32. Lucy #2
Nate walks me through steaming the wallpaper to loosen the glue on the back, then scraping the paper off while it’s still warm, demonstrating the steps as I watch.
For a moment, I allow myself to appreciate the excited gleam in his eyes as he works, and the way his backward hat pushes his hair back from his forehead and accentuates the angles of his face.
Muscles and veins roll in his hands and forearms as he scrapes the wallpaper off, and my heart flutters thinking of how gentle those strong hands can be with Quinn… and with me.
He turns to me with his brows raised. “Think you’ve got it?”
I swallow and nod, feeling my cheeks heat as the corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “I think so.”
His eyes narrow as they roam my face. “Okay. I only have one steamer. So, we’ll have to share it.”
I nod again, not trusting myself to speak coherently with his bright hazel eyes on me.
We fall into a rhythm, taking turns steaming and scraping as soggy wallpaper falls to the floor in strips around us.
When we’ve scraped one section of the foyer, I stand back and tilt my head, eying the line of wallpaper at the top of the wall that neither of us could reach from the floor.
I purse my lips and nod, turning toward the living room. “I’ll grab a chair.”
Nate grabs my elbow, and I turn to him as he shakes his head. “I’ll get the step stool. You’re not getting back on those wobbly chairs.”
I roll my eyes.
He frowns as his fingers brush the insulin pump on my upper arm. “Did you wear your pump and CGM on your arm to school today?”
I bite my lip and nod. Today was my first day as a substitute teacher at the elementary school.
“There’s a little boy at the preschool who also has type 1 diabetes.
On one of my last days there, he showed me the devices on his arm and told me about all the different stickers his mom had gotten to cover them.
I told him about mine, and he asked why I hid them.
” I draw a deep breath and shrug. “I figured if he could be brave and unashamed of his devices, maybe I could, too.”
Nate’s mouth lifts in a soft, slow smile. He traces the edges of my pump with the tip of his finger, and his eyes sparkle as they focus on mine. “I’m proud of you for being brave.”
My heart skips a beat as butterflies fill my stomach. His words and the sincerity shining in his gaze as he looks at me like I’m some priceless work of art are doing strange things to me.
He blinks and drops his hand. He lifts his hat, runs his hand through his hair, and replaces it as he turns toward the closet under the stairs. My stomach sinks, and I draw a slow breath to try to restore some of the fortitude I had before he looked at me like that.
My mind reels as he sets up the step stool. Ever since his nightmare, when things started to shift between us, he’s caught himself and taken a step back, like he’s afraid to go too far. But I can’t figure out why.
When he has the step stool ready, I grab a putty knife and climb it without hesitation.
His eyes widen, and he grabs the side of the step stool, setting a foot on the bottom step to keep it steady. “Whoa. Hold on, hotshot. I was going to scrape the top.”
I raise my brows at him from the top step. “I can do it.”
He purses his lips and tilts his head, giving me a challenging look. “Can you even reach the top?”
I roll my eyes and stretch onto my toes, smiling as my putty knife barely touches the crown molding. I turn back to him, holding a hand out. “Steamer, please.”
He clenches his jaw, but he hands me the steamer.
When I turn around to start steaming the wallpaper, his arms bracket my legs as he holds the metal handle that extends above the stool.
While I work, I’m hyper aware of how close he is, feeling the warmth of his body behind mine.
But I force myself to stay focused on the task—steam and scrape, steam and scrape.
When I’ve removed everything I can reach, I turn around on the top step and hand him the steamer. He sets it on the floor, and I take a step down.
He turns back to me and raises his brows. “Hold on.”
He brushes damp wallpaper strips off the bottom step, and my shoulders drop. “Overprotective much?”
He clenches his jaw as his eyes roam my face. “You don’t have a great track record with things like this.” I roll my eyes, but he continues, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t fall.”
I shrug and meet his gaze. “You would catch me.”
He plucks a piece of wallpaper from my hair as I plant my feet firmly on the floor in front of him. His eyes are glowing with an emotion that warms my chest and makes my knees weak. “I would.”
He tucks some stray hair behind my ear, then blinks and drops his hand.
I frown. “Why do you do that?”
His eyes dart between mine. “What?”
My heart picks up speed in my chest, as nerves settle in my stomach. But I’m tired of dancing around whatever this is. I square my shoulders, feigning boldness. “Hold yourself back like that.”
His throat bobs with a thick swallow. “I always keep my promises.”
I inch toward him and cross my arms, holding my elbows to keep from reaching for him yet. “What about your promise in the tent?”
His eyes roam my face and land on my mouth.
My stomach flips as I lean toward him. “Do you want to kiss me, Nathaniel?”
He clenches his jaw as his eyes dart up to mine, and he nods.
I set my hand on his arm and meet his gaze with a sudden bout of courage. “Then ask.”
He sets a hand on my waist and runs a thumb along my jaw with the other. His eyes are glowing so fiercely it’s like they’re lit from within. His breaths are shallow, and he nearly whispers, “Can I kiss you, Luce?”
His request comes out strained, like it’s taking all his self-control to stay in check. But it lands in my chest like the confirmation I’ve been craving.
He wants me.
I draw a slow breath and let my lips part, watching as his eyes drop to my mouth again. I nod and whisper, “Yes.”
He’s moving as soon as he has my permission.
He cups my face in his large palm and steps closer, pulling me into him as his other hand roams to my lower back.
His eyes meet mine one more time, like he’s triple-checking that he’s allowed to proceed, then they drop to my mouth as he finally closes the distance between us.
When his lips meet mine, my heart explodes in my chest. His mouth moves slowly, reverently, as though he’s trying to pour a lifetime of apologies he’s never spoken into a single kiss. Like he’s afraid of moving too fast and pushing my boundaries.
I set a hand on his jaw and stretch onto my toes as I deepen the kiss. He hums softly as he pulls me closer, and my knees turn to jelly. His arm tightens around my back, steadying me as he runs his fingers along my jaw with his other hand.
This kiss is nothing like our wedding kiss.
That one was a promise. This one is a homecoming.
It’s patient and unhurried, like he’s afraid to waste a single second of it. And somewhere between his hands on my back and the quiet, strong way he holds me, I realize this isn’t just our first real kiss. It’s the moment we’ve been stumbling toward our whole lives.
He slides both hands up my back, and I sigh, letting myself melt in his embrace. I run a hand into his hair and hold him closer. He smiles into the kiss, and my heart skips a beat.
Slowly, he pulls away, smiling as he drops his forehead onto mine and stays close.
I close my eyes as I catch my breath, mind reeling because this is Nate Walker—the guy who filled my car with bouncy balls our senior year of high school—and all I want is to keep kissing him like this for the rest of my life.
Quinn calls from the monitor clipped to the waistband of his shorts, and I sigh.
Nate inhales deeply, holding my jaw in both of his hands as he presses a soft kiss on my cheek. His warm breath tickles my neck as his deep voice stirs up the butterflies in my stomach. “At least she waited until after I kissed you this time.”
I chuckle and lean into him as his arms wrap around me in a hug that I never want to end.
He groans as Quinn calls again. He trails his hands down my arms like he can’t bring himself to stop touching me. He sighs and tilts his head toward the stairs. “I’ll go get her.”
All I can do is nod and smile like an idiot.
His crooked grin melts the last of my doubts as he turns and bounds up the stairs to get Quinn. I run my hand over my hair, still secured in a ponytail, and draw a deep breath.
This smile feels permanently affixed to my face as the hope that’s been taking root in my stomach for the last few days blooms into something much larger—something life-changing.
I’m in love with my husband.