Chapter 13 #2
“Clothes,” he says, uncrossing his arms. He grips the door and leans back, stretching his whole body. “I’ve always felt they were overrated.”
My breath catches, and his knuckles tighten against the metal of the car. I remember the last time I had almost no clothing on around Nate, and how good it felt to have those fingers tighten around the backs of my thighs as he held me in the water.
I’m the first to break eye contact. Clearing my throat, I look away from Nate’s hands and focus very hard on the pleather of the steering wheel. “I’ll ask my dad to take a look at it.”
“Your dad and Cooper went into town for some boat thing.” Nate releases his grip and takes a step back from the window. “Hop out. I’m headed to the lumberyard. I’ll give you a lift to wherever you’re going.”
“Okay, thanks. I’m just going to the thrift store in town. It’s on the way.”
Inside Nate’s truck, the cab smells of sawdust and the pineapple air freshener hanging from his rearview mirror.
On the passenger seat is a pile of what looks to be mostly receipts and old invoices. “Sorry, can I move this trash?”
“Those are important work documents,” he says. “Be careful. I have a system.”
“Right.” I place Nate’s “important work documents” on the floorboard and buckle my seatbelt.
“So,” he says as he puts the key into the ignition and the truck rumbles to life. “What’s the latest on the wedding planning? You ladies looked very serious through the kitchen window.”
“It’s fine,” I say glumly. “Though I don’t know why I’m even helping when this wedding is the last thing I want to happen.”
“I thought you were gonna Reverse–Parent Trap that shit,” he says with a smirk.
I roll my eyes. “I’m working on it, Chessy.”
“Chessy?”
“From the movie,” I clarify. “The housekeeper.”
“No, I know,” Nate says. “But don’t I at least get to be Martin?”
This gets a laugh from me, as I picture Nate as the dorky British butler. “You can be whoever you want, if you can figure out how to stop this wedding.”
“I’m already ahead of you. I’m installing a trap door in the gazebo,” he says, pulling out of the driveway. “Just as a fail-safe.”
I belt out another laugh. “You can never have too many backup plans.”
Nate’s eyes remain on the road, but I see him quirk a grin, that crooked incisor making an appearance.
His forearm is on the wheel, his fingertips just brushing the dashboard, and I imagine them brushing along my skin.
Heat shivers through me. I make a point not to look at Nate and instead focus on looking straight out the front window.
The drive to the thrift store takes us through the center of town. The litter from the parade has been swept up, but the lampposts are still swagged in red, white, and blue.
“We’re going dress shopping on Tuesday,” I tell Nate. “Mom got Cara an appointment at the same shop where I used to get my pageant dresses. Lots of sparkles and ruffles and high slits. She’s going to hate it.”
“Cara likes dresses though,” Nate says. “She’s fashion-y.”
“This shop is not fashion-y in a Cara way. Trust me.”
“I trust you completely,” he says.
I make the mistake of looking over at him.
He grins at me with that same crooked half smile, and I can’t help smiling back.
“I remember one time when she was around eight, Cara made us all sit in the living room to watch her ‘fashion show,’” Nate says.
“She wore my mom’s old power suit from the ’90s and a pair of red heels that were way too big.
” He laughs at the memory. “I’m pretty sure she tripped on the coffee table and split her lip. ”
I snort out a laugh. “So it’s safe to say she’s always liked the limelight?”
Nate shrugs. “Not really. She’s actually pretty shy.” He pauses at the next intersection. “Which way…?”
“Oh, sorry! Left.” Nate makes the turn, and I take a minute to reflect on what he just said about Cara.
I know he’s her big brother, so he’ll probably always see her in her best light—but come on.
The woman made herself a national story by coming forward about Aaron right before our wedding.
So she can’t be that much of a wallflower.
Plus, she seems to be holding her own pretty well with us Bennets.
“Look,” I say to him. “I’m glad you and I have decided to be friends, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be friends with your sister. No offense.”
“I get it,” he says, eyes on the road. “I mean, I heard that passive-
aggressive little exchange in the kitchen this morning.”
I whip my head to face him. “You heard that?”
He shrugs. “Window was open. I was fixing a loose board on the deck right outside. Anyway, I think you should be careful…”
There’s a pause, and I wonder if he’s going to warn me not to hurt his little sister. But in classic Nate fashion, he catches me completely off guard.
“She’s a black belt in karate and has kicked my ass many times before.”
I burst out laughing, and Nate looks over at me affronted. “It was humiliating!”
“You guys are pretty close, huh?” I ask him, once my laughter has died down.
He shrugs. “Yeah. I mean we’re six years apart, so we kind of did our own thing growing up. But after our mom died…”
There’s a silence that threatens to turn awkward. I want to reach over and touch his arm in support. Would that be weird? My body makes the decision while my brain’s still considering. I place a gentle hand on the forearm that’s resting on the console between us. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“I’m sure Cara was grateful to have you during that time.” I might not like or trust the woman, but I can still feel bad for what Cara went through, losing her mother at a young age.
Nate nods. “Thanks,” he says quietly, his voice a little rough.
We ride in silence for a few minutes. When he speaks again, his voice is stronger, his trademark grin back in place.
“Anyway, I guess I’ve just always tried to look out for her.
You know, classic big brother stuff. Like, ‘Hey, I can make fun of my sister, but you can’t. ”
“I get that.”
We pull into the parking lot for a big cluster of shops.
Nate gets out of the truck and comes around to my side, opening the door for me.
I’m surprised by the gentlemanly gesture—it doesn’t really match the state of the truck itself.
Or the state of Nate himself. He’s in wrinkled cargo shorts and a heather-gray T-shirt with a cartoon catfish giving a thumbs-up under the words Feelin Fin-tastic.
“I’ll pick you up in an hour?” he asks.
“Sure, that’d be great.”
“What’d you say you were shopping for again? Some antique chamber pots?”
“Flower pots,” I correct. “Bud vases, actually, for the centerpieces.”
He grins. “That was a test. Man, you are bad at sabotage.”
“Nikki! How nice to run into you,” says a voice from behind me.
I swivel around to see Mary Moore Musgrove rounding the corner, her arms loaded down with shopping bags from the local kids’ clothing store.
I feel myself clicking “on.”
“Hi!” I say, giving her a quick hug. “How have you been? How’re the kids?”
“Oh, we’re good. We’re good. It’s so nice you’re able to get back home for the summer.” There’s an edge to her voice that surprises me. “Your mom can’t stop telling me how well you’re doing—your clothing company, your apartment in LA… It all sounds so glamorous.”
Her tone drips with the distinctly Southern flavor of sugar-coated sourness, and I know I’m not imagining her annoyance. Is Mary Moore of the perfect Instagramable life jealous of mine?
It gives me a surge of smug satisfaction. There’s no need for Mary Moore to know that my supposed “apartment in LA” is currently nonexistent.
“It is pretty great,” I say. “I just love it there. Can’t wait to get back. I mean, it’s nice being home—it’s so cute around here—but LA has so much more going on. It’s so energizing! You’ve been, right?”
“Haven’t, actually,” Mary Moore says with a tight smile.
“Oh, you’ve got to come out! I’d love to have you.”
“Maybe!” she says brightly. “It can be tough to get away, what with Ethan and the girls and all. You’re so lucky you’re single! All that freedom!”
Point to Mary Moore.
“Yep. That’s me! Well, I’ve got to head to The Second Shop. I’m looking for some wedding centerpieces.”
I realize my mistake the minute the words leave my mouth. Now that Mary Moore knows, half the town will know by tomorrow.
“Oh! Who’s getting married?” she asks.
“Cooper,” I admit. “This… this is his fiancée’s brother.”
Nate waves, and I watch Mary Moore take in his cargo shorts and fish T-shirt. I feel a pang of secondhand embarrassment. Then immediately hate myself for it.
“How exciting!” Mary Moore says, her lips curling into a catlike grin. “The baby of the family all grown up, huh?” She starts heading toward a silver minivan. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be your turn soon!” There’s a beep as her car unlocks, and she turns back. “Oh, and happy early birthday!”
The smile on my face is all teeth as I thank her.
Mary Moore pulls out of the parking lot with a wave, leaving me feeling prickly and thirteen years old again.