Chapter 11 Nate
eleven
nate
I'd been replaying Tuesday's incident in my head for three days straight, and it wasn't getting any better.
The write-up from Sophia sat in my personnel file like a ticking bomb.
The shame of losing control in front of my colleagues ate at me every time I walked into the ER.
But worst of all was the uncertainty—the way Tasha had looked at me afterward, an expression I couldn't read, couldn't decode, couldn't get out of my head.
I'd risked everything for her. My job, my reputation, Paige's security. And I still didn't know if she was grateful or horrified.
"Crawford."
I looked up from the supply cart I'd been organizing with unnecessary precision to find Tasha approaching. She moved with her usual confidence, but there was something different in her expression—something purposeful that made my stomach clench with anxiety.
"Tasha," I replied, keeping my voice carefully neutral.
"You got a minute?" She glanced around the busy ER, then back at me. "I wanted to ask you something."
This was it. She was going to tell me the incident had made her uncomfortable, that my loss of control had crossed a line, that we needed to maintain strictly professional boundaries going forward. I'd been dreading this conversation for three days.
"Of course," I said, setting down the IV tubing I'd been arranging for the third time.
"Would you like to have dinner sometime?" she asked. "Or coffee? Whatever you're comfortable with."
I blinked, certain I'd misheard. "I'm sorry?"
"Dinner. You and me. Like a date." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but I caught the slight uncertainty underneath. "Unless you're not interested, which is totally fine—"
"No," I said quickly, then realized how that sounded. "I mean, yes. I'm interested. I’m very interested. I just... I didn't expect..."
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Good. I was thinking tomorrow night, if that works for you."
"Tomorrow?" My mind immediately went to logistics. "I'd need to arrange childcare for Paige. Mrs. Swanson might be available, but it's short notice—"
"Actually," Tasha interrupted, and her smile widened, "I already talked to Sophia. Madison's going to hang out with Paige tomorrow night. Sleepover, if that’s okay with you? Sophia said she'd love to do it."
I stared at her, trying to process this information. "You... talked to Sophia? About babysitting? For us?"
"Well, technically I talked to her about Madison babysitting so I could ask you out properly." Tasha's expression was almost smug now. "I figured you'd never leave Paige with just anyone, and Madison's great with kids."
She'd planned this. She'd thought through the one obstacle that would have made me hesitate and solved it before I even knew there was a problem. The consideration behind that gesture made something light and buoyant expand in my chest.
"That's... very thoughtful," I managed.
"I have my moments." She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice carried a hint of mischief. "So, about dinner. I was thinking we could try this place I've been wanting to check out. It's called Whiskey River. It's a honky-tonk."
The word sent my thoughts scattering in twelve different directions. A honky-tonk. Tasha Williams, a Black woman, was asking me, a white man, to a honky-tonk. On our first official date.
My brain immediately started spiraling. Was this a test?
Was she checking to see if I'd make assumptions about her musical preferences based on her race?
Was she expecting me to object, to suggest somewhere more "appropriate"?
Or was she deliberately choosing a venue that would make me uncomfortable, some kind of social experiment about my biases?
But then I looked at her face and saw the barely contained amusement there, like she was watching me work through exactly this mental gymnastics routine.
And I realized… she was messing with me.
Not cruelly, but... playfully. Testing my assumptions, yes, but in a way that felt more like gentle teasing than serious judgment.
"A honky-tonk," I repeated carefully.
"Yep. Country music, line dancing, the whole nine yards." Her eyes sparkled with barely suppressed laughter. "Problem with that?"
"No," I said slowly. "No problem at all. I just... wouldn't have expected..."
"What? That I'd like country music?" She tilted her head, her expression innocent except for the devil in her eyes. "What kind of music did you think I liked, Nate?"
"I have no idea what kind of music you like," I said honestly. "We've never talked about it."
"You’re a smart guy." Her smile softened, becoming more genuine. "And now you’ll find out. Tomorrow night. Seven o'clock work for you?"
I nodded, still trying to catch up with this conversation. "Seven's perfect."
"Great. I'll text you the address." She turned to go, then paused. "Oh, and Nate? Don't overthink it. It's just dinner and music."
But as I watched her walk away, I knew there was nothing "just" about any of this. Tasha Williams had just turned what should have been a simple dinner invitation into a masterclass in assumptions, privilege, and getting to know someone beyond the surface.
And despite my spinning head and racing heart, I was looking forward to it more than I'd looked forward to anything in years.
* * *
Friday evening found me standing in front of my bedroom mirror, trying to decide between the blue button-down and the gray one for the third time. Paige sat on my bed, offering commentary with the brutal honesty only an eleven-year-old could muster.
"The blue one makes your eyes look nice," she said, not looking up from the friendship bracelet she was making for Madison. "But you've changed shirts four times now, Dad. It's getting weird."
"I'm not nervous," I lied, switching back to the blue shirt.
"You reorganized the spice rack twice today. You only do that when you're really nervous."
I paused in my buttoning. "The spice rack needed organizing."
"Uh-huh." Paige looked up at me with those too-perceptive eyes. "Are you nervous about your date with Tasha?"
"It's not..." I started to say it wasn't a date, then realized that was exactly what it was. "Maybe a little."
"Why? You like Tasha. She likes you. Madison says her mom thinks you guys would be good together."
"Madison said that?"
"Yep. She also said Tasha was really excited about tonight." Paige grinned. "She asked Sophia to borrow some fancy earrings."
The image of Tasha getting dressed for our date, caring enough about it to borrow jewelry, stirred something indefinable inside me.
"Dad?" Paige's voice was softer now. "Are you going to marry Tasha?"
The question caught me completely off guard. "Paige—"
"Because if you did, I wouldn't mind. She's nice. And she knows about periods and stuff, which is good."
"Noted," I said weakly. "But we're just... getting to know each other."
"Okay." Paige went back to her bracelet. "But just so you know, if you do marry her, I call dibs on being flower girl."
Before I could figure out how to respond to that, my phone buzzed with a text.
Tasha
Ready to pick me up, cowboy?
Despite my nerves, I smiled as I typed back:
Nate
As ready as I'll ever be.
At exactly six, I was loading Paige and her overnight bag into the car for the drive to Sophia's house. She chattered excitedly about her plans with Madison while I tried to calm my nerves.
"Madison says she's going to teach me how to French braid," Paige said, bouncing in her seat. "And we're going to make friendship bracelets and watch movies. She even said we could stay up until ten!"
"That's very generous of her," I said, pulling into Sophia's driveway.
The Mitchell house was a modest two-story that somehow managed to look both lived-in and welcoming. Sophia opened the door before we even knocked, Madison appearing behind her with a grin.
"Right on time," Sophia said, stepping aside to let us in. "Madison's been planning activities all afternoon."
"We're going to have the best time," Madison announced, immediately claiming Paige's bag. "Come on, I'll show you my room."
As the girls disappeared upstairs in a flurry of excited chatter, I found myself standing in Sophia's living room feeling oddly nervous.
Not about the date—well, not entirely about the date—but about this moment of domestic normalcy, this glimpse into what family life looked like when it wasn't just you against the world.
"She'll be fine," Sophia said gently, reading my expression. "Madison's great with kids."
"I know. I just—"
"Dad worry. I get it." She smiled. "Trust me, they'll have more fun without us hovering."
"Kia ora, Nate."
I turned to see Jack emerging from what looked like a home office, laptop in hand. He looked more relaxed than I'd ever seen him at the hospital—jeans and a rugby shirt instead of his paramedic uniform, hair slightly mussed like he'd been running his hands through it.
"Jack," I nodded. "How's it going?"
"Can't complain, mate. Just catching up on some paperwork." He set the laptop aside and studied me for a moment. "You look nervous. Big night?"
"Something like that."
Jack's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "Listen, I wanted to thank you again. For the advice you gave me during that whole... situation. Really helped me sort my head out."
I knew he was referring to whatever had happened between him and Sophia in New Zealand—the "hiccup" he'd mentioned in his texts. "No need to thank me. From what I can see, you two worked it out."
"Yeah, we did." Jack glanced toward Sophia, who was tidying up the kitchen, and his expression softened. "Though I have to say, you were right about one thing. I'm a damn lucky man. Kicking way past my coverage on this one."
I followed his gaze to Sophia, thinking about everything I knew about her— her competence, her strength, the way she'd handled my crisis with Paige's babysitter like it was nothing. "She's not usually one for second chances, so she must like you an awful damn lot."
"Yeah, mate, you're not joking." Jack shook his head, a slightly amazed smile crossing his face. "Still can't quite believe she took me back after I mucked things up so thoroughly."
"Well, you must have done something right."
"Eventually." He paused, then looked at me directly. "But seriously, I appreciate the hell out of the advice you gave me. I owe you one big."
"Nah," I said, meaning it. "You don't owe me anything. It's what friends do."
Jack's expression warmed. "Well, I appreciate it all the same."
Before I could respond, the sound of giggling from upstairs reminded me why I was here. Sophia appeared with a knowing smile.
"You should get going," she said. "Tasha's probably already wondering where you are."
"Right." I called up the stairs. "Paige! I'm leaving!"
"Bye, Dad!" came the muffled response. "Have fun on your date!"
"No worries, Mr. C," Madison added, her voice carrying down the hallway. "We've got this handled!"
Jack caught my expression and grinned. "Madison's got a good head on her shoulders. Paige is in excellent hands."
"I know." I grabbed my keys. "Thanks again, both of you."
"Go," Sophia said, practically pushing me toward the door. "And Nate? Have fun. You deserve this."
Twenty minutes later, I was pulling into the parking lot of Tasha's apartment complex, and my nervousness had been completely overtaken by curiosity.
She lived in one of those converted warehouse buildings down by the river—industrial brick and huge windows, the kind of place that screamed urban professional rather than struggling nurse.
I found her building and texted:
Here
Coming down
came the immediate reply.
I got out of the car to wait, and when the lobby door opened, every coherent thought in my head evaporated.
Tasha stepped out wearing dark jeans that hugged every curve and a burgundy top that made her skin seem to glow from within.
Her hair was down, falling in soft waves around her shoulders instead of the practical ponytail she wore at work, and she was wearing silver earrings that caught the light when she moved.
I'd always known she was attractive. I could appreciate her looks the way you might admire a painting in an art gallery, with professional detachment and aesthetic appreciation.
But this... this was different. Tonight she wasn't just attractive. Tonight she was absolutely devastating.
"You clean up nice, Crawford," she said as she approached, and her smile was warm and knowing, like she could see exactly what her appearance was doing to me.
"You look..." I started, then lost track of my words as she stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume—something warm and spicy that made me want to lean in and breathe deeper. "Amazing. You look amazing."
"Thank you." She seemed pleased by my reaction, which only made her more beautiful. "You ready for this?"
"Define ready," I managed, opening the passenger door for her.
She laughed as she slid into the seat, a sound that made my breath catch a little. "Come on, Crawford. Let's see if you can handle a little country music."
As I walked around to the driver's side, I caught her watching me through the windshield, and the heat in her gaze made something low in my stomach clench with anticipation.
Whatever happened tonight, I was pretty sure my carefully controlled world was about to get turned upside down.