Chapter 9 #2
“I used to. Going to Belgium kind of threw me off—I’ve been so busy learning French and working.” I’m resting my elbow on the side of the door, facing my body a little more towards him.
“Life can get in the way, but I value reading, even if it’s just a few minutes a day. The Bible is my first focus daily, but I love reading other books, too.”
Wow. I love that God seems to be a priority to him.
“You have a close relationship with God, then?” I ask. I have to know.
“I had to develop that throughout time. I wasn’t always like this. I had my teenage years where I got up to things that I’m not proud of. But God was patient with me. And the relationship got even deeper after my divorce.”
I love how open he is. There’s just something about his honesty that feels so refreshing. He’s straightforward.
We pull into my parents’ house, and I can hear the crickets singing already. The familiar chorus wraps around me like a welcome home.
He shuts off the car and turns his body toward me.
The look he gives me is filled with heat—steady, searching, almost careful, like he’s weighing something he hasn’t quite decided whether to say.
My heart jumps into my throat. My breath hitches slightly.
This feels different.
Not just easy conversation. Not just attraction. Something quieter. More deliberate. Like every glance tonight has carried a question neither of us has said out loud.
What is this connection I’m feeling to him after only one evening? What is it about him that feels so… grounded? So steady? Like he’s not just enjoying the moment, but paying attention to it. To me.
It’s like there’s an electric current humming between us—subtle but unmistakable. Not overwhelming. Just present. Persistent. Real.
From everything I saw tonight, he kept quietly ticking off so many things on my list. Not in a performative way—or in a way that felt forced. Just naturally. Effortlessly.
And that, more than anything, unsettles me a little.
Because if this were just chemistry, I could dismiss it. Chemistry fades. Sparks die out. Attraction can be explained away as a fun evening and nothing more.
But this doesn’t feel flimsy. It feels… intentional.
“I know you’re leaving in two weeks… but here’s my card. You can give me a call any time.”
He said it with no pressure. No expectation. But the meaning behind it lands with surprising weight. He isn’t just ending a pleasant night.
He’s opening a door.
I sense his hesitation—like he’s offering it carefully, aware of the timeline hanging over us. And I feel it too. That looming date presses in on the edges of this moment, reminding me that whatever this is, it exists on borrowed time.
If I lived here, I would say yes in a heartbeat. I would say yes without overthinking it, without questioning it, without running through all the practicalities waiting like roadblocks in my mind.
But I don’t live here.
I have a life back in Belgium. A life that’s full and real and waiting for me in two weeks. A life I chose. A life I love.
And yet… my chest tightens at the thought of leaving tonight exactly where it is, as if it were nothing more than a pleasant memory.
“Thank you,” I say softly, reaching for the card. “For everything tonight.”
Our fingers brush as I take it, and the contact is brief—barely a second—but it sends a sharp warmth racing up my arm. My pulse jumps, quick and traitorous, like my body knows something my mind is still trying to rationalize.
He hands me the book next. This Present Darkness.
“Here, you should borrow this.”
I cradle the book in my hands, suddenly aware that I don’t even know if I’ll have time to finish it before I leave. But that almost doesn’t matter.
“I look forward to reading it,” I say, offering him a small smile.
There’s a flicker in his eyes at that—something warm, hopeful, restrained. Like he’s relieved I didn’t close the door he just quietly opened.
I turn toward the door before I can overthink the moment any further. If I linger too long, I might say something I’m not ready to promise.
I open the door of the car and slowly step out. The night air feels cooler now, brushing against my skin. The crickets are still singing that familiar song, which fills me with a sudden, tender ache.
That sound is home.
Something I know I’m going to miss when I’m back in Belgium. The sound in Belgium is just so… different. Less alive somehow. Less wrapped in warmth.
I’ll miss this kind of night too—the balmy air, the salt-tinged breeze, the way everything feels soft and slow and full of possibility.
I step onto the porch and glance back at him. He’s still watching, hands resting loosely on the wheel, like he wants to be sure I’m safely inside before he lets himself drive away.
I lift my hand and give him a small wave.
He nods once, a quiet acknowledgment, and only then begins to pull away.
I unlock the door and slip inside, the familiar scent of home greeting me immediately.
I lock the door behind me and make my way down the hallway, walking lightly so I don’t wake anyone.
The tiled entryway muffles my steps, thankfully—not like the wooden floors in some of the other rooms that creak at the worst possible times.
I head into the bathroom and flip on the light. The warm yellow glow fills the space instantly, cozy and soft after the dark outside.
I reach for a cotton ball and start removing my makeup, letting the night replay itself in my mind—laughter at dinner, the moonlit ocean, Camila’s knowing smile, the way Nate listened so intently whenever I spoke.
I look up into the mirror—and gasp.
“Mom!” I clutch my chest, taking a deep breath.
Her grin breaks into laughter.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I ask, pressing my palm over my racing heart.
“I’m just keeping you alive—healthy and full of youth.” She waves a dismissive hand, making a little pfff sound.
“I think I’m already alive and healthy. With an extra dose of adrenaline now, that’s for sure.” I can’t help but laugh.
Her face shifts into a mischievous grin.
“So, how was tonight?”
I blow out a slow breath, because I don’t even know where to start. I turn to face her fully, leaning my hands against the sink as I pause, replaying the evening in my mind.
“I like him, Mom. I think he’s amazing…” I struggle to put the feeling into words.
“I think he’s got most things on my list. Which feels crazy to even say, because I spent one date with him.
One date. It’s hard to make a decision so quickly about whether I want to explore something or not, but I feel like time isn’t on our side.
I don’t know if it’s worth pursuing… worth opening something that I might have to walk away from so soon.
” I sigh, feeling the weight of that reality settle over me again.
“But you think he could be the guy that ticks every item off your list?” She reaches out and tucks a stray hair behind my ear, her touch gentle.
I hesitate. Saying it out loud feels bigger than just thinking it.
I sink further into my hands on the sink, staring down for a moment before finally answering.
“I think he has the potential to be.”
That’s all I can manage. There’s so many variables to this—too many unknowns, too much time standing in the way. One night isn’t enough to truly know someone… and yet, it somehow feels like more than just one night.
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” she sings, a wide smile spreading across her face. “I knew you’d like him. Goodniiiiiiiight!” She wiggles her fingers playfully and slips out of the bathroom, her smile lingering even as she disappears down the hall.
The room grows quiet again.
And as I stare at my reflection, one thought rises above all the others—steady, insistent, impossible to ignore.
My mind just can’t let go of Nate.