Chapter 7
SEVEN
PAIGE
“Hi!” I call out as I shut the front door behind me.
The television is on in the living room. The canned laughter of a cartoon greets me before anything else. Whiffs of spices float through the air as I hang my purse on an empty hook in the foyer next to Ryder’s backpack.
I slip off my shoes before walking farther into Nate’s house.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Nate shouts.
I make my way through his home, noting how warm and aromatic it is. I would never imagine that Nate, the burly guy from work who every patron that enters respects out of fear, would have a house that truly feels like a home.
“Hi, Paige!” Ryder stands on a stool and stirs a pot on the stove. Steam rolls from the large orange container. “We’re making spaghetti.”
“You are? That’s fun.”
“Yup. We are.”
His eyes sparkle with excitement. I follow his gaze to the island. To his dad.
Dear sweet heavens. Now my eyes are sparkling with excitement.
Nate stands at the counter with a knife in his hand. A gray T-shirt with Landry Security in bold, black letters emblazoned on the front is stretched over his broad chest. He looks up at me, then at Ryder, and then back to me and grins.
You’re lucky your kid is here because damn.
“I’ll behave,” I mouth to him.
He chuckles.
“Can I help?” I ask, standing tall like a well-behaved woman.
“If you want to eat, you can.” Nate winks at me. “Wanna chop the onions? I’d be more than happy to pass this along to you.”
“Gotta wash your hands first,” Ryder says.
“Of course.” I walk to the sink and turn on the water. “How was your day?”
“Mine was great,” Ryder says in the precious little kid way like they’re the only person in the room.
“I got a star for reading, and that puts me ahead of all the other kids in my class. Not in the entire first grade because there’s a girl Jurnee who has read more than me.
But she’s in Mrs. Stahl’s class, not mine. ”
I laugh, finishing up washing my hands. “How many more stars does she have than you?”
“Five. I don’t know if I can catch her, but I’m trying.”
I flip the water off and flick the water off my hands in the sink. Then I turn to the island.
“I want to know what I get out of this since I’m the one reading all the damn books to him,” Nate whispers as I get closer.
“You get a kid who loves reading,” I whisper back.
He rolls his eyes, but his grin tells me he’s joking.
“Here.” He hands me his knife and motions to the onions and garlic on the counter with his other hand. “Have at it.”
I take the knife. Our hands brush against each other in the transition. A zip of energy races between our bodies at the contact.
We touch each other at work occasionally although I always think Nate tries to avoid it. But here, in his kitchen, it’s different. The electricity between us is softer tonight but somehow just as intense.
“How was your day, Nate?” I ask.
“Fine. I had to run by Landry Security for a while. Talked to Dom and Troy and shot the shit for a bit. They both said hello.”
I place the knife close to my heart and sigh blissfully. “Troy, my hero.”
Nate doesn’t turn his head but looks at me all the same. His jaw is tight, and it makes me laugh.
“Sorry,” I say, giggling. “You were there too. You can be my co-heroes.”
He rolls his eyes.
“When do I get to hang out with Uncle Dom and Camilla Vanilla again?” Ryder asks.
Nate takes the large spoon out of Ryder’s hand and sets it on the counter. Then he picks his son up and tickles him. Ryder kicks and giggles before his dad sets him on his feet.
“You’re not seeing Uncle Dom until he swears he won’t take you back to Percy’s,” Nate says.
Ryder pouts. “You have to trust him. He’s your brother.”
“What do you know about brothers? You don’t even have one,” Nate says, mussing up the little boy’s hair.
“That’s not my fault! I want a brother.”
“I have a lot of them. Six, to be exact,” I say. “Trust me when I say that it’s overrated.”
“What’s that mean?” Ryder asks.
Nate laughs. “Do you want to watch your show for a little bit until dinner?”
“Can I? We aren’t done cooking. You never let me watch TV until we’ve made dinner, eaten, and cleaned it all up.”
“I know. But you can get outta your work tonight. Just this once. Don’t get used to it.”
Ryder’s fist pumps up and down as he runs out of the kitchen toward the living room. Nate watches him with a smile.
“One of his chores is helping me make dinner,” he says, turning back to me. “As you can see, he’d rather be doing anything but this.”
I grab an onion. “He’ll appreciate it someday. Some of my favorite memories are helping my mom in the kitchen. I always loved to help her because it got me away from the boys in the house.”
“I bet your house was wild.”
“Yeah. That’s a fair assessment.” I grin as I remember some of their antics over the years.
“They were always wrestling and trying to test their new moves out on me or adding me into their shenanigans because our parents gave in easier when I was involved. So if they wanted ice cream, I wanted ice cream. If they wanted to go to the water park, I did too. It was a lot of moving parts and personalities, but fun.”
Nate laughs. “Sounds about right.” He takes a box of spaghetti out of the cabinet. “Do you think you’ll have a family like that someday, or are you over that?”
I make a tiny cut in the onion and peel off the layers. Funny, I feel like he’s trying to peel mine back too.
“You know, I’m not sure,” I say, testing out my ability to be honest about personal things. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“You’ve never thought about it?”
“No.” I chop the onions slowly. “I don’t know … I’m just not sure. I guess it’s a figure it out when you get there kind of thing.”
The knife slips in my hand. I steady myself and then grab the garlic.
“What about you?” I ask, needing the attention off me.
“Yeah. I’d love to have a sibling for Ryder, but the idea of getting married again …” He whistles between his teeth. “But then you think about having a baby while purposely not getting married, and that doesn’t quite feel right either. So I don’t know. I did it once. That’s probably enough.”
Nate was married?
“Who were you married to?” I ask.
He lowers his voice and glances at the doorway. “Ryder’s mom. She overdosed when he was six months old.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“How would you?” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s not like I go around talking about it.” He turns back to the stove. “I guess that’s why I’m so uncertain about the actual marriage part. I’d love to settle down, though, and give Ryder the family I didn’t have.”
I look at him and grin. He catches me before I can avert my gaze.
“What?” he asks, the corner of his lip turning toward the ceiling.
“Nothing.”
“No, what was that look about?”
“I just … It was nice knowing that you feel uncertain about some things too.”
His smile slips away, and a look of surprise replaces it. “I’m unsure about everything. Most people are.”
“Are they? Because it doesn’t feel like it.”
“Definitely.”
I smash a couple of cloves of garlic. “I usually feel like I’m behind on things. Plans. Life.” I sigh. “I just can’t get it together.”
“Who says you should have it together?”
I pause, the knife suspended over the cutting board. What kind of questionanswer is that?
He shrugs. “I mean it. Who says you have to have your life together? People like to pretend they have shit figured out, but no one does. That’s the secret right there.”
I hit the knife with the back of my hand, smashing the clove. But my mind is filled with his words.
“Life is like a boxing match, really,” he says, his voice softer. “Every day is a new round. You have to regroup, adjust to what your opponent has thrown at you, and go at it. You have to understand your weaknesses and strengths, but lead with the strengths. Over and over.”
“I’m sure that was meant to be encouraging, but I walk around with two black eyes.” Or that’s how life feels, anyway.
If it’s not getting evicted, it’s struggling to pay rent. If the money parts of my life are fine, then I have a hard time at school. It doesn’t come easy for me. If that’s all going swimmingly, then I have a guy who’s messing with my head or breaking my heart. It’s always one thing or another.
“You know what’s good about that?” he asks.
“No. Please tell me. I’d love to know.”
He looks at me over his shoulder. “Black eyes heal.”
I wait for more of an explanation—some philosophical reasoning behind his simple sentence—but nothing comes.
“That’s it?” I ask. “Black eyes heal. That’s your big revelation?”
“Maybe it’s the only one that matters.”
“Yeah,” I say, lining up the garlic in front of me into a tidy line. “Most definitely keep your day job.”
He chuckles. “What did you do today anyway?”
“I went over to Kinsley’s and hung out. We won’t get to do that much when school starts back up. Talked to my mom. Looked at apartments. That kind of stuff.”
“Really?”
I shrug and head to the sink to wash my hands again. I can’t quite make out his tone, so I ignore it.
“I told you I wouldn’t wear out my welcome. Or maybe I didn’t say that, exactly, but I hope you inferred it through something I did say.”
“Absolutely. I think I inferred that as you were shaking your hips in the white panties.”
I roll my tongue around my mouth. “Touché.”
“What are you going to school for?” he asks, switching topics.
Probably a good choice with Ryder in the next room.
“I’ve changed my majors twice. I’m one credit away from a bachelor’s in communications but changed my mind like the ridiculous person I am and am going for my social work now.
I’m really lucky. My parents will be happy to pay for any education I want to do.
Books and classes. They’ll never say no to that. ”
“Then I’d milk that for all it’s worth. Take all the classes. Read all the books.” He glances toward the doorway and then back to me. “Yourself. Read them yourself. Don’t expect someone to read them to you every fucking night of the week.”
I giggle as I finish washing my hands.
We work quietly around the kitchen while preparing the spaghetti.
Nate is very comfortable in the kitchen, and I’m surprised at how quickly the garlic and onions are mixed with the beef, and I love watching him choose the spices to add.
Occasionally, we brush arms or bump hips.
When that happens, we look at each other and smile.
“Joe came in today,” he says. “I was starting to get worried about him.”
My heart sinks as I think about the homeless man who comes into The Gold Room.
He always sits on the barstool by the door and always orders a coffee—probably because Nate charges him like a quarter to drink all he wants.
Especially in the winter. I asked Nate once why he charges him at all, and he said you can’t strip a man’s dignity.
And if he never charged Joe for anything, that’s what would happen.
“How long was he gone this time?” I ask. “It feels like forever.”
“It was going on five weeks.”
We exchange a frown.
“How did he look?” I ask. “Is he okay? No one hurt him or anything, did they?”
Nate sighs. “No, he’s fine. I think he’s been staying at a shelter downtown.”
Relief fills my soul. “That’s good.”
“Murray made him a sandwich, and I packed him one for the road—and a Snickers.”
“His favorite,” I say, melting as I look into Nate’s eyes.
Nate Hughes is one of the nicest men I know. Sure, he’s often surly, rude, and bitches about ridiculous things, but he’s genuinely, inherently kind.
To the outsider looking in, it could seem that it puts him out to fix Shaye’s car or make Joe a sandwich on the house. Nate puts on a good show, insisting it’s killing him to do good deeds. But it’s not.
He cares. Those of us who know Nate know that about him.
Nate might be a work of art on the outside. He might also set my body on fire with a smirk. But it’s his kindness, his heart for others that seals my affection for him.
“Hey, do you happen to remember when my next shift is?” I ask, clearing my throat. “I forgot to check the schedule.”
“I have no idea. I’ll look when I get there in the morning and let you know.”
“Thanks.”
He carries a pot of boiling water to the sink. “Can you grab the garlic bread out of the oven?”
“Sure.”
I find two oven mitts and a hot pad. The kitchen is filled with garlicky goodness as soon as I pull the pan of bread out of the oven and set it on the island.
“You’ll love this one. Murray asked not to work with you Friday night again, by the way. He said he can only handle two shifts with you a week.”
“Oh, I bet.” I roll my eyes. Murray is a spoiled brat, but I can’t help liking him. “I’ll get him to love me yet. Don’t worry about it.”
Nate looks at me over his shoulder. “I have no doubt.”
Something in his gaze makes me shiver.
He turns on his heel and faces me. His face is damp from the pasta water, and his shirt is splattered with spaghetti sauce. But seeing him like this, all domestic and relaxed, is my favorite Nate so far.
“You apologized last night for your … manipulation,” he says, grinning at the word. “I want to apologize to you too.”
Apologize? To me?
“For what?” I ask, confused.
“For giving you a hard time about it.” He runs a hand over his head. “Like I said last night, I would’ve been pissed if you didn’t reach out to me when you needed help. And I don’t think you ask for help much, do you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
He drops his hand to his side. “I know we joke around and shit, and that’s kind of our jam.
But I don’t want you to think you’re not welcome here or that you have to hurry and go.
Because you don’t. You can stay as long as you want.
” So genuine. He fights a smile. “As long as you stay dressed.” And dirty.
My body fills with a warmth that I could get used to. I laugh. “Thanks, Nate. I appreciate that.”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Okay. So that’s done. I’m going to grab Ryder, and then we can eat.”
“Sounds good.”
He disappears around the corner, and I sag against the kitchen counter. I hear him playing with Ryder and Ryder’s laughter.
I take a long, deep breath and blow it out slowly. Nate would be the perfect family man. It’s so easy to see. If only that was something I could be.
“Are you ready to eat, Paige Stage?” Ryder asks, hanging upside down over Nate’s shoulder.
I laugh and look at the boy and his dad.
“I’m ready,” I say.
Nate gives me a smile that feels like a whole conversation. I hope he can read what my smile says too because I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to say it out loud.