Chapter 9
chapter
nine
MAREN
“Did the storm last weekend cause you any damage, Karl?” I ask, doing my best to keep my eyes on my customer and not on the looming figure behind him.
Why is Nate still in town? He claimed he’s moving back at the end of this month, and yet, he’s here an awful lot, forcing me to steel myself against his sinful dimples at every turn.
Oh, God. Is he here to address our conversation from last night? Because I’d like to leave that in the past, along with every other heavy load of baggage we’ve stowed away.
“The power went out for about an hour, but I’m pretty sure a cricket could land on the line and cut it.” Karl’s chuckle is low and raspy as he accepts the black coffee I set in front of him. “Comes with the territory of living so far out of town.”
“Must be mighty peaceful, though, not to have any neighbors nearby,” I say, staring pointedly at my own soon-to-be neighbor over Karl’s shoulder.
Nate’s lips twitch, and it’s clear that he’s stifling a smile, completely unbothered by my distaste.
The asshole.
Karl holds the cup up in a thank-you gesture, and once he’s vacated his spot, Nate steps up to the counter, one large hand wedged into his jeans pocket.
My gaze roams over his knuckles, remembering all too well how he used to skim my flushed cheeks with the back of that hand. I used to lean into his touch, so desperate to bask in his warmth and soak up every bit of him. I couldn’t get enough, and it wasn’t just because I was a horny teenager.
It was just the effect Nathan McAllister had on me.
He cast this divine hold over me, and tearing myself away from him was always like trying to rip apart two pieces of paper glued together.
He leans an elbow on the counter, and I inhale through my nose, searching for patience. “What can I get for you?” I ask, my even tone flowing in a river of professionalism.
“Americano please, and I’ll try a spicy pear cookie too.”
I take great pains to school my expression, actively oppressing the muscles around my mouth to avoid lifting my lips into a smile, even though I really, really want to smile. Just not at him.
I recently added these cookies to the fall menu.
I’d delivered a couple dozen to the homecoming float shift that Addie chaperoned, and since then, I’ve had several students stop by to request them.
They must have raved to all their friends and family too, because they’re a total hit.
The fact that Nate wants to try one does something weird to my lower stomach.
Having good taste in baked goods is one way to my heart, similarly to sparking conversations with a child about their favorite toy or show.
But this is still Nate—my soon-to-be neighbor, who’s also a single dad and my ex. Nothing he does or says or orders can have any direct line to the bruised organ in my chest.
I work quietly to fill his request, completing each step purely through muscle memory as my brain short-circuits. Its only job for the next few minutes is to force myself not to look at him.
I’ve had to do that a lot lately.
Nate, on the other hand, unabashedly follows my every movement with his laser gaze. I don’t have to look up to know it. My skin burns underneath his piercing eyes like I’m standing too close to a bonfire.
“Here you are.” I set his goodies onto the counter, accept his card for payment with trembling hands, and then return with a receipt. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“That’s it?” He lifts a brow and makes no move to take his things and go.
“What else were you hoping for—a goodbye pun? How about ‘Have a brew-tiful day’?”
“No, but I like that.” His eyes crinkle in the corners, and his lips tip into a warm, easy grin. “I was just thinking you’d ask me how I faired during the storm like you did with Karl.”
“Why? You’d already left town when the storm hit, and considering I can see your house from mine, I know there wasn’t any damage.”
“Still. The polite thing to do is feign interest in me. Equal treatment of every customer is very important.”
“Okay then.” I place both hands on the edge of the counter. “How did you fair during the storm, Nathan?”
“Just fine. I wasn’t even here.” With a shrug and a twinkle in his eye, he cups his large hand around the coffee, instantly swallowing it like it’s a twig in a bear’s paw. “How about you?”
“Just fine,” I toss his words back to him, because I’m nothing if not petty.
“That’s great to hear.” He rocks on his heels, then plants his feet in the gravel. “See? We can totally be friends.”
My nostrils flare.
He turns halfway to leave, and I’m on the cusp of a breath of relief. His presence is too dominating for my liking.
But the thorn in my side faces me again, waving a finger in the air. “Although…”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Friends don’t usually watch each other undress through their bedroom window.” He raps his knuckles on the counter, the amusement in his eyes shining so bright, I need some damn sunglasses. It radiates throughout his entire expression until his skin is practically glowing.
With a parting wink, he saunters toward his truck, his steps light and breezy like the crisp fall day around us.
Is that why he came by—to make sure I know he caught me?
The incorrigible ass!
Then again, I did this to myself by ogling him. My self-control—and dignity—were temporarily out of reach last night. And now I have to live with the mortification of knowing he saw me. Just what I needed.
“Was that Nate McAllister?” Tonya enters through the side door, wrapping a lavender apron around her waist. “Wasn’t he voted most athletic in high school? I see that hasn’t changed much.”
I grunt.
She releases a low whistle under her breath as he climbs into his Jeep. “I heard he was attacked by a lion while shooting in Africa,” she continues. “Then he got a tattoo to cover the scars. He’s like Indiana Jones.”
“Not exactly.” I shake my head. She’s clearly never watched Indiana Jones, and I also can’t afford to fantasize about my smoking-hot ex with a fucking whip.
Those aren’t even a turn-on for me, but something about a mental picture of Nate in a hat, wielding a whip, has me breaking out in a cold sweat.
“How do you know all that about him?” I ask, making an Olympic sport out of rubbing away the cinnamon sprinkles from the counter.
“I might’ve been a couple years younger than you guys in high school, but people talk, especially when there’s something so yummy to talk about.” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I tsk.
Why did I bother asking? I’ve lived in Sapphire Creek all my life; I know exactly how much and how often people talk. Everyone knows everything, which is why I’m not surprised when Tonya asks, “You two used to date, right?”
“Mm-hmm.” I toss the rag aside and greet our next customer with more enthusiasm than usual. I’m just grateful for the distraction. Tonya is a bigger gossip than the young servers at The Tipsy Tap and the ladies at Bready or Knot combined.
Given how little happens around here, they enjoy making something out of nothing like they’re getting paid for it.
After concocting three specialty lattes, a pumpkin spice hot chocolate, and packaging two dozen spicy pear cookies, I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, unsticking my bangs from my skin in the process.
The breeze from earlier is long gone, and the sun beats down on us like we’re in trouble.
“Is it hot in here?” I ask Tonya, whose forehead is also dotted with sweat.
“It is. Did the air stop working?”
I pause to listen for the whirr of the rooftop AC unit, but silence answers me. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I mumble, mostly to myself.
“Add that to the list of things we need to fix around here.”
I cringe as I mentally calculate how much all of these repairs will cost. “The storm last weekend brought down so many leaves and branches. Why couldn’t it have blown a pile of cash our way?”
“It blew in a hot man for you, though.” She winks.
“Don’t.”
“I’m just saying—you could scale Nate like a tall, rugged cliff for old times’ sake.”
Instantly, my cheeks flame, and it has nothing to do with the lack of AC.
“You were just kids the last time you did it. I’m sure it was like climbing a pole, all clumsy-like, but now…” She blows out another whistle, this one louder than the last. “Can you imagine? All that muscle to dig your fingernails—”
“Please stop.” I hold my clammy palm up as images from last night’s window slow dance through my mind, taunting me until a stupid ache settles between my legs.
Tonya’s ridiculous rant should’ve been a turn-off, but coupled with the fresh memories of Nate undressing in his bedroom, I’m officially on fire.
All because of a man who wants to be my damn friend.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text, and it could not have come at a better time.
I nearly knock over the row of spices as I swipe my phone from the counter and rush out of the truck.
Once I’m far enough away from Tonya and the truck, I open the message.
DIXIE
Whatever plans you have this Friday night, CANCEL THEM. You’re going on a date.
Apprehension skitters down my spine, but I shake it away in the name of moving on.
Details??
His name is Peter, and he goes to Barrett’s gym. He’ll pick you up at seven for dinner.
You gave him my home address? This is how people end up on Dateline!
And starving themselves of sex is how people end up straddling their no-good exes.
I release a huff, even though she can’t see or hear me.
Wear that black midi skirt we bought together at Daphne’s.
You’ve gotten real bossy lately.
On a mission here
I click out of our message thread and roll my eyes.
There was a time when I was the one guiding Dixie through boy troubles. I taught her how to braid her hair, and I warned her against drinking vodka on an empty stomach.
And yet, our roles have now reversed. She seems to be more collected than I ever was. I don’t know how it happened, but I do know that her wisdom stretches far and wide.
If she thinks I’ll like this Peter, I will give him a shot, for her sake and my own.
When I re-enter the coffee truck, Tonya asks, “Everything okay?”
I nod. “As it turns out, the storm did toss a man in my direction, but it’s not my ex.”
The intrigue sparkling in her eyes could be spotted from the next county over.
“I have a date this weekend with a guy my sister knows,” I say.
“A blind date? Mysterious, and I’m here for it.” She shimmies on her way out to dispose of the overflowing trash, tossing me a wicked smile over her shoulder.
My phone buzzes again, but this time, it’s from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN
Is this still your number?
It couldn’t be my date for this weekend, right? He wouldn’t send me a question like that without an introduction.
Which means it’s…
Nate.
What if I told you it’s not?
I wouldn’t believe you.
What do you need my number for?
In case I run out of sugar.
I roll my eyes, and I’m about to turn my phone off—and consider changing my number—but his next message gives me pause.
Or cookies. I’ll definitely need more of these spicy pear miracles when I’m settled in. They’re amazing.
I will not smile. I will not smile.
No fucking smiling.
But I can’t deny the pride blossoming through my chest.
You can buy them at the truck like everyone else.
But I thought since we’re friends and all, I might get first dibs.
We’re not friends. I have enough friends, anyway.
You can never have too many friends.
Goodbye, Nathan.
Talk to you soon, Lightning.
Oh my God.
My heart leaps into my throat like the time I choked on an unusually large blueberry.
He did not just go there.
Except he totally fucking did.
I haven’t heard his old nickname for me in years. He’s the only person I ever let call me anything other than Maren or Mar, although I never truly loved the latter.
But I let Nate call me “Lightning” because of the way his eyes flashed with mischief and adoration and love every time he used it. So many emotions swam in those rich brown eyes.
I would’ve let him call me “Cat Shit” as long as he looked at me like that.
I click my phone off, and I throw myself into filling orders from the onslaught of our post-lunch crowd.
But no number of lattes or baked goods keeps my mind off those texts. The teenage memories of Nate whispering that nickname in my ear. The way my skin would sizzle. How heat skipped through my lower belly.
How dare he use that nickname on me now? That’s just playing dirty.
In fact, someone on the outside looking in might even think that he doesn’t want to be friends with me at all. Like maybe he wants… something else.
Flashes of the way he held me at the reunion weasel their way past my old memories to the forefront of my crowded brain.
His hand was hot on my lower back.
He’d bunched the fabric of my dress there like he’d love nothing more than to rip it off.
Could it be true—that he wants me again?
I’m so lost in my head that I fumble with the carton of milk and spill it all over my hand, the white droplets dotting my shoes. “Shoot.” I curse under my breath.
“Why don’t you go home early? You seem… possessed.” Tonya slides the milk from my limp grip, and when she skirts around me, she practically glues herself to the other side of the truck. Like she needs a wide berth of distance, lest I’m contagious with whatever is possessing me.
I scoff—she’s so dramatic. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Then get your ass out of the clouds.”
“Not how the saying goes.”
“It applies.”
Harder said than done to do as she suggests, especially when the possibilities of Nathan McAllister wanting me won’t stop swirling through my stomach—and lower.
I’m in big trouble.