Chapter 21
chapter
twenty-one
MAREN
Teagan bounces in place in my kitchen like she didn’t just flip my world upside down.
Nate plays the game with his daughter because of Dixie and me.
How many times over the last ten years have I wondered if he ever thought about me? If I ever crossed his mind for even a millisecond? If he forgot about me while he was traipsing across the country, experiencing things I could never wrap my head around?
And here is more proof that he thought about me often enough to use something so special to me with his own daughter, who is the most important person to him.
My throat suddenly tightens with emotion, thinking back to Sunday when I hurled so many harsh things at him because it felt like I meant nothing to him. Like I wasn’t, and never would be, good enough for him.
It’s what I used to think back then, and one of my biggest fears after we broke up as teenagers was that I’d be easily forgotten.
After he got married, my fears came to life, but that wasn’t the whole story. There has to be so much he’s not telling me.
He said it’s complicated, and I didn’t push for an explanation, because I was too afraid of what he’d say.
I’m always too afraid—to take a leap, to fight, to live.
My eyes burn with unshed tears as I return my focus to the little girl next to me. I feel like I’m floating outside my body as I show her how to use the pumpkin-shaped stencil on the flattened dough. The next few steps happen in relative silence.
Thick, unnerving silence that claws under my skin and wreaks havoc.
As we tuck the tray of festive cookies into the oven, I officially can’t fucking breathe.
Not with Nate on the other side of the kitchen, his fitted long-sleeve tee glued over his strong biceps. It’s a simple garment. One might even say it’s boring—just a dull piece of gray cotton.
But Nate makes it look like a luxury item.
He is a luxury.
It took everything in me not to stare when he peeled his leather jacket off earlier.
Again, the movement was mundane. How many times have people removed a jacket in the history of forever? But when Nate did it, it was special. Sensual, even, like a private dance.
My entire body sings just from being this close to him, especially now that I know he’s thought about me over the years. That I did, in fact, mean something to him.
“How long will they take?” Teagan blinks up at me.
My knees are as wobbly as my voice when I say, “About ten minutes.” I swallow to wet my dry throat, but it doesn’t go down easily.
Not when I can feel Nate’s laser gaze on my every move.
It’s like I’m lying flat under a magnifying glass, burning from the sun hitting all the right angles.
I close the oven and clap, mostly to jolt myself out of this damn stupor. This is how I get charmed under his spell—he does or says something profoundly meaningful, and I melt into a puddle.
“Nathan? Teagan?” Evie’s voice rings out from the living room. “Where are y’all?”
“In the kitchen,” Nate calls, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“Oh my Lord. Bless your hearts.” Evie throws her arms around Teagan and yanks her into a tight hug, then rains kisses all over her head and face, making the little girl shriek.
Nate chuckles and slides his hands into his jean pockets, which is when I notice that he’s not wearing a watch today.
There’s a tattoo on his wrist that I’ve never noticed before. It’s where his watch usually rests. It appears to be a plant of some kind. His sleeve is covering most of it, though.
I’d give up my good mixer to be able to trace the rest of his tattoos. The night we spent together, it was too dark. Too emotional. I was too drunk on him to think clearly enough to run my finger over every inch of his torso.
I should’ve known it would be my only chance.
“What do you think?”
My head snaps to Evie—I think she’s the one who asks the question. “Hmm?”
“Would you like to join us for supper?” Evie gives me a lopsided smile. “I had plans to make pasta, but in light of recent events, I figured we’d just order a pizza from Gordon’s tonight.”
“I, um…” I run my fingers over my messy bun, nervously tucking the loose strands into the elastic, as I will myself to keep my eyes away from Nate. “Y’all go ahead. I don’t want to intrude.”
“Intrude? Heavens!” Evie laughs like I just told her pigs were flying.
“You have always been family, my dear, and that’s never going to change.
” She punctuates the sentiment with a knowing grin.
“We’ll see you next door. And don’t forget to bring the cookies,” she sings as she leads Teagan out of my kitchen.
The door clicks, and the echo drifts between Nate and me as we stand on opposite sides of the room.
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and my blush is so fierce, I worry I might combust on the spot.
“You really don’t have to watch Teagan after school.” His voice is soft and completely genuine. “She put you on the spot—she does that sometimes—but I just want you to know, you have an out if you want it. I can tell her you’re working late or something.”
“No, no. I…” I lick my lips, and I gather every ounce of bravery I possess to lift my gaze to his. “I’d love to hang out with her. She’s really incredible, Nate.”
His tight lips ease into a natural smile, dimples popping and all. “She is,” he rasps, his tone thick with emotion. “I still can’t believe this afternoon. I should’ve done better.” He rams a hand through his hair, and his grin disappears.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I offer, but I know it’s useless.
This is Nate—he’s always been hard on himself, and I imagine it’s amplified now that he’s a parent.
“I meant to ask—you got a job?”
“In Savannah.” He nods. “I’ll be shooting for a local lifestyle magazine a few times a week, which means Teagan will probably be over here during the days that I’m gone.
I can give you a schedule when I have one, and we can work out the details at supper.
” Nate rocks on his heels and scratches the back of his head.
“You don’t have to come to that, either. My mom was just being polite.”
“Oh.” I frown. “If you don’t want me to, I—”
His chuckle interrupts me. It’s much like the laugh Evie made, as if again, I’ve said something utterly ridiculous. “Of course, I want you to, Maren, but it seemed like you might be jonesing for an out. Thought I’d give you one.”
“That’s not it at all. I just figured you wouldn’t want me to come.” I wince.
“I always want to be around you,” he says plainly. Evenly. There’s a finality to it too, leaving no room for argument, but I can’t help myself.
I tug on this thread like a cat with a ball of yarn.
“Even after…” I clear my throat and fidget with the strings dangling from the hole in my jeans along my upper thigh. “I mean, the other day was a little… brutal.”
That’s putting it lightly.
“It was.”
I round the corner and come to a halt a foot away from him, very aware of how tall he is. How devastatingly handsome, with the sharp outline of his jaw and the adorable dimples in his cheeks. The juxtaposition of hard and soft—he’s the entire package.
It’s too much to be this close to him, especially now that I’ve been reminded of how he can blow my mind in such spectacular fashion.
“I’m sorry, Nate,” I whisper.
His nod is slow.
And I cling to my next breath, waiting for his response.
After a heavy pause, he says, “I’m the one who’s sorry.
I should’ve told you. You should’ve heard about my marriage—and about Teagan—from me.
It was shitty for you to find out from anyone else, especially with everything you had going on at the time.
I’m so fucking sorry.” He releases a rough exhale.
“I hurt you, Maren, and I’ll never be able to apologize enough.
I’d do anything to prove it to you.” His swallow is thick and echoes between us.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes.
“But I can’t apologize for what happened with Sabrina. It would mean I’m sorry for Teagan, and I’m not. She’s everything to me.”
On instinct, I reach out and grasp his forearm. “I’m not suggesting you should. I don’t want you to. I respect you for being a damn good father. You’re dedicated and present. If I would’ve had a dad like that, maybe…” I clamp my mouth shut and sigh.
Maybe I would’ve turned out different.
Nate places his free hand over mine, where it still rests on his forearm, and he looks at me like he’s internally finishing my sentence.
Something passes between us—a silent conversation. A quiet truce.
“Could we—I don’t know—maybe try being friends? I think you had the right idea before.” I withdraw my hand from him and wrap my arms around my waist, my stomach flipping like it’s filled with tiny gymnasts.
He chuckles the same way he did before, as if the notion of us being friends is absurd. When he first suggested it all those weeks ago, I’d thought the same.
How the tables have turned.
“We can certainly try,” Nate says, his tone dripping with doubt.
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Because, as I’ve said before, we’ve never been good at being just friends, and that’s not going to change.”
“It could.”
He grabs the damp rag that I’d used to wipe my hands a moment ago, and he runs it over my temple, wiping away what I assume is cookie dough. I hadn’t noticed it before.
Nate sets the rag down, then runs his fingers over the spot he just cleaned, untangling the strands there.
It’s sweet and gentle and oddly intimate.
I wish I didn’t like it so much when he touched me.
In this moment, I wish I didn’t have to be so practical in my decision to deny my obvious feelings for him.
“It’s not going to change,” he repeats, his voice ragged.
“It should, Nate.” My eyelids flutter closed as he leans in.
“Your body told a different story last weekend.”
Can’t argue there.
“You know where I stand, Lightning.” He grips the loose strands of hair at the back of my head in his fist, and I gasp. “But if you can’t admit that you feel the same, then we can try it your way by being friends. We’ll see how long it lasts.”
He drags his hand away, and I follow him through the kitchen, my mouth opening and closing.
I search for something to say. Something to put an end to this, but I come up short.
“See you at supper.” With a parting wink, he slips his leather jacket on, and my mouth waters.
And it’s not for pizza, either.