Chapter 21 Nate
Nate
Eliza’s footsteps faded down the stairs, the sound gentle, unhurried. I stood in the doorway of Tilly’s room for a second longer than necessary, watching her take in the space.
I hadn’t planned for this—this feeling, this hope that edged in where I’d kept things carefully practical for years.
I’d built my life around what I could manage, what I could protect.
A job with less pressure. A schedule that bent around school drop-offs and dance class.
A house that felt solid, predictable. Safe.
Eliza slipped into that structure without trying to rearrange it, and somehow made it feel bigger instead.
Like there was room for more than survival now.
Like maybe wanting something didn’t automatically mean risking everything.
I waited in the rocking chair as Tilly darted into the bathroom to brush her teeth and change into her pajamas, smiling as she climbed into bed and scooted her pillows just right, Waffles tucked carefully into his cradle.
She watched me with those too-observant eyes, the ones that missed very little.
“You like Eliza,” she said, not accusing. Just stating a fact, the way kids do when they’ve already solved the puzzle. “Like boyfriends like girlfriends. Like Grandma and Grandpa like each other.”
I smiled and crossed the room to pull the blanket up to her chin. “I do.”
“I like her too.” She nodded, satisfied. “She makes the house feel happy.”
That landed somewhere deep. I brushed her hair back, my throat tight. “You make the house happy,” I told her. “Every day.”
She yawned, eyelids drooping. “She can help too. Like when I’m cranky or something.”
“I think she already is,” I said quietly.
I clicked off the lamp, leaving the glow of the nightlight casting stars across her ceiling.
As I leaned down to kiss her forehead, I felt it clearly—this fragile, beautiful possibility.
Not a fantasy. Not a plan. Just a feeling that maybe, if I was careful and brave in equal measure, I could build something that didn’t just work… but lasted.
“Tonight felt like the sparkliest,” Tilly whispered.
“I think you’re right,” I said, kissing her hair. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, Daddy. Can Eliza have dinner with us again?”
“Absolutely.”
“Maybe homemade pizza night will make her happy.”
“I think it just might. Love you, Tilly.”
“Love you, too, Daddy.”
I waited until her breathing softened, then gently clicked the star projector off, the room slipping into a gentle hush. I paused at the door, glancing back once to make sure she was comfortable. The hallway felt quiet as I made my way downstairs.
In the living room, Eliza stood by the bookshelf, fingers tucked into her sleeves, looking at the framed photo of Tilly and me sitting on the front porch while Lois photobombed with her head hanging over Tilly’s shoulder.
We ended up on the couch without meaning to, a polite space between us that wasn’t as wide as it should be.
Lois had followed me downstairs and settled on her dog bed by the fireplace with her back to us like a very professional chaperone.
“Thank you for tonight,” Eliza said after a minute, fingertip worrying a loose thread on the pillow. “That was… I don’t have the right word. I keep underestimating my feelings. And you.”
“You can keep underestimating me,” I said lightly. “It’s good for my ego when I do something normal like boil pasta correctly.”
She smiled, then let something true out. “I’m not close with my parents,” she said. “It’s complicated and boring, and it doesn’t matter as much as I used to think. But tonight felt like finding a door I didn’t know I could walk through.” Her eyes lifted to mine, careful. “I needed that.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, because anything else felt like it would tip us too far in one direction or the other. “I want this to feel like a place you can belong. Without effort.”
She swallowed. “It does. That’s what scares me.” Her voice was barely there. “Being with you feels simple. Safe. Like I could let myself want this—and you wouldn’t disappear or turn it into something that hurts.”
We let that sit. The heater clicked. A car drifted by, leaving headlight stripes across the ceiling, then moved on.
“I’m having feelings about you,” she said finally, like confessing to tax fraud. “Just throwing it out there in case I didn’t make it obvious before.”
I huffed a laugh. “I’m having feelings about you, too.”
“They feel—” she searched for it—“real. They feel big and overwhelming. But I don’t want them to stop.”
“Mine are too,” I took her hand and held it. I needed the contact because no matter how much she said it felt real, I was afraid she’d somehow slip away. “I don’t want to push you.”
“You’re not,” she said, quick and sure. Then quieter, “I’m pushing myself.”
She shifted closer. Not much. Enough that I could see the gold flecks in her blue eyes and the way the tendon in her throat moved when she swallowed.
“I want to kiss you,” she whispered, resting her hand on my chest. “And I want to keep being careful. I don’t know how to do both.”
“We can start and stop,” I said. “We can do small. We can go slow. Whatever pace keeps you okay. You can trust me, Eliza. I promise you.”
Something in her loosened. “Small,” she echoed. “For now. And I do trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
I touched her cheek with the back of my fingers, gave her a second to change her mind, and when she didn’t, I kissed her—soft and slow, the kind that says I’m here instead of I want.
She made a small sound and leaned in, and god help me, I wanted more, but I kept it where I’d promised to keep it. When I eased back, she chased me half a breath, then smiled, her lips warm against my mouth.
“This is real,” she said again, testing the word for fit.
“Yeah. It’s absolutely real, and there’s no rush. We have all the time in the world.”
We sat with our shoulders touching and our hands not, listening to Lois dream-chuff and the house creak its old, kind bones. After a while, I walked her to her car. The air was cold; our breath hung between us like a cloud.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll survive tiny canapés and whatever fancy crap he decides to show off with, then come back here for leftover spaghetti instead of grilled cheese. Is that okay?”
“It sounds perfect,” she said, eyes bright. She rose on her toes, pressed a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth like a secret, and stepped back.
“Goodnight, Nate.”
“Goodnight, Eliza. Text me when you get home, okay?”
“I will.”
I watched her taillights to the end of the block, checked on Tilly, set the kettle for morning coffee, and stood a minute in a kitchen that smelled like garlic and something I still don’t have a better word for than home.
I barely slept. I replayed her goodnight over and over, the heat of her kiss lingering like a fingerprint.
Everything in the house felt a little lighter, as if her laughter still hovered in the corners, settling into the walls.
When I finally drifted off, it was with a kind of hope I hadn’t let myself feel in years.