12. Nate
Chapter twelve
Nate
The sound of Max’s fork clinking against his plate fills the dining room, but my mind is somewhere else. Somewhere upstairs. With Liz.
She’s been avoiding me. It’s not just a feeling, it’s a fact. I’ve tried to talk to her, corner her at work, or catch her alone at home, but she always finds an excuse. A meeting, an email, a task that absolutely cannot wait. She’s always polite, always professional, but distant in a way that gnaws at me.
I should let it go. I should respect her space. But the truth is, her absence—her distance—is affecting me more than I want to admit.
“Liz isn’t joining us again?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
Sue looks up from her plate, her expression unreadable. “She said she’ll eat later. I think she’s busy.”
Max frowns, his little face scrunching up in a way that makes my chest ache. “She doesn’t eat with us anymore,” he says quietly, pushing his food around his plate. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Of course not,” I say quickly, my voice firmer than intended.
Max looks up at me, his blue eyes wide and searching. “Then why doesn’t she like us anymore?”
“She likes us just fine,” I assure him, even as my gut twists at the uncertainty in his voice. “I’ll talk to her, okay? I promise.”
That seems to satisfy him for now, but as he returns to his meal, I can’t shake the hollowness that settles over me. Dinner feels empty without her. The whole house feels emptier. And it’s not just about Max missing her presence, it’s me.
I miss her.
I miss the way her laughter fills the space, the way she teases Max out of his grumpy moods, the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
The thought hits me harder than it should, and I push my chair back abruptly. “Max, keep eating. I’ll be right back.”
I don’t have a plan as I head upstairs, my footsteps quick and determined. All I know is that I need to talk to her. To figure out why she’s pulling away and put an end to it.
When I reach her door, I hesitate for a moment, my hand hovering just above the wood. I take a deep breath and knock.
“Come in,” she calls, her voice soft but steady.
I push the door open and step inside, my gaze immediately landing on her. She’s standing by the dresser, with her back to me, dressed in an oversized top that clearly doesn’t belong to her.
Jealousy flares in my chest before I can stop it. The idea of her wearing another man’s clothes sends a surge of possessiveness through me, irrational and unwelcome. I try to shove it down, but my mind betrays me, wondering if she would ever wear my shirt like that.
“Did you need something?” she asks, turning to face me.
Her tone is polite, almost indifferent, and it stings more than I want to admit.
“We need to talk,” I say, my voice firmer than intended.
Her brow arches slightly, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “About what?”
She doesn’t stop moving, walking around the room as if I’m not even there. She places a book on the nightstand, adjusts a picture frame, folds a blanket. It’s infuriating how unaffected she seems.
It’s then that I notice the bag in the corner of the room, half-packed and waiting. My stomach sinks.
“Are you leaving?” I ask, my voice is quieter now.
She glances at the bag, then back at me. “Not yet. I’m just packing ahead. I’ll be moving to Bryan’s house at the end of the week.”
I already knew this. It’s been the plan all along. But hearing it now feels different. Final.
“Bryan isn’t back yet,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual. “What’s the rush?”
She pauses for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I thought I’d wait until he got back, but I’ve changed my mind. I think it’s best if I leave sooner.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I can’t do this. I can’t let her walk out of my life without understanding why she’s running.
“Liz,” I say, stepping closer. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Her jaw tightens, and she looks away. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
I reach out, gently turning her to face me. The touch feels like both a relief and a curse, and I have to fight the urge to pull her closer. “Don’t lie to me,” I say softly. “Please.”
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see it—the vulnerability, the hurt, the fear she’s trying so hard to hide.
“I don’t want to be a hindrance to your family,” she says finally, her voice trembling slightly.
I frown, confused. “What are you talking about?”
She pulls back, her eyes flashing with anger now. “Don’t pretend, Nate. I know you’re still seeing Becky.”
The accusation blindsides me, and I step back, stunned. “What? No, I’m not.”
She lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Stop the act, Nate. Stop playing with my head.”
“I’m not,” I insist, my voice rising slightly. “Liz, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and it breaks something in me. “Last Saturday,” she says, her voice cracking. “I called you. I wanted to help with the project. But you didn’t answer. Becky did.”
The memory hits me like a freight train, and I feel the blood drain from my face.
“She said you were at her house,” Liz continues, her voice growing quieter. “She said you were busy. And she made it clear that you were spending time together as a family.”
I shake my head, trying to piece it together. “Liz, I swear, I never got your call.”
“Because Becky answered it,” she snaps, her composure crumbling.
My mind races, and then it hits me. Saturday morning. I’d stepped out of the office to grab breakfast, leaving my phone behind. When I returned, Becky had been there, sitting behind my desk like she owned the place.
“She must have answered it,” I say, my voice low with realization.
Liz laughs bitterly, shaking her head. “Right. Convenient.”
“I’m serious,” I say, stepping closer. “I had no idea she did that. Liz, I swear to you, I wasn’t with Becky. I was at the office all day.”
She looks at me, her eyes searching mine for the truth. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because I’m telling the truth,” I say, my voice breaking slightly. “Liz, I haven’t seen Becky outside of when I let her see Max. She doesn’t mean anything to me. Not anymore.”
She doesn’t respond, but I see the conflict in her eyes. The way she wants to believe me but can’t quite bring herself to.
“Liz,” I say, my voice softer now. “You’re all I can think about.”
Her breath hitches, and she looks away, but I gently cup her cheek, turning her back to me. “I’ve tried to fight it. I’ve tried to come up with every reason to stay away. But nothing works. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
She closes her eyes, tears spilling over. “Nate...”
I shake my head, my voice trembling. “That kiss wasn’t a mistake. It was the best thing that’s happened to me in years. And I only said it was a mistake because I was scared. Scared of how much I want you.”
She looks up at me, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “I want you too,” she whispers. “No matter how much I fight it, I can’t stop.”
I don’t wait. I can’t. I close the distance between us, my lips capturing hers in a kiss that’s anything but hesitant. It’s deep, raw, and filled with every emotion I’ve been holding back.
Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her as if letting go isn’t an option.
The kiss is everything I’ve been craving, everything I didn’t know I needed.
A knock on the door startles us, and we pull apart, both breathing heavily.
“Dad?” Max’s voice calls from the other side. “Did you tell Liz we’re sorry?”
I glance at Liz, who’s flushed and disheveled but smiling softly.
“Yeah, buddy,” I call back. “We talked.”
Max peeks in, his blue eyes hopeful. “Liz, are you mad at us?”
Liz crouches to his level, her voice gentle. “I’m not mad, Max. I promise. And I’ll eat dinner with you tomorrow. Deal?”
Max grins. “Deal!”
Max bolts out of the room, leaving us alone. The silence that follows is thick, charged with everything we haven’t said and everything we’ve just done. Liz rises slowly from where she crouched to talk to Max, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
I watch her, my chest tightening as the moment sinks in. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly swollen from the kiss, and all I can think about is how much I want to kiss her again.
But then my gaze drifts to the bag in the corner of the room, and reality comes crashing back.
“Are you still leaving?” I ask, my voice low, almost hesitant.
She pauses, her fingers brushing against the edge of the dresser as she glances at the packed bag. For a moment, I think she’s going to avoid the question, but then she turns to face me, her expression conflicted.
“I don’t know,” she admits, her voice soft.
“You don’t know?” I echo, stepping closer. “Liz, you can’t just pack up and leave without telling me why. Not now. Not after...”
I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.
She sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Nate, this... us... it’s complicated. ”
“That’s only if we make it complicated. Let's give us a trial,” I cut in, surprising even myself with the intensity of my words.
She blinks, her eyes searching mine. “Us?”
“Yes, us,” I say firmly. “Liz, I know this is all new and I'm still trying to figure all my emotions, but I know that whatever this is, I haven't felt it with any other woman, and I want us to explore it to the fullest.”
Her breath catches, and for a moment, she looks like she might cry again. But then she shakes her head, her voice trembling. “Nate, I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can handle everything that comes with you - your past, your baggage. I’m scared.”
I step closer, closing the distance between us until we’re barely a breath apart. “I’m scared too,” I admit, my voice raw. “But I know one thing for sure: I want you. I’ve tried to convince myself that I don’t, that I shouldn’t, but it’s not working. I need you, Liz.”
Her eyes glisten with tears, and I reach out, brushing my thumb gently across her cheek. “Please,” I whisper. “Stay. At least until Bryan gets back. Let’s figure this out together.”
She hesitates, her gaze flicking to the bag again, then back to me. “I’ll stay,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “But when Bryan gets back, I’m moving to his place.”
It’s not the answer I want, but it’s enough. For now.
I nod, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Thank you.”
She gives me a small, tentative smile, and for the first time in days, I feel a flicker of hope.
I try to steady my racing heart.
The future looks promising.
***
The smell of fresh flowers is everywhere, vibrant and intoxicating, as I step into the florist’s shop. It’s been years—no, more than that—since I’ve done something like this. My past relationships were practical at best, and grand gestures like buying flowers felt pointless back then.
But Liz isn’t just anyone.
She’s been in my head constantly, like a song I can’t stop humming. Every smile, every laugh, every teasing remark has taken root, growing into something I can’t ignore.
I wander through the aisles, eyeing the vibrant bouquets arranged in neat rows. Roses, lilies, daisies. There’s so much to choose from, but nothing seems good enough.
“She likes bright colors,” I murmur to myself, remembering how Liz lights up at the simplest things. Her joy is infectious, the kind of thing that lingers long after she’s gone.
“You look lost.”
I glance up to find a woman behind the counter, her smile knowing. She’s probably seen a hundred guys like me, clueless and fumbling.
“First time buying flowers for someone special?” she asks, stepping closer.
I clear my throat, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Not my first time. Just… it’s been a while.”
Her smile widens. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Who’s the lucky lady?”
“She’s…” I trail off, my mind flooded with images of Liz—her laughter, the way her eyes crinkle when she teases me, how she’s made my house feel like a home again. “She’s incredible,” I finish, the words coming out softer than I intended.
The florist hums thoughtfully, her gaze sweeping over the arrangements. “She sounds special. Let’s find something that says that.”
As she gathers a bouquet of yellow daisies, white lilies, and soft pink roses, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance at the screen, half-expecting it to be something work-related, but it’s not. It’s a message from Liz, thanking me for dropping her off earlier and asking if I’ll be back in time for lunch.
My chest tightens. Just a simple text, but it’s enough to make my day.
I murmur a thanks when she hands the flowers to me. I should leave, but something holds me back.
“Wait,” I say, setting the bouquet on the counter. “I need to add a note.”
She slides a small card and pen toward me. “Take your time.”
I pick up the pen, staring at the blank card. What do I even write?
At first, I consider something simple, like Hope this makes you smile . But that feels generic and impersonal. Liz deserves more.
The words come slowly at first, then all at once:
You light up every room you walk into. I don’t want to imagine my days without that smile .
I cap the pen and slide the card back to the florist and the bouquets, my heart pounding harder than it should.
“Perfect,” she says, tucking the card into the bouquet. “I’ll make sure this gets delivered right away.”
I leave for the meeting I have this morning at a local restaurant. All I can think about is Liz and whether the flowers have reached her yet.
I picture her reaction—how her face will light up, the way her lips might curve into that soft, breathtaking smile that always leaves me a little off balance.
By the time I finally return to the office, I’m practically buzzing with anticipation.
When I step into Liz’s office, she’s standing by her desk, the bouquet in a vase on her table. Her back is to me, but I can tell by the way she’s holding it that she’s reading the note.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She turns, and the smile that greets me is everything I hoped for and more. Before I can say another word, she closes the distance between us, throwing her arms around my neck.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice full of emotion.
The hug lasts longer than it should, but I don’t care. When she pulls back, she kisses me—soft, quick, but enough to send my heart racing.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she says, her fingers brushing the petals of the flowers.
“I wanted to,” I admit. “I want to see that smile on your face every day.”
Her cheeks flush, and for a moment, she looks almost shy. “Well, mission accomplished.”
I lean against her desk, watching her, unable to take in enough of her. “I want to tell you I have something planned for us for tonight. I hope you don't have plans,” I say casually.
She glances at me, her brow lifting in curiosity. “Oh, I don't, but I'm definitely curious about whatever it is.”
“Just wait,” I say, smirking. “You’ll find out tonight.”
The evening comes faster than I expect, and before I know it, Liz and I are in the car.
The drive is quiet at first, but not in an awkward way. Liz hums softly to the music playing on the radio, occasionally throwing me teasing comments about my terrible sense of direction.
“Umm that's not the direction of the house,” she asks suddenly, her eyes narrowing playfully.
“You’re right, this is all part of the surprise I have for you,” I admit, turning onto a quieter road that leads toward the beach.
"Now stop asking me questions and enjoy the ride,"
I wink at her, and she burst into laughter. Her excitement is contagious as we pull up to the secluded spot I had arranged. It is exactly how I want it. Lanterns hang from nearby trees, casting a warm glow over the blanket spread across the sand. There’s a picnic basket waiting, filled with her favorite snacks and a bottle of wine.
“Oh, my goodness,” she breathes, stepping out of the car. “Nate, this is… this is incredible.”
I shrug, trying to play it cool even though my heart is pounding. “I thought we could use a change of scenery.”
She turns to me, her eyes shining with gratitude. “You did all this?”
“Not by myself but this was all my idea,” I admit.
"This is so sweet,"
"I'm glad you like it,"
She laughs, walking closer to inspect the blanket. “You even remembered my favorite snacks.”
“Of course I do, there is nothing about you that I don't remember,” I say simply, guiding her to sit.
As we eat, the conversation flows easily. We talk about everything and nothing, from work to childhood memories. She tells me about the time she got lost on a school field trip, and I share a story about Max’s first fishing trip, which ended with us both soaked and covered in seaweed.
The stars come out slowly, one by one, and Liz leans back on her elbows, gazing up at the sky.
“This is perfect,” she says softly, her voice almost lost to the sound of the waves.
I turn to her, my chest tightening. “You deserve perfect.”
She looks at me then, her expression unreadable. “I had no idea you paid so much attention. To me, I mean.”
I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “How could I not? You’re impossible to ignore.”
Her breath catches, and for a moment, we just stare at each other. Slowly, I lean in, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
Our lips meet, and the world seems to fade away. It’s not our first kiss, but it feels different—deeper, more certain.
When we finally pull apart, she’s smiling, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” I say, my voice steady. “I just want to give you the best time and create memories with you.”
She leans her head against my shoulder, and we sit in silence, the waves lapping at the shore as the stars glitter above us.