Chapter 4
NATALIE
T he drive to my childhood home was as familiar as the back of my hand.
The roads wound through sleepy neighborhoods and past landmarks that hadn’t changed in decades—Mr. Hampton’s bait shop, Ms. Alexandra’s dance studio, the rusty water tower that boasted a faded painting of the high school mascot.
Each curve in the road brought with it a million memories, like ghosts trailing the car, whispering reminders of who I used to be.
I loved my family. Besides the whole being deserted by my biological father thing…
I’d had a great childhood. Backyard birthday parties, summer nights catching fireflies, snow days with cocoa so sweet it made your teeth hurt.
But coming back here since that last night with Easton always felt like digging up something buried. Something better left undisturbed.
Because everything here…every cracked sidewalk, every blinking streetlamp…It still echoed with him. With us.
I turned onto my parents’ street, the old oak trees arching overhead like a tunnel, branches heavy with December frost. And there it was.
The white house with blue shutters. My stepdad Steve’s old Chevy parked in the driveway.
The flower beds, even in winter, were weed-free and neatly mulched, my mom refusing to let them go dormant like the rest of the world.
The porch swing creaked in the breeze. It was the picture of home.
And yet, every corner of this place reminded me of him .
Pulling into the driveway, I sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel like it could anchor me. Like if I held on tightly enough, I could keep the past from crashing into the present.
But it always did.
My mind always drifted, always went back…to the first time I’d seen Easton Maddox.
Mrs . Green’s homeroom buzzed with the low hum of pre-class chatter as I sat at my desk , doodling swirls and stars on the cover of my notebook .
Betsy Meyers , seated beside me , droned on about her older brother’s latest reason for being grounded , but I wasn’t really listening .
The faint smell of pencil shavings and tater tots lingered in the air , even though lunch was hours away .
The door creaked open , and Betsy stopped mid-sentence . A hush fell over the room as everyone turned toward the doorway .
I finally glanced up to see why everyone had gotten so quiet .
And there he was .
Wow .
The new boy walked in like he owned the place .
Tall for a seventh grader , with dark hair that fell in that perfect , just-rolled-out-of-bed way, and eyes so green they seemed to cut through the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights . He wasn’t just confident ; he was magnetic , like some invisible force pulled everyone’s attention toward him .
He glanced around the room , his gaze sweeping over everyone like he was deciding where he belonged .
When his eyes landed on me , he smiled .
Not just any smile — that smile . It stretched slow and easy across his face , disarming and infuriating all at once .
My stomach flipped so hard it was a miracle I didn’t fall out of my chair .
I couldn’t look away even though I wanted to . My fingers froze on my notebook , the pen hovering mid-scribble .
He walked toward me , his steps purposeful and sure , like he’d already decided exactly where he was going to sit .
Stopping at the desk next to mine , he turned to Charlie Cordweiler , the kid occupying the chair . “ Move ,” he said , his tone more matter-of-fact than rude .
Charlie blinked up at him , obviously confused . “ Uh , why ?”
“ Because I’m sitting there ,” the new boy replied, flashing that cocky grin again , like he was already king of the school .
To my absolute horror , Charlie shrugged , grabbed his stuff , and moved to another desk . The kid plopped into the now-vacant chair without a second thought , immediately turning to me .
“ Hi ,” he said, extending a hand like we were grown-ups meeting for a business deal . “ My name’s Easton Maddox , and I’m going to marry you someday .”
Laughter erupted around the room , and my face ignited . Heat rushed to my cheeks , and I stared at him , mortified , like he’d just announced he was an alien from another planet .
“ You’re insane ,” I blurted , willing the floor to swallow me whole .
He didn’t flinch , didn’t even blink . “ Probably ,” he said with an easy shrug . “ But that’s okay .” He leaned back in his chair , his grin as self-assured as ever . “ Are you going to tell me your name ?”
“ I don’t provide that information to clear psychopaths ,” I said primly , beginning to organize my pencils on my desk like it was of utmost importance that they be in a straight line .
I didn’t know it was possible , but I could feel his smirk burning into the side of my face . “ That’s fine ,” he said , and I finally sneaked a glance at him to see what he was doing .
He was indeed smirking, and he was still leaning back in his chair like he was some kind of king instead of a seventh-grade boy . “ We’ve got the rest of our lives for me to get you to trust me .”
I was torn between running out of the room and smacking him upside the head , but instead , I stayed frozen in my chair , watching him like he was some kind of exotic animal that had wandered into the classroom .
Easton Maddox . The name stuck in my head like a song I couldn’t shake . And from that moment on , he was impossible to ignore .
I shook off the memory, blinking back to the present.
The rest of our lives . Funny how that had turned out.
With a deep breath, I got out of the car and grabbed my bag from the back seat. The cold air stung my cheeks, the kind of chill that cut right through nostalgia and straight to the bone.
My mom’s voice rang out from the front porch as I walked up, warm and welcoming.
“Nat-bug, you’re home!”
I forced a smile and headed right into her arms, trying to get comfort from her hug like I used to. She still smelled like vanilla and dryer sheets, her arms strong, her embrace solid.
But as I sank into her warmth, I couldn’t shake the weight of the memories that seemed to cling to my skin.
And the fact that all of them led back to him.
The pizza was greasy and delicious—the kind that left a sheen of oil on your fingers and a warm, happy glow in your belly.
And possibly indigestion.
It was the kind of dinner that I preferred over anything else I could have been eating, including whatever gourmet nonsense my more put-together friends swore by.
Some moms were really good at cooking homemade meals, others were good at ordering food.
My mom had always been the latter, and I loved her for it.
She never once pretended to be something she wasn’t, unless she was playing Bunco with the neighborhood moms and trying to win them over with store-bought potato salad she “doctored up.”
My parents, Aunt Kathy, and I were gathered around the kitchen island, holding greasy paper plates and swapping stories while trying to out-yell one another over the Christmas music playing from my dad’s Bluetooth speaker.
It was chaotic and weirdly cozy and almost enough to forget why I’d been dreading this trip home.
Almost.
The screen door slammed against the frame, rattling like it was holding on for dear life.
“Look what the wind blew in. The party has arrived!” a voice crowed, and I didn’t even need to look. A smile was already on my lips as I glanced toward the entry and saw MeMaw walking in.
Wow.
I bit back a laugh as I took her in.
There she stood in all her yuletide glory.
MeMaw was decked out in a bright green sweater featuring the Grinch tangled in Christmas lights that lit up every time she moved.
She’d paired it with neon green leggings covered in what I could only describe as dancing candy canes—candy canes that were, judging by their poses, definitely meant to be sexy.
Her earrings were two oversized Christmas bulbs, dangling precariously from her ears, and her glasses—Lord help us—were red and bedazzled with tiny rhinestones shaped into snowflakes.
She looked like Mrs. Claus’s chaotic cousin who drank spiked eggnog year-round and judged everyone for not embracing Christmas hard enough.
She looked like home.
“Well, don’t all jump at once.” MeMaw sniffed, eyeing everyone like we were a disappointment because we hadn’t broken out in applause at her appearance.
She set a leopard print purse shaped like a Christmas tree on the counter.
“Honestly, the silence in here is downright rude. I should’ve gotten a standing ovation or at least a slow clap. ”
“We were blinded by that sweater,” my dad muttered under his breath.
“And don’t even pretend you weren’t all just sitting around, waiting for me to show up and liven this place up.”
MeMaw’s lipstick was a bright red that bled just outside the edges of her lips. She did that on purpose she’d told me once because it made her lips look more “fuckable.”
Yes, I had thrown up a little at that one.
MeMaw pulled the sprig of holly from her cloud of teased silver curls and flung it at my mom. “Where’s your holiday spirit, young lady? I taught you better than that.”
My mom rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “You also taught me how to get into bars with a fake ID. So thanks for that.”
“And did it serve you well?” MeMaw asked sweetly.
“I’m not answering that in front of my daughter.”
I enjoyed the fact that my mom had someone to keep her in line. All I had to do was tell her she was acting like her mother, and she shaped right up.
It was a blessing in my life.
“Come here, my girl,” MeMaw said as she caned her way over to me.
She reached for me with her bedazzled talon-like nails, and I threw my arms around her, breathing in that unmistakable mix of floral perfume and powder—her signature scent since the dawn of time.
A scent she said that had always brought lovers to her in droves.
Something I preferred not to think about.