Chapter 8 #2
“Honestly, I think that movie is going to be off the list for a while,” I say, breaking eye contact. “I don’t think I can stomach anything with a romance plot, with our siblings constantly staring at each other all googly-eyed.”
“Right. Forgot I was sitting here with Nikki Bennet: Wedding Crasher.”
I know he’s kidding, but it’s just so refreshing to be able to vent how I’m really feeling about this situation out loud to someone. Someone who actually seems to be reacting rationally. Someone who agrees with me.
Someone who also happens to be extremely adorable, particularly with his shirt off.
“So, um, where’s home for you?”
“Alabama,” Nate says. “Near Auburn.”
“Oh, so you’re still there?” I know from my internet stalking that’s where Nate and Cara grew up.
Nate nods. “I went to school for architecture, but…” He runs a hand through his hair, then picks at a splinter in the dock. “City wasn’t for me. So I moved back home, got a little place. Needed a ton of work”—he shrugs—“but that’s what I do. Plus, it was right down the road from my dad.”
I picture all my siblings—Linney in the Atlanta suburbs, Pete in Athens, and Cooper just a few hours’ drive north in Nashville—everyone orbiting close to home like good little satellites. And then there’s me. An entire continent away.
“You’re living out in LA?” Nate asks, as if reading my mind. “What’s that like?” He says it like he’s asking me what it’s like to walk on the moon or tame a wild bear.
“It’s… different.” The sun has dropped low enough that the water looks metallic, like someone drew a silver paintbrush across the surface. Crickets are starting up in the trees, their rhythm syncing with the soft push-and-pull of the lake. “Way different from here.”
Nate leans back on his palms, shoulders brushing mine. “Different how?” he asks.
I straighten a little, smiling. “It’s… amazing, actually. There’s so much energy, things happening all the time, the best sushi in the universe, or at least in the States—you have to try omakase in LA, seriously. Plus, sunshine practically every day.”
“Haven’t had omakase in any city, if I’m being honest.” He tilts his head, watching me quietly, as if weighing my words. “Sounds nice, though,” he says—but it’s obvious he doesn’t mean it.
“It is,” I insist. “People there are so ambitious. Everyone’s always trying to be discovered or reinvent themselves. Sometimes it feels like the whole city is a big audition.” I laugh.
“Sounds exhausting,” he says gently.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “But at least you never run out of options.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have a lot of options.”
I blush. “That’s not what I meant.” Though it’s true. The stream of available, perfectly manicured men does sometimes seem endless. And yet it’s that endlessness that gets so repetitive. It’s like I keep trying on the exact same unflattering shirt, hoping the next one will fit.
“Yeah, but I bet you have a buffet of guys to choose from.”
I shrug. “Well, men are like sushi. A buffet is really not their ideal format.”
That gets a laugh from Nate.
Then he leans back on his hands and hums quietly. A warm breeze drifts across the dock, bringing the smell of sunscreen and grilled corn and the faintest trace of pine sap. All the scents of home.
“What about you?” I ask.
“Me and my buffet of dating options?”
I blush. Now it looks like I’m fishing to find out if he’s single. “No, I just meant… You said the city wasn’t for you—what is?”
“Places where you can hear yourself think,” he says with a soft laugh. Then he looks out at the water. “And, uh, people who don’t make me feel like I’m constantly three steps behind.”
The way he says it makes me wonder if there was a specific person in his life who made him feel that way… or just a specific kind of person.
I take another swig of the margarita—the thermos is getting low.
“So what is the dating scene like in Auburn, Alabama?” I ask casually. May as well get some clarity while we’re at it…
“Outside of Auburn,” he corrects. “Trust me, there’s a difference.”
He reaches for the margarita, but instead of taking it from me, he just places his hand on top of mine and draws the thermos to his mouth, pulling my hand with it.
My eyes follow the path of movement up to his face—how the dim light makes the angle of his jaw sharper, the way his neck muscles flex as he swallows. I notice how he clenches his jaw sometimes when he’s looking at me… like he’s doing right now. Watching me watching him.
When he finishes his sip, he lets go, leaving my hand holding the thermos to hover awkwardly in midair for a second before I place it on the dock between us.
“To answer your question,” he says, “it’s, uh, pretty quiet.”
“You don’t date much?” I can’t help the skepticism that creeps into my voice. Because, come on—look at him.
Nate shrugs. “I date, but just, you know…” He glances sidelong at me. “Casually.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Ah, so you’re a player.”
“No!” Nate says emphatically. “I’m just not looking for anything long-term, and when I tell women I don’t see myself ever getting married, they tend to move on pretty quick.”
“You don’t think you’ll ever get married?”
The words come out in a whisper. Maybe because it’s the same question I’ve been asking myself ever since my engagement to Aaron imploded. The house behind us feels a million miles away. It’s like we’re on our own small planet—floating, suspended, quiet.
Nate looks at me for a minute, as if debating, then says softly, “I just think the idea of forever is kind of a fantasy, you know?”
I nod. “After everything with Aaron”—I stop myself from adding and Cara—“I’ve definitely become more cynical. I mean, I still date. But it’s like half the time I’m desperately seeking out The One, and half the time I’m convinced the whole concept is a myth.”
“No ‘Happily Ever Afters,’” Nate nods. “That’s what you said at the farmstand.”
I lean back on my hands, tilting my head back to the night sky, now full of stars. “It’s a line from the show,” I tell Nate. “I actually thought you knew who I was and were throwing it in my face.”
He leans back too, his pinky grazing mine. “Nope. Just a hapless country boy who doesn’t have the LovedBy cast memorized.”
“But does probably have the cast of Survivor memorized.”
“Well, obviously.”
A peal of laughter rings out from the shore, bursting our little bubble.
“So what about them?” Nate asks, nodding back toward land. “Think they’re going to get their Happily Ever After? Or are you still planning to Reverse–Parent Trap them?”
I let out a noise that’s half groan, half laugh.
“Personally, I’m curious to see what you’d come up with,” Nate says. “And I’d be there for moral support, of course.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’d actually help me sabotage your own sister’s wedding?”
He tilts his head back and forth, as if weighing the options. “More like, I’m going to sit back and enjoy the chaos. But you can consider me on your team.”
“Really? I’d think you’d be more protective of your sister.”
He sighs and leans forward. “I am protective of her. That’s exactly why I don’t want her making any bad decisions that she’ll have to live with for the rest of her life.”
I snort, tempted to say it’s a little late for that, but then again, I’ve been the one to live with Cara’s mistakes, not her.
“I mean,” he goes on, “you can think you know a person, even think you love them, but still, it’s so easy to get, you know…”
“What?”
“Blindsided,” he says, his voice low, a little gravelly. And once again, I can’t help but wonder if he’s not thinking of his sister at all right now, but of something—or someone—from his own past.
I sigh. “Trust me. I know the feeling.”
He tilts his head to the side and locks eyes with me. He opens his mouth, as if he’s about to say something, but closes it. Shakes his head. I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing in the dark as he swallows, hard. “Yeah. Getting blindsided is pretty much the shittiest feeling in the world.”
I can feel the pain of whatever he’s gone through in the past, as if it’s radiating out of him. It makes me want to put a hand on his back, offer comfort. Maybe even something more.
Instead, I lean forward and nudge his shoulder with my own. “Alright, well, I’m happy to have someone on my team anyway.”
He turns to me slightly, this time with a grin. “Same.”
We stare at each other for a moment, both of us breathing quietly.
Something is passing between us—something more than just the flirtatious banter from before.
A different kind of chemistry. The only way I can explain it is the chemistry of two people who’ve been hurt, and don’t want to experience that again.