11. Lucy
eleven
Lucy
“He stood there, completely silent, as I rambled on and on about how expensive my diabetes supplies are. It was so embarrassing. I can never show my face around Nate again.”
I groan and slump onto the wide green couch in our little living room.
Sloane raises a brow. “That’s going to be difficult to pull off if you’re still planning to babysit Quinn for him.”
I blow out a long breath. “I guess it’s too much to ask for him to leave through the back door when I pull into the driveway.”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“You didn’t see him, Sloane. He was frozen, like a statue.”
She frowns. “Maybe you were going too fast for him to keep up. He had just gotten back from work, right?”
I nod, and she continues, “He was probably tired and not following.”
I sigh and sit up straighter on the couch, throwing my feet into her lap on the other end.
She shoots me a heatless glare and rolls her eyes.
I pull my feet back far enough to tuck them under her blanket and set them on her lap again.
“He did look exhausted, but that seems like a constant state of being for him these days.”
Sloane sighs and purses her lips. “Well, of course, he’s tired. He’s had to become a parent overnight. Then going back to work after everything he’s been through…” She shakes her head as she releases a long breath, then shrugs. “Maybe you should send a text and check in.”
I shake my head. “Ew. No. He’s not my boyfriend, Sloane. He’s just the guy whose niece I’m babysitting.”
Her eyes narrow, and she tilts her head. “You’re sure there’s nothing else there?”
I frown, meeting her gaze. “What do you mean?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. The two of you have always had a little… chemistry.”
My brows rise as my heart flutters. “Chemistry? If you mean that he’d love to find a chemical reaction that would permanently turn my hair green, then sure.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Lucy. Don’t try to pretend you’ve never thought about him that way before.”
My mind replays the memory of my hands on Nate’s chest as I helped him through his panic attack. I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to dispel the image. “I definitely haven’t.”
She chuckles. “I don’t believe you for a second. The two of you are constantly flirting and bantering. There’s more there, whether you’re ready to admit it or not.”
I clear my throat and rise from the couch, straightening my pajamas—my cutest set of shorts and a button-down top that are powder blue with pink bows all over them—and stretching my back. “Don’t quit your day job, Sloane. Matchmaking is not your calling.”
As I walk to my room, she calls, “One day you’re going to eat your words, Lu.”
Letting my door swing shut, I reply, “Whatever.”
I definitely will not.
I collapse across my bed, completely exhausted from the last thirty-six hours.
I spent all day yesterday playing with Quinn and taking care of her.
Quinn fell asleep quickly last night, but she woke up a few times.
I ended up moving her little portable crib into my room.
After that, she slept fine, but I had trouble falling asleep.
The bed was comfortable, but something about being the only responsible adult in the house is daunting, and falling asleep in a new place is always more difficult than at home.
Quinn was up early and in the best mood, which led to our kitchen dance party and me completely embarrassing myself in front of Nate.
Then I went straight from Nate’s house to the preschool this morning and worked through the afternoon.
I came home, took a long, hot bath, and nearly cried with gratitude when Sloane said she had picked up a pizza for supper.
My phone chimes on the other side of the bed, and I roll onto my side to reach it as two other texts follow the first.
Skye
Lu, how was your first day with Quinn?
Em
Better question: how did it go with Nate?
Reese’s message is a GIF of a man eating popcorn and eagerly watching, eyes darting side to side.
I roll my eyes as I type. Do they honestly think I don’t know they’re all sitting on the couch together in their adorable living room, eating literal popcorn as they wait for my answer?
Quinn and I had a great day together. She’s the sweetest little girl! Nate could take a few notes from Quinn.
Reese
What happened? Was he rude after you rearranged your summer schedule to help him out?
The scene in The Parent Trap—the Lindsay Lohan version—when Annie’s friend at camp tries to defend her against Hallie comes to mind. I have to stifle a laugh as I picture Reese raising her fists and asking, “Want me to deck him for you?”
He was the same as always.
Em
Quit being vague. Tell us what happened!
I draw a deep breath and pop my knuckles as I prepare to type out a novel-length message describing one of the most mortifying moments of my life. But I only get a few words into it when my phone rings. I freeze, thumbs hovering over the screen as ‘Nathaniel’ appears across the top of my phone.
Silently debating, I answer the call at the last possible second and clear my throat. “Nathaniel.”
“Lucinda.”
I suppress a shiver as his deep voice skates down my spine. I grab the nearest blanket and wrap it around my shoulders, convinced that the reaction was due to the overzealous ceiling fan in my room. It had nothing to do with Nate. “If you’re calling to tease me, I’ll block your number.”
He chuckles. “No, don’t. I’m not calling to tease you.”
“Then what do you want?”
He blows a breath into the phone. “To apologize.”
I blink a few times, completely stunned. “Hold on a second.”
I tap a few things on my screen until I find what I need. An automated voice announces over the line, “This call is now being recorded.”
“Okay, I’m ready now.”
Nate chuckles. “Wow. Really, Luce?”
“Yeah. Really, Nate. I didn’t even know you knew the word ‘apologize,’ let alone how to do it. This is a moment I want to remember forever.”
He scoffs, and I can picture him rolling his eyes and tilting his head back. “Fine, whatever. But now it won’t be as heartfelt because you’ve added the pressure of being recorded.”
“I think I’ll survive it.”
“Ugh. Okay.” He takes a long pause and clears his throat. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable this morning. I didn’t intend to upset you. I was… processing, I guess. Maybe my coffee hadn’t completely kicked in, and it took a little longer than usual.”
I draw a deep breath and release it. Sloane was right, but I’ll never admit that aloud. “Thank you. I’m sorry, too. I kind of unloaded on you and stormed out. I let my frustration and embarrassment get the better of me.”
“Look at us being emotionally mature.” I can practically hear the smile in his voice. “This might be the first time we’ve worked something out without someone ending up in a headlock or calling each other those creative names. Our moms would be so proud.”
“Yeah, well. I guess we had to grow up at some point.”
“So, what do I have to do to get a copy of this recording? I’d love to immortalize the moment you apologized to me. I might never get to hear those words from your mouth again.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re such a lint-licker.”
He chuckles. “And we’re back.”
Without my permission, the corner of my mouth lifts, and I shake my head.
Nate draws a deep breath. “Seriously, though, Luce. I understand you being frustrated with your diagnosis and the cost of taking care of yourself. But why were you embarrassed? It’s me.”
I draw my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them. Yeah, it’s Nate. The one guy who has made it his life’s mission to pick on me, and I gave him ammunition.
But he’s not all bad. He can be kind. There were several occasions in our childhood when he came to my defense because someone else was picking on me.
I clear my throat. “I guess I was afraid that you’d tease me about being diabetic, and it’s kind of a fresh wound.”
“Lucy, I would never tease you about that. I’m sorry that the way I’ve treated you made you believe I would.”
That small smile is back—softer than before. I rest my forehead on my knees to hide it. “Wow. I get two apologies in one night? I don’t know how to feel about that.”
He draws another deep breath. “Well, it’s not every day I feel like I’ve been a jerk for too long and I need to make up for it.”
I blow a breathy chuckle. “You’re not a jerk, Nate. You just like to tease me.”
He hums in agreement. “True. But that doesn’t make it okay.”
I clear my throat and search for something else to say—something that will distract me from the way my stomach filled with butterflies when his hum rumbled over the phone. “Is Quinn already asleep?”
“Yeah, she’s out like a light. Did she sleep well for you last night?”
“She woke up a couple of times, but after I moved her bed into my room, she slept fine.”
“Good. She’s usually a great sleeper, but she’s had a hard time staying asleep the last few weeks. Did you sleep okay?” He clears his throat. “I mean, was the bed okay? I can pick up a memory foam topper if it would make it more comfortable.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “The bed was comfortable. My sleeping issues were unrelated.”
He hums again, and the sound raises chills on my arms. “I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well.”
I pull the blanket tighter and laugh. “Now you’re overdoing the apologies. It’s making the first one feel less authentic.”
“Sorry.”
I chuckle and lean back on my pillows. “It’s fine. I had a hard time falling asleep in a new place. I’m sure it’ll be better Thursday night.”
“I’m glad to hear that you’re still coming on Thursday. I was a little afraid that I’d scared you off.”
My mouth lifts in a smirk. “No, you didn’t. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not scary.”
He blows a breathy chuckle. “Good to know.”
Footsteps sound in the hallway as Sloane walks past my door to her room. I check the time and suppress a yawn. “I didn’t realize how late it’s getting.”
Nate clears his throat. “Right. I’ll let you go so you can get some rest.”
“Okay.”
“Good night, Luce.”
“Good night, Nate.”
When I end the call, my mouth is still tilted upward in a smile. This feels so weird after a conversation with Nate. Usually, I’m fuming when I’m finished talking to him.
Tonight I feel… at ease.
The notification that my call recording has been saved pops up on my lock screen, and I tap it, tempted to play it back but also terrified that the recording will make me smile the same way he did in real time.
Instead, I tap ‘send’ and attach it to a message to Nate.
Thanks again for your apology. I appreciate your emotional maturity.
Nate
Of course, I pride myself on my overall maturity.
This is coming from the guy who tried to give me a wet willie last week.
Classic.
You’re such a trout-sniffer.
I see we haven’t moved past the classic Home Alone trash talk names.
They are timeless.
True.
I roll my eyes and reach over to turn off the lamp by my bed. As the room goes dark, another message chimes in.
Quinn missed you today. She asked for you several times and cried when you left. She really loves you.
I set a hand on my chest and fight the heat in my eyes. Maybe it’s odd for a babysitter to say this, but I missed her today, too.
I really love her, too. I’m counting down the hours until Thursday morning.
Thanks for taking such good care of her. She needs that right now, and it’s nice knowing I can trust the person I’m leaving her with.
Thanks for giving me the opportunity. She’s precious, and I love every minute I get to spend with her.
I slide under my covers and settle on my pillow, eyelids already feeling heavy. My phone chimes again, and I roll onto my side to read the new message.
I hate that you’re going through so much with your diagnosis. If you ever need someone to unload on again, I’m your guy.
Who is this man, and why does one simple sentence have my stomach feeling all swoopy like I’ve just done a vertical loop on a roller coaster?
This is Nate Walker.
Nate. Walker.
He’s a pest.
Maybe if I repeat that to myself enough, my stomach will stop flipping.
I mean, I can be that guy.
If you need someone to be that guy for you.
I can’t help but smile as I type my reply.
Noted.
I bite my lip as I consider another response.
Thanks for giving me permission to unload in the future.
Of course.
Good night again, Luce.
Good night again, Nate.
I back out of my concerning conversation with Nate and my eyes widen as I realize that I’ve left the girls waiting this entire time.
I tap the group message and set a hand on my face.
I typed a few words in the text box before answering Nate’s call.
So, it looks like I’ve been writing a massive message.
Quickly, I clear out the sentence fragment and start a new message.
My thumbs hover over the screen as I contemplate what to tell them about my day with Nate and Quinn, especially considering his apology and this newfound emotional maturity between us.
It was fine. I’m overreacting.
Before they can respond, I mute my phone, lock the screen, and turn it face down on my nightstand. I don’t have the mental energy to answer the questions that I’m sure they’re sending rapid-fire in the group chat right now.
Besides, I told them the truth. It really was fine. And I am overreacting. That’s the only thing that explains the ridiculous reactions I had during my conversation with Nate tonight.
I’m overreacting.
Right?