Chapter 5
chapter
five
NATE
Over the rim of my glass, I study Maren from across the room as the evening breeze flows through the wisps of her velvet curls.
Disappointment seeps into my chest, crowding the space like my rib cage isn’t big enough to contain all my emotions from this weekend.
Part of me thought—and quietly hoped—she’d be excited about my news. I’ve replayed the moment I’d share with her in my head a million times, and of all the scenarios I’d imagined, a blank stare from her before she inched away without a backward glance wasn’t one of them.
Makes me feel more than a little pathetic for putting so much stock into her reaction. I shouldn’t care what she thinks.
I’m making a big life change. I’m uprooting my daughter, quitting my job, and searching for a new one. Not to mention the actual packing, trying to downsize, and scheduling the movers—it’s basically a part-time job in itself.
I have so many other things to focus on that are far more important than what’s going on in Maren Clayton’s head.
I make my way over to Owen, the glass in my hand half full. One look at him has my interest piqued. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he were blushing.
“You look like you finished the last of your flask,” I say. “Are you drunk?”
“I’m drunk on life, man—life and its unexpected twists and turns. It’s crazy, right?”
“I guess…”
Without elaborating, he squeezes my shoulder, digging his thumb into my collarbone. He’s the friendliest person I know, but there’s no doubt in my mind that Owen could do some damage if properly provoked.
His grip is fucking lethal.
As he sips from a glass of water, the dopey smile on this jolly giant remains. He’s definitely hiding something, but he doesn’t want to share.
I fidget with the collar of my shirt. “Speaking of life’s unexpected twists…” I smack Owen’s shoulder. “I’m moving back to Sapphire Creek, buddy.”
“Wait. What?” He does a double take, and his eyes finally clear of the strange fog previously clouding them.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
His grin spreads from cheek to cheek, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “I couldn’t be better. If I heard you correctly, that is.”
“I bought my parents’ house, and I’m moving back here with my daughter.”
Owen releases a celebratory whistle that pierces my ears like the screech of a microphone, but I welcome his enthusiasm.
“This is more like the reaction I was hoping for.” I tilt my drink high in cheers, suddenly feeling guilty that he wasn’t the first person I told.
“Who took a shit on this news? Give me their full name. I haven’t kicked some ass in years.”
I hold my free hand up. “Easy, Mike Tyson. It’s not like that.” When my eyes drift over to Maren again, Owen must follow the direction.
“Oh,” he draws out. “I see.”
“What?” I shift my attention back to him.
“She’s not thrilled.” He says it like a statement instead of a question, and my jaw tics.
“She’s not not thrilled,” I say rather lamely, and I reach into one side of my jacket to idly rub over my ribs like the ink under my shirt burns.
“Give her time.” Owen shrugs, like it’s no big deal, and it’s the attitude I should adopt.
“This isn’t about her.” I toss back the last of my drink, swallowing the bitter words down along with it.
“Of course not.”
I don’t have to look at him to know he’s smirking. The amusement in his voice is loud and clear, and unfortunately, his skepticism isn’t too far off base.
Why did I ask her about marriage? That was hardly the right thing to lead with. I should’ve stuck to more neutral territory like I usually do. The gaping pothole in front of her coffee truck is a favorite.
But I couldn’t help myself. Not after I’d heard that Maren is single. According to Mom, she’s never been serious with anyone.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that. From the second I inhaled this information, plus the fact that this week has been riddled with reminders of our history, my vision has become just a little fuzzier—I’m not thinking clearly.
It’s probably why I asked Maren to dance. I had no intention to, but when she stood next to me on the edge of the dance floor, the request tumbled from my lips like the words were too heavy to keep to myself.
Touching her again for the first time in ten years is making me fucking crazy. I should keep at least a foot of distance between us at all times.
Which she shouldn’t mind. Maren was as stiff as a steel beam in my arms, as if she couldn’t wait for her opening to escape.
I used to be the one she ran toward, not away from. But we’re basically strangers now, and strangers don’t melt into each other during a dance. And that’s the damn problem, isn’t it?
“So, you’re really leaving California, then?” Owen lifts a brow, changing the subject, much to my appreciation.
I nod. “I’ve barely lived there the last few years, anyway. My apartment was starting to collect enough dust to look like the inside of the haunted house on Bleeker Street.”
“That place is creepy as fuck. I drive two miles out of my way to get to the square just to avoid it.” Owen’s eyes bug out, and I don’t blame him.
No one’s lived in that house since before we were born, all because a few of the locals claimed they saw a ghost in the window. In truth, I’m surprised no one’s torn it down yet.
“If your apartment was that bad, then I’m glad you saved your soul and got out,” Owen adds. “What about your job?”
“Put in my notice a few weeks ago.”
“Won’t you miss it?”
“Do you?” I ask.
My old friend played professional baseball until an injury cut his promising career short. He moved back here last summer. I expect him to be resentful or sour about it—it’s probably not a good idea to bring it up, but I’m the king of doing and saying things I shouldn’t tonight.
But Owen surprises me by smiling. “It’s been an adjustment, but I’m happy with the way things are turning out for me. Being a PE teacher was the right call. I fucking love it, man.”
Admittedly, I know what he’s talking about. I thought I’d be more reluctant to hand in my notice. Figured I’d be a little sour about it myself, but ever since I talked with my editor about my move, I haven’t experienced anything but excitement.
I was even a little relieved.
I tilt my head in Addie’s direction as I ask Owen, “Do you love working with—what did you once call her? Your archnemesis?”
“My ene-riv-archnemesis.” He snorts. “I just smashed all the words together—enemy, rival, and archnemesis.”
“Clever,” I tease.
“That’s one thing that hasn’t changed about me.” Owen’s gaze moves with Addie as she accepts a new flute of champagne, and he snorts. “She hates me more now than she did when we were in school. It’s fun.”
“How so?”
“She makes it too easy to fuck with her.” He shakes his head. “Just breathing in her general direction sends her into a tailspin—it’s hilarious.”
“Now that definitely hasn’t changed.”
“Some things have, though. We have a lot to catch up on, McAllister, and now that you’re moving back home, we’ll get plenty of chances.” He winks and smacks my back hard enough to jolt me forward. The oaf has never gotten a handle on his own strength.
But that’s not what gives me pause.
It’s his use of the word home. It bounces from one side of my head to the other like a pinball.
The idea doesn’t quite settle anywhere, although it does sound appealing.
I haven’t felt at home anywhere since Teagan, her mother, and I were a family. But even then, things were never completely right.
Sabrina and I were essentially roommates. She and I both knew it too.
Once we finally admitted it and separated, I rented a small apartment in LA for when Teagan would stay with me. But for the most part, I took my “home” on the road—a backpack, my camera, and a dream.
The only real home I’ve ever known has been Sapphire Creek.
A flurry of lavender flashes in my periphery.
Maren.
Her dress swishes from side to side as she grabs her clutch from a nearby table. I nod to Owen, then practically lunge in front of her.
“Heading out?” I ask.
She sucks back a breath and peers over my shoulder, her stance tense like she’s bracing herself. “I’ve been up long before the sunrise, and I’m starting to see two of everything.”
“Do you need a lift? I can give you a ride since I’m going that way.” I smile, but she doesn’t match it.
“I’m fine,” she clips and nudges past me.
I gently grasp her forearm and dip down to her ear, but I forget what I wanted to say. Her sweet floral scent envelops me and renders me speechless.
She peeks up at me, expectant. I detect a hint of challenge there too. The twinkling lights bounce off her irises, resembling flames. There’s definitely fire in her eyes, and a lump forms in my throat.
I rasp, “I’ll see you around, then?”
“I guess so,” she tosses back, her tone curt and her nostrils flaring.
It’s a familiar expression. It’s one she’d wear when she’d stub her toe, or when Gordon’s Pizzeria would forget to add extra olives on her pizza.
She rushes through the courtyard, and the moonlight catches the shimmer of her dress. Her exposed back glistens under the dim lights, and her full ass sways with purpose like she can’t get away fast enough.
And I’m left with an uneasy swirl of dread and guilt causing an uproar in my stomach.
I’m off-kilter, and I reach out to steady myself on the nearest table, where my hand catches on a picture of Maren and me. In it, we’re laughing in the hallway of the school, her back against her locker, and I’m leaning on my arm above her head.
We were happy once, but that’s not the Maren I just spoke to.
It’d be in my best interest to release any expectations of a warm welcome from her.
A foot of distance at all times—that’s what I fucking need.
My hand moves of its own accord, swiping the photo off the table and depositing it in my pocket for safekeeping.