14. Nate
Chapter fourteen
Nate
Liz laughs nervously, her fingers gripping my arm as I guide her up the final steps of the old Ocean Bay lighthouse. Her blindfold is snug, covering those beautiful eyes that always seem to catch me off guard.
“Nate,” she says, half-exasperated, half-amused. “If I trip and break something, you’re the one explaining it to Bryan.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen,” I say, my voice steady as I squeeze her hand. “Besides, you trust me, don’t you?”
She hesitates for a beat, her grip tightening slightly. “I do,” she admits softly.
Those two words do something to me, more than they probably should.
We reach the top, the cool ocean breeze brushing against my face as I push the door open. The scent of salt and candles mingles in the air, and the sound of soft music—something jazzy and timeless—drifts from the portable speaker I set up earlier.
“Okay,” I say, stepping behind her and carefully untying the blindfold. “You can open your eyes now.”
The moment she does, her lips part in a soft gasp. The lighthouse’s observation deck has been transformed—string lights hang overhead, casting a warm, golden glow. A small table for two is in the center, surrounded by candles flickering gently in the breeze. Beyond the railing, the ocean stretches out endlessly, the waves glistening under the moonlight.
“Nate…” she breathes, turning to look at me with wide eyes. “This is—”
“Just a little something,” I say, cutting her off before she can finish. “I figured we’ve both earned a break.”
Her gaze softens, and for a moment, I wonder if she can see right through me, at how much I’ve thought about this, about her.
“This isn’t ‘little,’” she says, her voice shaky with emotion. “This is… amazing.”
I smile, offering her my hand. “Shall we?”
As we sit down, the tension I didn’t even realize I was holding melts away. Liz looks stunning, the soft light highlighting her features in a way that makes it hard to focus on anything else.
“You’ve really outdone yourself,” she says, her voice tinged with awe as she glances around. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
“It wasn’t that hard,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Just a few calls, a little planning. Nothing you don’t deserve.”
Her cheeks flush, and she shakes her head, smiling. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Impossibly thoughtful, maybe?” I tease, earning a laugh from her.
The food arrives shortly after—a simple but elegant meal delivered by a staff member I’d asked to leave us alone after it’s served. Liz takes a bite of her dish, her eyes fluttering shut as she hums with approval.
“This is incredible,” she says, looking at me with a grin. “Do you ever do anything halfway?”
I shrug, my smile widening. “Not when it comes to you.”
The words slip out before I can think better of them, but I don’t regret them.
As the meal goes on, the conversation flows effortlessly. We talk about everything and nothing, laughing over shared stories and trading lighthearted jabs.
“You know,” I say, swirling the wine in my glass, “I can’t remember the last time I just… forgot about everything.”
Liz tilts her head, her eyes curious. “What do you mean?”
I pause, searching for the right words. “Work, responsibilities, the past… It’s always there, weighing me down. But with you, it’s different. I feel like I can breathe.”
Her expression softens, and she reaches across the table, placing her hand over mine. “You’re not the only one,” she admits. “These past few weeks have been some of the best I’ve had in a long time.”
Her words hit me harder than I expect, and for a moment, I can’t look away from her.
“Liz…” I start, my voice low.
“Nate,” she says, cutting me off with a small, nervous laugh. “Don’t make me cry up here. The view is too pretty for that.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Fair enough.”
After dinner, I lead her down the winding staircase, her hand in mine as we step out onto the beach. The sound of the waves is louder here, the cool sand sinking beneath our feet.
“What now?” she asks, glancing at me with a playful smile.
“You’ll see,” I say, guiding her toward the blanket I’d set up earlier.
As we settle onto the sand, I pull my phone from my pocket and send a quick text. A few seconds later, the first firework shoots into the sky, exploding in a cascade of bright blues and silvers.
Liz gasps, her eyes lighting up as she looks toward the sky.
“Nate, this is—”
“Shh,” I say, pulling her closer so that our shoulders touch. “Just watch.”
The fireworks continue, each one brighter and more dazzling than the last. Liz’s face is illuminated in flashes of color, her expression filled with awe.
I can’t help but watch her instead of the display. The way her lips curve into a soft smile, the way her eyes shine—it’s enough to make me forget the rest of the world exists.
When the final firework fades, leaving behind a trail of smoke, Liz turns to me.
“That was incredible,” she says, her voice hushed.
“You’re incredible, I keep telling you that.” I reply without thinking.
Her breath catches, and for a moment, we’re just staring at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us.
As the night stretches on, I take her hand and lead her to the boardwalk, where the lights cast a romantic glow over the empty space.
“Dance with me,” I say, pulling out my phone and playing a soft, slow tune.
“Here?” she asks, laughing.
“Why not?” I step closer, holding out my hand. “No one’s around. Just us.”
She hesitates for only a moment before slipping her hand into mine. I pull her close, my other hand resting lightly on her waist as we sway to the music.
Her head tilts back, her eyes locking with mine. “You’re full of surprises tonight, Nate.”
“Only for you,” I murmur, my voice barely audible over the music.
As we dance, the rest of the world fades away. It’s just her, the warmth of her body against mine, and the quiet hum of a melody that feels like it was made just for us.
Her head rests against my chest, and I breathe her in, the soft scent of her hair mingling with the salty breeze from the ocean. I let my hands slide down to the small of her back, holding her just a little closer.
“Liz,” I whisper.
She tilts her head up, her eyes meeting mine. The way she looks at me. It’s like she’s seeing every part of me, even the parts I’ve tried so hard to hide.
“Yes?” she asks softly, her voice tinged with curiosity.
“I don’t think I’ve ever…” I trail off, searching for the right words. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before.”
Her breath hitches, her lips parting slightly. “Nate…”
Before she can say anything else, I dip my head, my forehead brushing hers. I’m so close I can feel her breath against my lips, warm and steady.
“Tell me if I’m wrong,” I murmur.
“You’re not,” she whispers, her hands tightening on my shoulders.
That’s all the permission I need. I close the gap, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that feels both inevitable and entirely new.
She melts into me, her fingers tangling in the fabric of my shirt as she deepens the kiss. The music fades into the background, replaced by the sound of the ocean and the erratic thudding of my heart.
When we finally pull apart, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes wide and filled with something I can’t quite name.
“I didn’t see that coming,” she says, a hint of a laugh in her voice.
I chuckle, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Neither did I.”
We stand there for a moment, the silence between us comfortable but charged.
“I should probably get you home,” I say eventually, though I don’t move.
She smiles, her gaze soft. “Yeah. Probably.”
But neither of us makes the first move.
The walk back to the car is quiet, but it’s not an awkward kind of silence. It’s the kind that feels full—of unspoken words, of possibilities.
Liz’s hand brushes mine as we walk, and I don’t hesitate to take it, lacing our fingers together. She glances at me, a small, shy smile playing on her lips, and I feel my chest tighten all over again.
When we reach the car, I open the door for her, and she slides in with a quiet “thank you.”
The drive back is just as quiet, the hum of the engine and the faint sound of the radio filling the space. I glance at her occasionally, taking in the way her hair catches the light, the soft curve of her smile.
When we pull up to the house, I kill the engine but don’t move to get out. Instead, I turn to her, my hand resting on the gear shift.
“Tonight was perfect,” I say, my voice low.
She looks at me, her eyes shining. “It really was.”
For a moment, I consider leaning over, kissing her again. But something stops me; maybe the weight of the night, maybe the fear of pushing too far too fast.
“Goodnight, Liz,” I say instead, my voice soft but firm.
“Goodnight, Nate,” she replies, her smile lingering as she opens the door and steps out.
I watch her walk into the house, my chest tightening with a mix of emotions I’m not ready to unpack.
As I sit in the car, staring at the now-closed door, one thought stands out above the rest.
I’m completely, undeniably falling for her.
And there’s no turning back now.
***
The rain doesn’t let up, hammering against the windows and creating a steady rhythm that fills the otherwise quiet house. It’s early, and the kind of morning that makes you want to crawl back under the covers. Max has no concept of “lazy mornings” when it's raining. But the gloomy weather sure matches his usual morning grumpiness.
I’m in the kitchen, staring at the coffee machine as it sputters to life, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee slowly filling the air. It’s a small comfort on a day like this, but I’ll take it.
Sue called earlier to say she couldn’t make it. Something about the storm flooding the roads near her place. I told her not to worry, but now that I’m standing here, I’m starting to realize I have no idea what we’re going to do for breakfast.
Liz enters the kitchen a moment later, her hair slightly damp and a blanket draped over her shoulders. She looks cozy, the kind of cozy that makes you want to sit by a fire and do absolutely nothing all day.
“Morning,” she says, smiling softly as she leans against the counter.
“Morning,” I reply, my voice still rough from sleep.
“Let me guess,” she says, glancing at the empty stove. “Sue couldn’t make it?”
I nod, taking a sip of my coffee. “Roads are a mess.”
She hums thoughtfully, her gaze shifting to the pantry. “Well, someone’s gotta make breakfast. I can do it.”
I raise an eyebrow, smirking over the rim of my mug. “You?”
“Yes, me,” she says, placing a hand on her hip. “What’s that look for?”
“Just… wondering if you’re qualified,” I tease.
Her jaw drops slightly, and she crosses her arms. “I’ll have you know I make an excellent breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, bacon—you name it.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Alright, if you’re so confident, go for it.”
“But you have to help,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Help? I thought you were the expert.”
“I am,” she says, grinning. “But even experts need assistants.”
Max bursts into the kitchen just as we’re gathering ingredients, his hair sticking up in every direction. “What’s for breakfast?” he asks, his voice still groggy but full of excitement.
“Pancakes,” Liz says confidently.
“Can I help?”
“Of course,” she says, ruffling his hair. “You can be my second assistant.”
Max grins, grabbing a stool and pulling it up to the counter. Boomer follows close behind, wagging his tail and sitting attentively by Max’s feet as if he knows he’ll be the first to catch any stray bacon.
Liz cracks eggs into a bowl, and Max stirs them with a whisk, his movements clumsy but enthusiastic. I’m tasked with flipping the pancakes, though Liz keeps hovering, giving me unsolicited advice.
“Don’t flip them too early,” she says, leaning over my shoulder.
“I know how to flip pancakes,” I reply, glancing at her with mock annoyance.
“Sure you do,” she says, smirking.
Max laughs, clearly enjoying our banter. “Liz, you’re bossy!”
“Am not,” she says, feigning offense.
“You are,” I agree, smirking at her.
She sticks her tongue out at me, and I can’t help but laugh. It’s all so easy, so natural. For a moment, I forget about everything else - work, responsibilities, even the rainstorm outside.
By the time we sit down to eat, the kitchen is a mess. Flour dusts the counter, and there’s a sticky puddle of syrup where Max accidentally knocked over the bottle. But the pancakes are golden and fluffy, the bacon is crisp, and Max is grinning from ear to ear.
“This is the best breakfast ever,” Max declares, his mouth full.
Liz laughs, reaching for her coffee. “High praise. What do you think, Nate?”
I glance at her, the corner of my mouth lifting. “Not bad. For amateurs.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t bother hiding her smile.
As we eat, I can’t help but notice how easily Liz fits into our routine. She’s laughing with Max, helping him cut his pancakes into smaller pieces, and stealing bites of bacon from my plate when she thinks I’m not looking.
It hits me then, the thought coming out of nowhere. This could be forever.
The idea catches me off guard. I’ve spent so much time convincing myself that I don’t need anyone, that Max and I are fine on our own. But with Liz… she tests every boundary I’ve built.
It’s a day off from school, so after breakfast, Max decides to draw, spreading his crayons and paper out on the living room floor. I head to my office to make a few calls, leaving Liz to her own devices.
When I return a couple of hours later, the house smells like cookies. Max is still in the living room, coloring furiously, while Boomer naps beside him.
In the kitchen, Liz is at the counter, her back to me as she rolls out dough. She’s humming softly, the sound barely audible over the rain still tapping against the windows.
I lean against the doorway, watching her for a moment. She looks so at ease, so completely at home.
“Keeping yourself occupied?” I ask, stepping into the kitchen.
She startles slightly, turning to glare at me. “Don’t sneak up on me!”
“Sorry,” I say, smirking. “I just couldn’t stay away from the smell of cookies.”
She rolls her eyes, turning back to the dough. “What do you want, Nate?”
“Just checking in,” I say, moving closer. I step behind her, resting my hands lightly on her hips. “You’re working too hard.”
“This isn’t work,” she says, her tone teasing. “It’s called multitasking. Something you could learn.”
I chuckle, my breath brushing against her ear. “I think I’ve got a handle on multitasking.”
Her cheeks flush, and she turns slightly to look at me. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Part of my charm,” I reply, my hands lingering on her waist for a moment longer before I step back.
Max runs into the kitchen then, holding up a piece of paper. “Look what I made!”
Liz crouches down to his level, taking the drawing from him. Her smile softens as she studies it.
“It’s us,” Max says proudly. “Me, you, Dad, and Boomer.”
Liz glances at me, her eyes shining. “It’s perfect, Max.”
“Can we hang it up?” he asks eagerly.
“Of course,” I say, ruffling his hair. “We’ll put it on the fridge.”
As Max runs off to grab a magnet, Liz looks at me again, her expression unreadable. “He’s such a sweet kid.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “He likes you. A lot.”
Her smile wavers slightly, and I wonder what’s going through her head.
After hanging up Max’s drawing, Liz suggests watching a movie. Max immediately votes for an animated film, and before long we’re all sprawled on the couch. Max takes the middle seat, holding a bowl of popcorn, while Boomer curls up at our feet.
Halfway through, Max falls asleep, his head resting against Liz’s arm. She looks down at him, smiling softly as she strokes his hair.
“You’re so good with him,” I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
She glances at me, her expression thoughtful. “He’s easy to love.”
The words hit me harder than I expect, and I nod, unable to look away from her.
The rest of the movie passes in comfortable silence, the kind that feels like home. And for the first time in years, I think maybe I’ve found it again.
***
The shrill ring of my phone drags me from the edges of sleep. My first instinct is to ignore it - it’s the middle of the night, and whoever’s calling can probably wait. But the phone keeps ringing, insistently, and I groan, reaching for it.
“Hello?” My voice is thick with sleep, but there’s an edge of irritation.
“Nate Kingston?” a formal voice on the other end asks.
“Yes,” I reply, sitting up in bed, the tone of the caller snapping me to attention.
“This is Dr. Michaels from Ocean Bay General. We have a Becky Kingston here. She’s been involved in a hit-and-run accident.”
I sit up straighter, the words jolting me awake completely. Becky. “Is she okay?”
“She’s stable, but she was brought in unconscious earlier tonight. She regained consciousness about an hour ago and is asking for you. It’s important you come down to the hospital.”
I don’t wait for any more details. “I’m on my way.”
The rain from earlier has slowed to a drizzle, the wet roads shining under the dim glow of the streetlights. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, my thoughts racing as I navigate the empty streets.
Becky. I haven’t thought about her like this in years - rushing to her side, worrying about her well-being. It feels strange, foreign even. But no matter how complicated things are between us, she’s still Max’s mother.
By the time I pull into the hospital parking lot, my heart is pounding in my chest.
The smell of antiseptic greets me as I step into the emergency room, the fluorescent lights making everything feel colder. A nurse directs me to Becky’s room after I check in, her expression neutral but professional.
“She’s stable,” the nurse says as we walk. “The doctors will explain more when you get there.”
When I step into the room, Becky is lying in bed, her face pale but unmarred. A few minor cuts and bruises mark her arms, but otherwise, she looks like herself.
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something in her expression - relief, maybe? But then she smiles, and it throws me completely off balance.
“Nate,” she says softly, her voice tinged with warmth I haven’t heard in years. “You’re here.”
I nod, stepping closer to her bed. “Of course I’m here. Are you okay? What happened?”
She frowns slightly, her brows knitting together. “I… I don’t know…” She trails off, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s all a blur.”
Before I can respond, the door opens, and a doctor steps in, clipboard in hand.
“Mr. Kingston,” he greets me with a nod before turning to Becky. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Kingston?”
Mrs. Kingston.
I glance at Becky, expecting her to correct him, but she doesn’t. Instead, she smiles faintly and says, “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Any pain?” the doctor asks, flipping through his notes.
“Not really,” Becky replies, her voice steady. “Just… confused.”
As the doctor continues his routine questions, I stand at the foot of the bed, my confusion growing. Becky hasn’t called herself “Mrs. Kingston” in years.
When the doctor finally leaves, I turn to her. “Becky, what’s going on?”
She looks at me, her expression soft and familiar. “What do you mean?”
“You’re acting like…” I pause, running a hand through my hair. “Like we’re still married.”
Her face falls, and her eyes widen. “Nate, what are you talking about? Of course we’re married.”
I blink, staring at her in disbelief. “Becky, we’ve been divorced for years.”
Her laughter is soft but incredulous. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking,” I say firmly, stepping closer to her. “Becky, we’re not married anymore. You left.”
She shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears again. “I don’t remember that. I don’t remember anything like that.”
Before I can press further, the doctor returns, his expression serious. “Mr. Kingston, may I have a word?”
I step into the hallway with him, my chest tight with frustration and confusion.
“What’s going on with her?” I demand, keeping my voice low.
The doctor sighs, glancing at his clipboard. “Physically, she’s fine. There’s no evidence of serious trauma—just a few scrapes and bruises. But her behavior suggests some level of amnesia, likely caused by the shock of the accident.”
“Amnesia?” I repeat, the word foreign on my tongue.
“It’s not uncommon in cases like this,” he explains. “Her mind may be suppressing certain memories as a way to cope with the trauma. It could be temporary, or it could last longer—it’s hard to say at this stage.”
I rub a hand over my face, trying to process this. “So, what happens now?”
“For now, we recommend keeping her in a familiar environment,” the doctor says. “Somewhere safe, where she feels secure. That could help her recover her memories naturally.”
“Safe,” I echo. “You’re suggesting I take her home?”
The doctor hesitates. “Only if you’re comfortable with it. She’s asking for you specifically, and in her current state, it might be best to keep her in an environment she recognizes.”
I exhale sharply, my mind spinning.
When I return to Becky’s room, she looks up at me with a small, hopeful smile. “What did the doctor say?”
I sit down in the chair beside her bed, my elbows resting on my knees. “He said you might have some memory loss. It’s probably temporary.”
Her brow furrows. “Memory loss?”
I nod, meeting her gaze. “Becky, you’ve forgotten some things. Like… the fact that we’re not together anymore.”
She stares at me, her expression unreadable. “But… we are together, Nate. Aren’t we? And we have Max, right?”
“No,” I say gently. “We haven’t been for a long time.”
Tears spill down her cheeks, and she shakes her head. “I don’t understand. Why would I forget something like that?”
I reach for her hand, squeezing it lightly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? One step at a time.”
As the night stretches on, I sit with Becky while she drifts in and out of sleep. The nurses come and go, checking her vitals and adjusting her IV.
My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts - what this means for her, for Max, for all of us. Taking her home feels like opening a door I’d firmly closed years ago, but what choice do I have?
The good thing is there is only a space in my life for one woman, and it was definitely not Becky.