Chapter 11 #2
She doesn’t immediately straighten. “Just haven’t eaten enough today.” She takes another breath before she lets go of the counter and waves Nate away. “Thank you, Nate. I’ll be fine after a biscuit.”
She takes a seat at the table and rubs her temple, leaving a trail of flour across her forehead.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.
“I’m sure, sweetheart. You know my blood pressure always runs low in the morning.” She shoots me a smile, and her face transforms. The fatigue disappears from her face and in an instant is replaced by calm assurance. “Nothing to worry about.”
But now, I’m more worried than before. Because I recognize the smile on her face. It’s the same one I’ve used many times on live TV. And it’s completely fake.
That’s the thing with Mom. You can never really know if things are okay, or secretly a forest fire. Maybe she regrets suggesting this rushed wedding after all. Maybe she’s just too polite to back out.
I, more than anyone, understand the importance of keeping up appearances. But sometimes it makes things so hard. Sometimes, I look at my own mother, who I love, and wonder how well we even know each other at all.
BY LATE AFTERNOON, THE chaos of the holiday weekend has finally burned itself out. The lake is quiet again—no Jet Skis, no music drifting over the water—and the air feels less heavy without the omnipresent scent of barbecue smoke.
The house has finally quieted down, too—Cooper and Cara have gone into town, Mom’s resting, and the kids have disappeared somewhere upstairs.
I throw on a bathing suit and a cover-up, then grab a cold drink and step outside.
The sun is warm on my shoulders as I look down the lawn to the lake.
I see Nate down by the dock, hosing off the kayaks.
I wonder if my dad asked him to do that, or if he just volunteered.
“I don’t think this falls under your job description as a carpenter,” I say, coming up beside him. He’s got his baseball cap on again, loose shorts, and a T-shirt with the sleeves rolled along his biceps in a haphazard way.
He shrugs. “They looked like they needed it. Besides, I’ve read comic books about what happens if you let mold go unchecked. Before you know it, they’re breeding microscopic overlords that take over the planet.”
I laugh at the serious look on Nate’s face. “If you say so.”
For a minute, we’re quiet, the only sound the spray of the hose against the hard plastic boats. I lean on the railing, watching him work, and can’t help but notice how… capable he looks. Methodical in a way I wouldn’t have pegged him for.
“Thanks for helping with Mom earlier,” I say.
He shrugs. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Are you kidding me? You were halfway across the kitchen before I even blinked. She could’ve hit her head.”
“It was no big deal.” Nate looks embarrassed as he rubs the back of his neck. “I’m glad she’s feeling better.” And I remember how he caught me, too, when I stumbled on the dock…
He turns off the hose and starts to coil it around his flexed arm. I try not to stare at his bicep. “By the way, I saw you talking to Cooper this morning.”
“I was trying to, you know—make him see reason.”
“Any luck?” he asks.
“Not yet. So much for our ‘Reverse–Parent Trap.’”
Nate pulls off his ball cap and runs a hand through his unruly hair. “I’ve been thinking about that,” he says. “If Cooper is anything like me, he’ll never agree to do something if his sister is the one hounding him to do it.”
“What—so you want to be the one to try to talk him out of it?” I ask warily. I don’t like the implication here: Would it be my job then to talk to Cara?
“No,” Nate says, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “I barely know the guy. My opinion won’t matter to him. What we need is for them to realize it on their own.”
“How do we do that?” I ask Nate.
“Subtle sabotage,” he says simply, as if this is a well-known concept.
“Ah yes.” I nod. “I’ve heard the art of subtle sabotage is taught in the trust tree.”
“Oh, I could teach you a lot of things in the trust tree,” he murmurs, holding my gaze with those intense blue eyes.
I swallow. For a long moment, we just stand there, the lake stretching out behind him, sunlight glinting off the water.
I can feel the space between us shrinking almost without meaning to, a slow, magnetic pull that makes my chest tighten, and I know we’re both thinking about what happened last time we entered the “trust tree.”
I shake off the feeling, looking away from Nate out to the water. The sun is beginning its slow descent, dragging long shadows from the pines and willows that line the lake. The goal here is to separate our families, I remind myself, not make things even more confusing and complicated.
“Well, I think I’m going to head for a swim.” I pull my cover-up over my head to reveal the bikini underneath. I can’t help the smug satisfaction I feel, seeing Nate’s reaction. He makes a small, involuntary sound—then snaps his gaze back to the kayaks.
Mm-hmm. That’s what I thought. We might not be a “good fit” or whatever he said at the parade yesterday, but this floral-print Bydee two-piece definitely is.
“Have fun,” he says, not looking at me. He’s uncoiling the hose again, making to give the kayaks one last rinse.
“I will.” I head toward the end of the dock, letting my hips sway just a little more than normal.
“Okay, now you’re just being mean,” he calls to me.
I glance over my shoulder to see him still holding the hose, his jaw twitching a little, his eyes giving me a look that is definitely appreciative but also fondly annoyed.
“Don’t strain your neck!” I laugh and turn back toward the water, but before I can take another step, a sharp jet of cold hose water hits me dead center on the back of my thigh. I shriek, whirling around. “Nate!”
He’s grinning, a wild, entirely unrepentant expression that makes his eyes crinkle. He holds the sprayer up in a gesture of mock surrender.
This time, I don’t wait for him to say anything clever or for the sudden, magnetic tension to build again. I spin on my heel, and dive headfirst into the cool, dark lake water, letting the sudden shock wash away the heat of his gaze.