Chapter 15
Lizzie
“Are you ready for dinner?” Nate asks.
“Am I ever!” I say, chuckling. I’ve definitely worked up an appetite after this afternoon.
“Great, I’ve got the perfect restaurant for us—I made reservations.”
He gives a small tug to the hand he still hasn’t let go of and leads me in the direction of the beach, like this is the most natural thing in the world. Like we’ve been walking hand in hand for years and not… whatever this is.
A couple of streets down, and I catch sight of it.
The restaurant sits right on the beach, almost like it grew out of the sand itself.
Palm trees flank the walkway, their leaves swaying lazily in the breeze.
Tables are set directly on the sand, dressed in white tablecloths that glow softly in the fading light.
Tiki torches flicker beside each table, and thatched roof umbrellas made of dried palm leaves are wrapped in delicate fairy lights, scattered all throughout like little pockets of magic.
The tables are so close to the water that the tide almost feels like a guest at dinner, gently lapping the shore while candles dance on each table. Everything about it feels warm, glowing, and just the right amount of romantic without trying too hard.
The sea is calm tonight, a light breeze wrapping itself around me. The scent of salt and seafood fills my senses all the way down to my toes, and I feel like I can almost taste the ocean just breathing in.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a restaurant like this before.
“Wow,” is all I manage to say.
He glances over at me, tugging me a little closer toward the entrance. “It’s unique, isn’t it?”
“That’s one word for it. Maybe a thousand more would be good, too. Like—beautiful, dreamy, romantic?” I’m practically gawking at this point.
He laughs softly. “I’m glad to see you like my choice.”
“I don’t like it,” I deadpan, keeping my face perfectly serious for half a second. “I love it!” My grin breaks free, completely uncontrollable.
We arrive at the entrance and Nate mentions our reservation. The waiter leads us to a table right near the water and hands us menus. I glance down at mine, instantly overwhelmed in the best way.
I scan the options, mentally trying to decide what I want most and realizing I want approximately… everything.
“Anything you think you’ll go for?” he asks, glancing over his menu.
“There’s so many choices! I’m in between two dishes probably. The ‘baked delicacy’ and the ‘Porto style shrimp.’” I pause, then laugh. “But there’s one called the Elizabeth Shrimp that tempts me only because that’s my full name, which feels like a very valid reason to order it.”
He smiles. “Naturally. You’d almost be obligated.”
The baked delicacy is a chicken breast stuffed with banana cream cheese and topped with guava sauce. The shrimp is a cheesy risotto, creamy and smooth—a local dish. My stomach is officially confused but excited.
“I’m going to go for the flambe steak,” he says, closing his menu definitively.
“It’s the meat distributor in you,” I say, shrugging like this is obvious. “You clearly have to try the meat everywhere you go. Professional obligation.”
He laughs. “I think you’re right. I can’t help it. I just love meat.”
The waiter comes over and takes our order, and then a comfortable silence settles between us. Not awkward. Just easy. We both turn slightly toward the ocean, watching the waves roll in and out like they have nowhere else to be.
Then I feel it—his gaze settling on me again.
“Lizzie, I’ve been loving spending time with you today,” he begins, pausing for a beat for a breath. “I’d like to share with you more about what happened with my previous marriage.”
I straighten slightly, elbows resting on the table, giving him my full attention. My heart softens instantly. This feels important.
He takes that as his cue to carry on.
“I hadn’t gone into marriage to ever get divorced. That was never my intention. I met her in Rio while I was living out there, and within a few months we got engaged and married.” He pauses, as if mentally flipping through old pages he hasn’t read in a while.
“I knew we shared similar values from the start, even though we were different. But I guess the difference was that I was committed, no matter the differences. We have two kids together, and they’re incredible.”
I can hear the love in his voice when he talks about them, even now.
“They both have big, sensitive hearts. Daniel wears his more on his sleeve, and Bea tucks hers away. He loves to laugh and especially loves soccer. Bea’s a little more reserved—but when she opens up to you, she’s all in. She loves her ballet, too.”
A soft smile crosses his face, like he’s picturing them in his mind.
“I’ve loved watching their little personalities grow. Though I won’t lie, I’m not sure I’m looking forward to the teenage years.” He chuckles. “My teenage years had a bit of mischief in them. I’m hoping they don’t take after me too much.”
His smile fades slightly.
“I’d protect them from every hurt in the world if I could. I hate that they’ve already had to experience some of it so young—at eight and ten.” He sighs.
For a moment he’s quiet, staring somewhere past me.
“And my ex-wife…” he continues slowly. “After a while, I started sensing the distance. We tried couples counseling, but by then I think she had already checked out—mentally and emotionally. I tried to fight for the marriage, but she had let go long before.”
A quiet ache settles in my chest.
“Why didn’t she try?” I ask gently.
He considers his answer, fingers playing with the edge of his napkin.
“I think there were probably a lot of things that contributed to it. Maybe childhood things. But also… I think she wanted to experience life in a way that felt freer. I’m more systematic.
I like routine. I can also say I’m probably quite protective.
” He gives a small, self-aware smile. “I think she wanted more adventure. Something different to what I could offer her. But I wasn’t perfect, either. I know that. None of us are.”
I nod, encouraging him to go on.
“To me, marriage is sacred. When you make that covenant, it’s for life. You grow together. You wrestle with things together. It’s filled with ups and downs. Both will have flaws. It requires work. But marriage is beautiful. It’s worth it all.”
I love the way he explains it. The conviction behind it.
So many people look at marriage like something you can step out of the moment it stops serving you.
Insecurities come out, defenses rise up, self-protection walls are built.
Ultimately everyone wants to love and feel loved.
But love—the kind that lasts—isn’t just a feeling that floats in and out depending on the season.
It’s sacrificial. It perseveres. It endures when things aren’t easy and when you don’t feel particularly lovable yourself.
It’s a choice. A daily one. To choose to love even when it costs you something.
That kind of love isn’t for the faint of heart.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out like that for you,” I say softly, reaching across the table to touch his hand. A small gesture, but it feels right. Offering comfort instead of just words.
He smiles, gentle and calm. “I wouldn’t have chosen it this way, but I know that God redeems our messiest chapters.”
His grin widens slightly, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet.
I furrow my brows, confused. The food hasn’t even come yet. What is he doing?
He takes out a folded sheet of paper tucked inside and looks down at it for a moment, then back up at me. The sunset glow hits his face just right, and suddenly the moment feels heavier. Intentional.
“Lizzie, after I got divorced, I felt from God that I should write a list of what I wanted in a woman I would marry. Qualities of someone I would spend the rest of my life with—working through life, through the ups and downs. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life alone.”
My heart starts to beat a little faster, though I’m not entirely sure why yet.
“I wrote this list down,” he continues, eyes flicking between the page and me, “and I never picked it up again until I met you yesterday. I hadn’t met anyone who meets this list.”
He holds the paper out toward me.
“Until you.”
For a split second, everything inside me goes very, very still.
My jaw slackens slightly as I take the list, my fingers trembling just enough that I notice. The sound of the ocean seems louder than it actually is, like the world has decided to underscore this moment whether I’m ready or not.
Warmth and fear collide in my chest all at once.
This doesn’t feel casual. Not even a little bit.
Did it ever? Or did we both somehow know—quietly, somewhere deep down—that this might be where things were leading?
I look down and read.
Height. Age estimate. Loves God. Confident. Level-headed. Funny. Loves family. Beautiful inside and out.
I keep reading, each line landing heavier than the last.
I slowly lift my gaze back to him, completely gobsmacked.
He wrote a list.
I wrote a list too.
Mine is on paper sitting in a drawer—but it’s also been locked away in my mind, memorized after praying and dreaming and wondering if he even existed.
And the more time I’ve spent with Nate over these two days, the more I’ve realized, piece by piece, conversation by conversation… he fits every single one of them.
“I wrote a list, too,” I finally say, my voice quieter than before.
I pause, letting the weight of that truth settle over me. I inhale slowly. “You fit every item on it.” I exhale, and it feels like I’ve just said something far bigger than a simple sentence.
I had physical traits on my list—dark hair, height. A S?o Paulo accent. And then so many others: in love with God. Wants children. Confident. Polite. A gentleman. Likes to travel.
So many little details I added over the years without even realizing I was building a picture.
And he ticks them all.
Every. Single. One.