Chapter 18 #2
Nate takes a long sip of his Miami Vice—half strawberry daiquiri and half pi?a colada, since he couldn’t decide on just one in time—and points toward the stage where a group of tipsy women are singing a decent rendition of a Shania Twain song.
But now that the question is out there, I’m eager to hear the answer.
Registering my impatience, Nate sets his glass down with a sigh. “We broke up.”
“I know that. How? Why? Give me something to go off of here.” The more Nate dodges the question, the more I need to know the details. To understand what makes her “just out of reach,” as he had claimed before.
There’s another pause that makes it seem Nate is dropping the topic or calling it a night. Then he looks at me, and there’s a glassy memory of pain in his eyes before his gaze falls back to the table.
“She was bored. Not that she would’ve said as much to my face, but I could tell.
I could see it in her eyes when I needed to stay in to get a chapter done or enter full-blown drafting mode.
Not to mention when I had to bail early on a party or skip the club afterwards, assuming I went out at all.
She wanted to see and, more importantly, be seen.
” He seems lost in recollection, but then shakes his head and clarifies. “She’s an influencer.”
“An influencer?” I ask, as if I don’t understand a role that’s a regular part of my line of work.
Nate understands the real question, or at least part of it.
Because I’m just as surprised to learn Nina is an influencer as I am by Nate dating someone who chases the spotlight.
It doesn’t mesh with the man I’ve been getting to know here in Fiji.
“Beauty and fashion influencer, as she called it. Basically, it meant she spent a long time getting ready to go anywhere. Longer if she thought anyone could recognize her.”
This isn’t how I imagined Nina. Not that I’m imagining Nate’s past romantic entanglements. It’s an innocent curiosity. Totally natural when spending this much time with a person.
“So that’s why it ended,” I say, more to myself than to Nate, but he nods anyway.
“It’s more complicated, but it boils down to her needing someone who could be by her side as she grew her status. That’s not me. Writing is more of a behind-the-scenes, often unglamorous thing, but I love it.”
“I know.” I smile because I do know this about him and can relate to it deeply. “You get publicity from your books, though.” I had seen the awards and thousands of positive reviews online when I downloaded his eBooks. It’s proof Nate is better known than he gives himself credit for.
“Some,” he admits, “but even saying that feels generous. Besides, most of that very dim spotlight is something I can experience from the safety of my home.”
“What about book tours?”
He shrugs. “If you saw the typical turnout for an in-person event, you wouldn’t qualify it as publicity.”
“Every fan counts.”
“Good, because the initial two events for my debut novel had one person each.”
“Better than an empty room?” I offer because my pitying look says enough.
“That was event three.”
I wince. “No one knew who you were then.”
“Most still don’t.” He lets out a long sigh. “But yes. That was a while ago. Now I average 20-ish people at an event. More if it’s in a big city within a month or two of a book launch. Once, I got over 80.”
“That’s impressive! I’m sure your next book will have even more.”
“If I ever finish it.”
“I thought you were making progress?”
“I am! More than I thought. Writing takes a long time, though.”
“Progress is progress.”
He shrugs. “My agent will be happy to hear she was right, at least.”
“Right about what?”
“Being blocked. She thought something in my personal life needed resolving and dealing with that would bring me back to my writing.”
“Nina?” I guess.
“Or Brody and Fiji and getting out of my usual routine. Whatever it is, my writer’s block is dissipating at least.”
“Not entirely unblocked?”
“No, but I’m getting there. Like she said, I need to liven up my next book, and Fiji is livening.”
“If you’re looking to liven things up, I have the perfect thing,” I say, biting back a grin.
Nate’s eyebrows raise in surprise or a challenge.
I wiggle my own in response. “Come on, let’s sing something!”
“Absolutely not.” He laughs, then notices I’m still smiling. Waiting. “You’re serious? You want to do karaoke?”
I nod again, grabbing his hand to tug him out of his chair. He’s still unbelievably sturdy for a writer, so there’s no way I can actually move him.
“With people watching and everything?” he asks, unbudging.
I give his arm another tug. “Come on, live a little.”
“What have we been doing this entire time? Mummifying?”
I smile, despite wanting to appear serious. “We have to. You can’t come to karaoke night and not sing when the stage is empty! Brody would.”
It’s a low blow, but a necessary one to get Nate on stage. He has encouraged me multiple times to get out of my comfort zone on this trip, and it’s my chance to return the favor.
“I have not seen you this excited about anything,” Nate says, an amused look on his face. “Except coffee. Who knew karaoke meant so much to you?”
I swallow hard, recalling how karaoke was a passion Sarah and I shared. One my college friends and then Corina got on board with for my sake. It binds me to people I end up leaving or being left by.
I drop Nate’s hand, ready to let the idea go too.
“No, let’s do it,” he says, grabbing my hand again as he jumps out of his seat. “You can even pick the song.”
“Really?” I’m not sure what inspired this change, but my enthusiasm renews full force. “I hope you know a lot of Taylor Swift!”
“You get one song,” Nate clarifies quickly. “One. Wouldn’t it be better to go with a karaoke classic like the Beatles or Neil Diamond?”
“Spice Girls?”
Nate groans. “Forget I said anything. Just keep in mind I only know like two Taylor Swift songs. At least that’s all I’m fessing up to!”
“We’ll see.” My smile is so wide it makes my cheeks ache. “We’ll make a Swiftie out of you yet!”
By the end of the night, we’ve sung three Taylor Swift songs.
Nate’s voice is shockingly sultry and his stage presence contagious, making it easy to pretend we’re the only ones in the room.
We laugh our way out of the bar and into the night, where a slight breeze tickles my sweaty skin courtesy of the dance moves we made up during the last song.
“That was fun,” Nate says next to me, a smile plastered on his face as we walk back toward our bungalow. “I get why you and Brody do it.”
A deep belly laugh bubbles out of me, turning into a borderline manic chuckle.
“What?” Nate’s question is sincere, making it even funnier.
“You’ve met Brody, right?” I manage through my laughter that’s grown to produce tears of mirth.
“Yeah…?”
He isn’t following, so I fill in the blanks. “Brody would never do karaoke, and certainly not to Taylor Swift. He’s far too concerned with maintaining his macho image.”
“But you said!”
I pop a shoulder in response.
“Some brand manager you are!”
I laugh again, shorter this time but no less joyful. “To be fair, Brody does like getting out of his comfort zone.”
Nate rolls his eyes before nudging me with his elbow. “Abigail Adams,” he says, his voice breathy as he shakes his head, “you are full of surprises.”
But it’s him—this night, this moment, the possibility of what could happen next—that’s truly full of surprises.