Chapter Fourteen Nate #2
The dress was not fancy. It was simple. Summery. The kind of thing another man might have called cute and gotten away with it because he did not know better.
Nate knew better.
Unfortunately, knowing better did not prevent his brain from briefly losing power.
Ava narrowed her eyes. “You are looking.”
Nate recovered badly. “I have eyes.”
“Dangerous start.”
“You look nice.”
“Too polished. Try again.”
He glanced down at the bakery box. “Your outfit appears weather appropriate.”
Her mouth twitched. “Better.”
“I brought rolls. No twine.”
She looked at the box.
Then at him.
“Acceptable.”
“High praise.”
“Do not get emotional.”
“Too late.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Banned phrase,” they said together.
For one second, the nerves in Nate’s chest loosened.
Then a voice called from inside the house.
“Ava, is that him?”
Ava closed her eyes.
Nate lowered his voice. “Scale of threat?”
“Mother. Medium threat. Emotional questions. Compliments with hidden traps.”
“Copy.”
Ava opened her eyes and looked at him. The humor was still there, but underneath it was the tightness he had seen yesterday near Trevor.
Not as sharp.
Still real.
“Remember,” she said.
“Follow your lead.”
Her expression shifted.
“Good,” she said quietly.
Then she stepped aside.
Nate walked into the Lane house with a box of rolls, a list of rules in his phone, and the deep, immediate understanding that he had underestimated the grandmother.
Ruthie Lane was sitting in an armchair near the front window, wearing a lavender blouse, pearl earrings, and the expression of a woman who had never needed a whistle because silence worked better.
She looked him up and down once.
Not rudely.
Thoroughly.
Like an inspection.
Nate stood straighter without meaning to.
Ava’s mother appeared from the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She had Ava’s eyes, the same dark hair threaded with a little gray, and the kind of warm smile that felt sincere until you realized it was also gathering evidence.
“Nate,” she said. “I’m Karen Lane.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Lane.” He held out the box. “I brought rolls.”
Karen took them with a smile. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”
Ava muttered, “He was allowed to bring rolls.”
Karen’s eyes flicked to Ava, then back to Nate with interest. “Allowed?”
Nate heard the trap open.
Minimal head quality.
“I asked,” he said. “Ava gave very clear instructions.”
Ruthie Lane made a sound from the chair.
It was not a laugh.
It was not not a laugh.
“Smart boy,” Ruthie said.
Nate looked at her. “Trying to be, ma’am.”
“Trying is not the same as being.”
Ava covered her mouth with one hand.
Karen sighed. “Mama.”
“What? I like to know if men understand verbs.”
Nate nodded slowly. “Fair distinction.”
Ruthie’s eyes sharpened.
Ava whispered, “Careful. She respects grammar.”
Nate kept a straight face through sheer force.
Karen led them toward the dining room. “Lunch is almost ready. Ava, can you help me with the tea? Nate, make yourself comfortable.”
Ava’s head snapped toward her mother. “Why would you leave him unattended?”
“Because he is a guest, not a raccoon.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
Nate held up both hands. “I promise not to get into the trash.”
Ruthie said, “Low standard, but a start.”
Ava pointed at Nate as she passed. “Do not charm anyone.”
“I am standing quietly.”
“Suspiciously.”
Karen’s eyebrows rose. “Ava. Kitchen.”
Ava disappeared with her mother, shooting Nate one last warning look over her shoulder.
Nate stood in the living room with Ruthie Lane.
Alone.
The wind chime outside gave one soft sound.
Ruthie folded her hands in her lap.
“Sit,” she said.
Nate sat on the edge of the couch because his survival instincts were functional.
Ruthie watched him for three full seconds.
“You play hockey.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you fight?”
Nate blinked. “On the ice?”
“Unless you make a habit of fighting elsewhere.”
“No, ma’am. Not really. I play forward. I try to stay out of the box.”
“Trying again.”
“I usually stay out of the box.”
“Better.”
Nate nodded.
This was the most terrifying conversation he had ever enjoyed.
Ruthie leaned back. “Ava says you are useful in emergencies.”
Nate’s throat went dry.
Technically true statements.
“She is generous when under pressure.”
“Ava is many things. Generous with praise is not usually one of them.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Have you?”
There it was.
The room seemed to shrink.
Nate could hear Ava in the kitchen, arguing quietly with her mother about whether too much ice in tea was a moral failing. He could smell chicken, butter, and something green that was probably the salad he had promised to pretend to like.
He could also feel Ruthie Lane studying him like the answer mattered.
“Yes,” Nate said. “I have.”
Ruthie’s gaze did not move. “What have you noticed?”
Rule five.
Honesty adjacent.
No lies if possible.
Nate looked toward the kitchen doorway, then back at Ruthie.
“That she is funny when she wants distance,” he said. “That she apologizes too fast when she thinks she has inconvenienced someone. That she pretends not to compete, then competes harder than anyone. That she listens closely enough to make people nervous.”
Ruthie said nothing.
Nate should have stopped.
He did not.
“And that she doesn’t like needing help, but she notices when help is offered without making a show of it.”
Ruthie stared at him.
Nate stared back, heart thudding like he was about to take a faceoff with his own better judgment.
Finally, Ruthie nodded once.
“You do notice.”
Nate was in trouble.
Real trouble.
Because he knew the right thing to say. He should soften it. Make it casual. Step back into fake. Protect Ava’s rules.
Instead, he said, “She’s hard to miss.”
Ruthie’s mouth curved.
Ava walked back into the room holding a pitcher of tea.
“Who is hard to miss?” she asked.
Nate looked at her.
Ruthie looked at Nate.
Karen appeared behind Ava with four glasses and the alert expression of a mother who had just scented information.
Nate could have lied.
He could have said the house. The rolls. The obvious lack of twine.
He could have made a joke.
But Ava was watching him with that careful guardedness again, and for some reason, the safest lie in the room felt worse than the dangerous truth.
“You,” Nate said.
The tea pitcher slipped half an inch in Ava’s hand.
Karen’s eyebrows lifted.
Ruthie smiled like she had just won a card game no one else knew they were playing.
Ava recovered fast, because of course she did.
“That is a very normal thing to say in front of my grandmother,” she said.
“You asked.”
“I ask many questions that do not require emotional trespassing.”
“I’ll update my policy.”
“Immediately.”
Karen cleared her throat, smiling too widely. “Lunch is ready.”
The dining table looked like a test disguised as hospitality.
Chicken. Green beans. mashed potatoes. Salad. Sweet tea. A basket waiting for Nate’s rolls. Four place settings, which meant no aunt, no cousin, no surprise church friend, thank God.
Ava took the seat across from him.
Not beside him.
Smart.
Safe.
Cowardly, possibly.
Nate did not blame her.
Karen placed the rolls on the table. “These look wonderful.”
“Standard,” Ava said quickly.
Ruthie picked one up. “They are not standard.”
Nate froze.
Ava closed her eyes.
Ruthie broke the roll open, steam rising from the center. “They are good.”
Nate exhaled.
Ava muttered, “Barely survived bread court.”
Karen sat down and folded her napkin in her lap. “So, Nate. Ava tells us you play hockey.”
Ava stared at her mother. “That is the least secret thing about him.”
“I am starting gently.”
“That is what interrogators say.”
Nate took a sip of tea to hide his smile.
Karen looked at him. “What are you studying?”
Nate glanced at Ava.
Her eyes narrowed.
Minimal head quality.
“Sports management,” he said. “Business minor. Still figuring out the rest.”
Ava relaxed by one millimeter.
Karen nodded. “That’s practical.”
Ava pointed her fork at Nate. “Too practical.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I can say I’m considering becoming emotionally undeclared.”
Ruthie laughed.
Ava’s mouth fell open.
Karen looked delighted.
Nate realized too late he had charmed the grandmother.
Ava’s eyes promised consequences.
“That was not intentional,” he said.
“It was effective,” Ruthie said.
Ava leaned back. “Betrayal. In my own home.”
“Eat your salad,” Karen said.
Ava looked at Nate. “You too. Pretend to enjoy it.”
“I do enjoy salad.”
“We discussed how suspicious that is.”
Ruthie pointed her fork at Nate. “A man who likes vegetables is either disciplined or lying.”
Nate glanced at Ava.
Do not say discipline.
He heard her voice in his head so clearly that he almost smiled.
“I am cautiously pro-lettuce,” he said.
Ava’s laugh slipped out.
Not big.
Not for everyone.
But real.
Nate looked at his plate like the mashed potatoes had suddenly become fascinating.
He was going to lose this fake dinner.
He could feel it happening.
Not because the family was buying it, although judging by Karen’s expression, Ava’s mother had already started mentally arranging them in Christmas card lighting.
He was losing because this should have felt like acting.
It did not.
It felt like sitting at a table with Ava’s mother and grandmother, learning where her humor came from, watching her roll her eyes and soften when Ruthie called her baby girl, noticing that she picked around tomatoes, that she drank tea with too much ice, that she relaxed when the conversation moved away from Trevor but never fully forgot the possibility of him.
He noticed everything.
That was the problem.
Halfway through lunch, Karen asked how they met.
Ava choked on her tea.
Nate patted one hand against the table, not touching her, just close enough that she knew he could if she asked.
Ava gave him a warning look.
He smiled politely at Karen. “I ordered lemonade. Ava judged my emotional stability.”
Ruthie put down her fork. “Ava.”
“He asked if lemonade came with emotional stability,” Ava said.
Karen’s lips pressed together.
Ruthie’s eyes moved to Nate. “Did it?”
“No, ma’am.”