Chapter 24
chapter
twenty-four
MAREN
I almost kissed Nate last night.
What was I thinking?
I wasn’t. I never think rationally around that man, but that’s exactly what he is—Nathan McAllister is just a fucking man. He breathes in and out, he puts one foot in front of the other when he walks, and he goes to work just like the rest of us mere mortals.
There’s nothing special about him… except that he hypnotizes me every time I’m around him. He’s just so damn charming.
So easy to laugh with.
Too interesting.
Somehow intimidating, but also comfortable—how does he manage that?
My shoulders sag as I step onto the porch of Caroline and Austin’s new house and come face-to-face with a large fall wreath, decorated with yellow and orange leaves, white mini pumpkins, and sunflowers. Her mother probably had something to do with its design.
Paulette is super crafty, much like my own mother was. We spent so many nights with the Summers family. Our mothers would alter our pageant dresses or sew Halloween costumes while Caroline and I would play with dolls or raid her mother’s makeup drawer long before we ever knew how to use it.
The parade of memories dance through my mind as I balance the platter of spicy pear cookies in one hand and knock on the door with the other. Caroline insisted we not bring anything, but it would be impolite to show up to a housewarming party empty-handed.
Plus, I’ll take any excuse to share cookies with the people I love.
Mama used to say cookies are for neighbors and friends.
Baking is something she and I both got into after her diagnosis.
Baking was simple enough to enjoy at home, and Dixie and I happily reaped the rewards with the ungodly amount of sweets that filled the kitchen.
And if Mama got too tired on her feet, she would rest at the breakfast table, where we’d still chat and laugh over anything and everything.
When she could no longer stand on her feet, that’s when she and I started bingeing baking shows, instead.
It’s why cookies are such a staple at my truck—Cream and Sugar combines my main passions. So much of who I am lives in the espresso drinks I brew and the treats I bake.
Caroline swings the door open, rattling the wreath in the process, and she ushers me inside.
The open concept of the entryway, living room, and kitchen is what dreams are made of, with a vaulted ceiling to boot.
A dining table with the picnic-style bench runs along one side of the room next to an open window. On top of the table is an array of finger foods. Dips, pretzel bites, mini sandwiches, and too many fried options to name. It’s all framed by shiny pumpkins and leafy décor.
Music filters over the chatter from the guests.
The electric fireplace transforms from red to orange to yellow flames, casting a soft glow over the cream carpet in front of it. The plaid throw blankets over the back of the latte-colored couch match the large burgundy vase on the coffee table.
It’s like fall threw up in here, and it makes me smile. This house has Caroline’s fingerprints all over it, and I couldn’t love this more for my sweet friend.
“You did not have to bring anything,” she gushes, with half a cookie hanging out of her mouth. “But I’m so glad you did. These belong in a freaking museum!”
“Then how would you gobble them up?” I joke.
“You’re right—I didn’t think that through.” She snaps her fingers. “They belong in the bake-off, obviously. You can’t lose with these.”
“Noted.” I give her a tight-lipped smile, not because I disagree with her, but because these don’t feel right, either.
None of my cookies I’ve baked have felt like “the ones.”
I’m probably overthinking it, but I need my entry to be special. I need it to win ten thousand bucks, but also, I desperately want it to be me.
Addie appears seemingly out of nowhere, a plate piled high like she hasn’t eaten in days. “Caroline, where did you get that rug? I need a new one since my mother and her weird friends burned a hole in mine. I’m pretty sure they wiped their feet on it after a day in the mud too.” She rolls her eyes.
“Didn’t you find a wicker shoe in the sink the last time they visited?” I ask—I live for the stories of her mother. She’s so unpredictable.
“Don’t get me started.” She scoffs, then points to the rug again. “Can you send me a link?”
Austin towers over us and wraps his arms around Caroline, casting a shadow over her in the dim lighting provided by the sun setting through the windows. “We picked it out together.”
“You went shopping for rugs?” Addie’s mountain of food nearly topples off her plate as she clearly struggles to comprehend what Austin just said.
To be honest, I’m equally shocked.
Caroline grips his forearm around her waist and sighs into him. “He helped pick out everything.”
A fried pickle falls out of Addie’s mouth, and if I were holding anything, I would’ve dropped it too.
The guy who basically hates everything outside of his auto shop, Caroline, and flannel shirts went furniture shopping—there must be an apocalypse around the corner.
“It was part of the deal,” he says, never removing his eyes from Caroline.
“When you bought the house?” Addie furrows her brows. “I’ve never heard of such—”
“Not that kind of deal.” Caroline winks, then shares a look with Austin that’s so smoldering, it feels wrong to bear witness to it.
“Then what—”
“How about we get a drink?” I grab Addie by the arm and flash our friends a smile.
At the island in the kitchen, I work on two Arnold Palmers, pouring equal parts lemonade and sweet tea vodka into the available mason jars.
“It was a sexy kind of deal, wasn’t it?” Addie cringes and sets her plate aside like she’s suddenly lost her appetite.
“Of course it was.” I offer her a glass, and we clink ours together. “I’m surprised you didn’t put two and two together, considering how most of our conversations lately have revolved around sex.”
“Did someone say sex?” Owen throws his arms out to his sides. The former baseball catcher makes this kitchen look small, and Addie even smaller.
She nearly disappears into his embrace. “You’d hear the word sex all the way from Savannah.”
“It’s a gift.” He kisses her temple before he dips lower to cover her mouth with his like I’m not standing two feet away.
Am I invisible tonight? Why are my friends so damn handsy in front of me?
I clutch my drink to my chest and sneak out of the kitchen, only to realize Nate has arrived and is essentially commanding the living room.
It seems like everyone’s paused their private conversations—and make-out sessions—to listen to whatever he’s saying. He might as well be standing on a stage with a microphone. He waves his hands, like he’s acting out a scene from a movie, but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears.
His lips were so close to mine last night.
When his hands brushed against mine, the contact was so minimal, and yet it was enough to hurl my body into a sensual frenzy.
The words he spoke came out so low and heady, lulling me into an aroused stupor.
It has to be the result of all this sex talk from my friends. It has to be.
I’m stronger than this.
Nate locks eyes with me, and the intensity of the look we share wraps around my lungs. I feel him everywhere, like he’s right next to me instead of several feet away, separated by a room full of people.
Who am I kidding? I’m not strong. I’m about as weak as a fucking twig snapping under the weight of a feather.
Nate flashes everyone a smile as he adjusts the collar of his leather jacket. I wish like hell he didn’t look so damn good in it.
He makes his way through the small crowd—toward me—and I clutch my glass tighter, imagining it as a stress ball.
I spin on my heel, the ice clinking in my drink as I search for a hiding spot. Fuck, I need a hiding spot from my ex? What am I—six?
Nonetheless, I drop off my drink on the nearest flat surface and slink along the wall toward a closed door like I’m in a spy movie, further increasing my humiliation factor by ten. My free hand is curled around the knob when Nate himself appears.
“Hey, neighbor.”
“Hi,” I say on an exhale.
“What’re you doing all the way over here when the party’s over there?” He tilts his head toward the commotion.
“I was just, um…” I lick my lips and instinctively glance at his. His mouth curves into a slow smile, and I snap my eyes back up, my mind racing. “Caroline asked me to get more napkins out of the storage closet, so… can’t talk.”
I disappear through the mystery door, only to find a stand-up shower on one side, a toilet on the other, and a mirror in front of me.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter to my reflection, then back out of the room as quickly as I’d popped in.
“Find those napkins?” Nate’s voice sounds from behind me. He’s standing exactly where I left him, leaning against the wall with his dark hair styled backward and out of his eyes.
The strands have lengthened since homecoming. The tips sometimes hang in his eyes, but not tonight.
Tonight, he’s used some product to hold them in place, and all I want to do is run my hands through it to mess it back up.
I choke out, “No. I should check again.”
I slip back into the bathroom—not a storage closet—and mentally scold myself for being such a baby.
In the privacy of the room, I start to release the breath I’ve been holding, but the door doesn’t close behind me.
Instead, Nate slides his black boot inside and joins me.
Even though I retreat until my back hits the sink, it’s still not enough distance between us. The room is just too small. Could I not have found the garage to get lost in? I should’ve asked Caroline for a tour the moment I stepped foot in here.
Nate’s whistle is low as he studies the space. “Are you sure this is where Caroline keeps the napkins?” he asks—he’s mocking me.
I shoot him a glare.
“Feels like you’re avoiding me.” Amusement dances in his eyes, and his lips twitch like he’s suppressing a smile. “Like the first week when I moved in.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“You almost tripped into a rose bush to make sure I didn’t see you.”
“You’re mistaken.”
“So, you haven’t been avoiding me tonight, either, then?”
“No, but if I were, I’d have every right. I get enough of you during the week,” I say and bat my eyelashes sarcastically.
“I don’t think it’s nearly enough.” His full grin finally breaks free, and all I can think about is tracing his dimples with my tongue.
“There you go again, being so direct.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the thick swallow that follows.
He catches it too, tracking my bobbing throat with his gaze like it’s a moment he needs to capture on camera. The intrigue coloring his expression melts my defenses, inch by inch.
They were weak to begin with, but even if they weren’t, it never takes much from Nate to tear them down. I’m starting to think it’s stupid to even try.
He lowers his head and angles it to the side like he’s going to kiss my cheek. I don’t dare move. I can barely keep my heart rate under control.
But instead, he doesn’t kiss me or touch me at all. He just says, “And there you go again, pretending you don’t like it.”
With that, the jerk slips out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with my reflection in the mirror.
Where I can see as clear as day that my cheeks are flaming red.