blast next year.
Nash grumbles about the hospital, but it’s short-lived.
Grayson talks like someone who expects the world to keep listening.
Gideon, after much prying, shares that he’s headed to the Pacific Northwest to escort a senator and his wife to a fundraising event.
“I’ve worked with them before,” he grumbles. “She always hits on me. He notices. And I swear, he’s fine with it.”
Groans and grimaces flicker around the table. Nora arches her brow in the most maternally disapproving look I’ve ever seen. “And you’ll leave it alone,” she says. “Because your mother raised you better.”
“Debatable,” Bennett mutters and Gideon snarks back at his older brother.
I laugh. We all do. The kind of laugh that leaves you warm down to the bones.
This feels like the family I always wanted. Instead of cold judgment and the feeling of never being enough, there’s truth and respect and vulnerability and acceptance. I remember being a little girl, soaking up as much of the feeling as possible.
But this time, there’s also Nash.
He sits beside me, quiet and composed, but completely present.
His thigh brushes mine under the table. He refills my water glass without asking.
His hand lands lightly on my knee at one point and when he doesn’t immediately move it, every cell in my body takes notice.
He’s a gentleman, opening doors for me, taking care of me, but never, not once, taking control of me.
It’s a lovely feeling.
We talk. We laugh. But the hum between us, undercurrent and spark, is constant.
His fingers trace a slow circle on the side of my leg, barely there, and it takes everything in me to stay focused on the conversation around me. It’s grounding. Disorienting. Intimate in a way that feels both terrifying and inevitable.
“How much longer are you in Stillwater Bay, Lucy?” Nora asks and Nash’s hand stills.
“That’s a good question.” My gaze flicks his way. Tense jaw. Flared nostrils.
But then he meets my eyes and I’m shocked at the sadness I see churning inside. It’s there only a moment before it’s gone, replaced by professionalism and distance.
“Today is her first day walking without crutches,” he says, with the same detached efficiency he used in the ER. “We’ll have a better idea of how that ankle’s healing after our next couple rehab sessions, but I’d guess another month tops before she’s ready to get back to class.”
And suddenly, I’m certain someone meeting my eyes would be shocked by the sadness churning inside. I distract myself by sipping water and smiling like I’m not confused by my own reaction.
After dessert, I start to gather plates. “Let me help with the dishes.”
“Oh no, honey,” Nora says, rising with a smile. “You’re a guest tonight.”
“And barely mobile,” Nash mumbles with a pointed glance my way.
Nora shoots me a look that says he has a point. Normally I’d argue, but today I don’t mind. Not when Nash’s voice goes soft at the edges like that. Not when I catch the flicker of protectiveness behind the teasing. Not when that protectiveness feels so good.
“I can carry plates,” Stella offers, already stacking dishes like she owns the place.
“I’ll help.” Bennett lurches to his feet, quickly retrieving the rest of the plates on the table to make a stack of his own.
Grayson says goodnight and ends the video chat, Nora sighing sadly as she closes the laptop. Gideon rises, silently ambling out to the porch with Rufus and Beau trailing behind. Nash meets my gaze and smiles. Simple. Content. Unguarded.
It’s such a different flavor from life in Los Angeles. The hurry. The hustle. The friends you can never quite trust. I used to think the pace made me strong. Now, I’m not so sure.