17. Natalie
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NATALIE
One Day Before the Showcase
"Nat!" Kate’s voice cut through the noise of the arrivals curb. "Over here!"
Natalie turned and spotted her sister waving beside their father’s SUV. Kate opened her arms and Natalie practically fell into them. The hug squeezed the breath out of her, along with the tension she’d carried since takeoff.
"God, it's so good to see you," Natalie said, not ready to let go.
"I've missed you too.” Kate stepped back and eyed her baby sister from head to toe. "Rough night?"
Natalie wrestled with herself for the full 90-minute flight.
Confess everything about Mr. Crown or spare Kate the full meltdown?
She pictured her slipping into Big Sister mode: the judgment, the raised eyebrows, the speech about unnecessary distractions.
She’d devised an abbreviated version of the previous night’s events, minus the run-in with her one and only one-night stand.
In the end, she played it safe and said nothing.
"I didn't sleep a wink—a problem with a work thing. It's a long story—way too much to go into right now. You, on the other hand …"
The rosy glow that bounced off Kate's skin was more than a few too many hours in the Texas sun. Her eyes sparkled in a way she hadn’t seen since Malcolm died.
"Does he come with a Surgeon General's warning?" Natalie asked.
"Who?"
"Dash Benning, the man who created this glow. You're like a Christmas tree!"
"I-I am not!" Kate sputtered.
"Yes, you are. And you can tell me all about it on the way."
The traffic guard whistled and motioned. They quickly loaded Natalie’s luggage and moved out of the passenger pick-up zone. Two seconds off the curb, the sisters fell into their signature rhythm, talking over each other in bursts.
"I know for a fact that you and Big Tex are spending a lot of time together," Natalie said.
"We've seen each other a few times."
"A few times? The man answers your cell phone. Since when does Kate Fitzpatrick let anyone touch her phone?"
"I told you, he thought you were my neighbor calling about the evacuation."
"He must be really special."
"He's something alright," Kate said with a snicker.
"I can't wait to meet him," Natalie squealed. “I’m dying to see what he looks like since he doesn’t exist on the internet.”
"Yeah, he's pretty camera shy. Believe me, I’ve tried to snap a few pics, but he wants no part of it,” Kate said with a shrug. “I hope you're not upset that he’s coming."
"Upset? The man’s given you back your smile. I plan to greet him with applause. Plus, Cookie says he’s loaded. Maybe he’ll want to invest."
Kate shot her a look. “Please do not ask him that.”
“Relax. I’ll ease into it,” Natalie teased.
The day unfolded with buzzing energy. Natalie kept her phone pressed to her ear, double-checking with the florist, the bakery, the photographer, and the jazz ensemble. Kate made herself at home in the kitchen as she crafted a French meal to rival anything out of the Cordon Bleu.
By eight, the dining room glowed with candlelight. Foster Powell appeared in the doorway in a western-cut suit and custom cowboy boots. Duke, Foster’s beloved dog, stood beside him, tail wagging enthusiastically.
“Look at this table. Isn’t that something?” the old man remarked.
“The best is yet to come, Pop.” Kate pulled out his chair at the head of the table.
“It’s not every day our old man turns seventy,” Natalie added, kissing his cheek.
The threesome sat at the antique table, losing track of time as they made champagne toasts and shared stories of bygone birthdays.
An elite storyteller, Foster had both daughters wiping away tears of laughter.
Remembering their mother’s final birthday, however, created a sudden somber tone.
Kate and Natalie exchanged a knowing glance.
Time to liven things back up with gifts.
In the living room, Kate poured Old Fashioneds while Natalie arranged the seventy mini gifts. Foster’s eyebrows arched like horseshoes.
“What the hell is all this?” he asked.
“Seventy presents,” Natalie announced. “One for every year.”
“You better get busy, Pop, or we’ll be here until your seventy-first.”
He opened each gift as though it were priceless.
Penny candy. Green plastic Army men. Bubble gum cigars.
Puzzle books. A neon yellow whistle. Breath mints.
A laser pointer. A stress ball. A deck of playing cards featuring images of 1960s Vegas showgirls.
A mini Magic 8 Ball. A container of blue Play-Doh.
A tiny bottle of Jack Daniel’s. It took Foster over an hour to unwrap all the tiny treasures.
The floor around his chair became a sea of wrapping paper and ribbon. The smile never left his face.
"My goodness.” Foster stood, pulling the Old Fart boxers up over his suit pants.
“You girls went all out, and this has been an absolutely magnificent night.
Natalie, the table was incredible. The flowers.
The crystal. Your mother's good china. The dining room never looked more beautiful.
And Kate, you saw my plate. Not a crumb left.
It was five stars. Five delicious stars. "
"Well, the night's not over." Kate reached behind his chair. “This is your real gift.”
“The big bonus—one to grow on,” Natalie added.
"Nonsense. Being with the two of you is enough. I don't need all this fuss.”
"You’re worth every bit of it," Kate said.
"Tonight reminds me of that Valentine's Day dinner for your mother and me.
Do you remember? Kate, you must have been about eleven.
And you were a tiny thing, Natalie. No more than six.
I'll never forget it. We got all dressed up.
You girls set the table for us and even lit candles. It was wonderful."
"We made you dinner?" Natalie asked. "I don't remember that."
"I do, and it was delicious. Homemade Belgian waffles topped with sliced bananas and whipped cream," he said.
Kate nodded. "I remember."
"Took your mother days to clean up the mess. You girls dirtied every dish we owned. One of our most favorite memories of you two. You showed talent for detail even back then, Nat. An event planner in the making."
Natalie’s gaze flicked to the family portrait above the fireplace.
The four of them, in matching shirts and jeans, standing on the edge of the creek.
The girls, frozen in time as teens. Kate, wearing too much eyeliner, her hair in a severe chin-length bob.
Natalie, all skinny limbs and braces, the red ribbons of her hair grazing her shoulders.
Their beautiful mother, hair up in her signature loose bun with honey-colored tendrils framing her face.
Forever smiling and cancer-free. Their father beamed with pride as he posed with his Posse of Pretties, as he called them back then.
"Well, go on," Kate urged. "End the suspense."
Foster did as commanded and unwrapped the box. His hands rifled through layers of tissue before coming to rest on something metallic and cold.
"Kate, have you done what I think you've done?"
When he pulled the small but meticulously detailed bronze sculpture into view, he gasped in surprise, recognizing the inspiration for the piece immediately—a photo of the three of them, holding hands, running through a field, taken the very day they’d posed for the family portrait.
He thumbed its cool surface in disbelief. Tears slid down his wrinkled cheeks.
"Happy Birthday, Pop," Natalie whispered, her throat burning.
Kate rested a hand on his arm. “We love you more.”
Eventually, they shooed Foster off to bed and cleaned up the celebration, minus a beautiful carrot cake under a glass dome. Breakfast, the three decided immediately after finishing Kate’s rich feast. They locked up the house and drifted upstairs to their childhood bedrooms.
Natalie left her phone charging to keep herself distraction-free during dinner. She’d even warned Noah not to text. Hart, however, was a different story. She expected to find a meme or inside joke waiting. When her screen revealed zero notifications, she felt a pinch of disappointment.
Probably for the best.
We’ll talk tomorrow.
Stay focused.
After completing her nightly ritual, she peeked into Kate’s room for one final goodnight. Kate was deep in a phone call.
"Please be careful," Kate said softly, motioning for Natalie to stay. "I will. Goodnight."
"I'm so sorry. I had no idea that you—" Natalie began.
"It's fine. We were hanging up anyway."
"Big Tex?"
Kate nodded. “He’s coming straight from the airport. Or he plans to. He’s been really sick. Running a fever. Hasn’t left his hotel room all day. Honestly, I doubt he makes it. He sounds awful."
"I wish I weren’t flying back right after the party. I'll barely get any time with you two."
"You could take Monday off."
"I wish. But I have that meeting with Otto. No getting out of it.”
"Can't Noah hold down the fort?"
"Trust me, he's already holding down multiple forts; hence the reason he can’t make the showcase."
Kate smiled. "You know you light up when you talk about him. Maybe the man you're looking for is hiding in plain sight," Kate suggested.
"Noah and I want the same thing: a good man. And even if he didn’t, he's too young for me. Sweetheart, though."
"All the good ones are gay … why?!" Kate threw up her hands.
Natalie laughed, then softened. "You deserve happiness too. How serious are you and Big Tex?"
"No labels. It's mostly a lot of harmless flirting at this point."
"So, you haven't …" Natalie pressed with a sly smile.
"Slept with him? Of course not! Well, not in the biblical sense. We fell asleep watching a movie the other night.”
“All in good time.”
“He’s smart. Funny. Has good taste. I feel like I’ve known him for years.”
“He sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch? Crazy ex-wife? A dozen kids? Weird pets?”
“No baggage. Not even a goldfish.”
“Workaholic? Alcoholic? Strange fetish?” Natalie pressed.
“Nope.”
“Come on, Kate. There has to be a red flag; otherwise this guy would have been snatched up years ago.”
Kate exhaled. “His ex-girlfriend was the problem. They dated for a couple of years. She tried to steal proprietary files from his company. He caught her copying things onto a thumb drive.”
Natalie’s eyes went round. “Shut. Up.”
“I know. Totally insane. Like something out of a movie. Her name’s Alexa—she’s a makeup YouTuber. Two million followers, but she hasn’t posted in over a year.”
“Huh. That’s weird.”
“Right? And even weirder because Dash hates social media. When I asked my Alexa device to give us the weather report, he groaned. That’s when he told me.”
“No wonder he’s still single. What a betrayal.” Natalie nudged her. “But that’s all in the past and it appears his future is all about you.”
Kate’s smile waned. “Sometimes, I feel guilty. Thinking about Malcolm … I wonder if I’m moving on too fast. Or maybe I just want Dash to be in my future because I’m ready for that to happen in general."
Natalie sat down on the bed and took her sister’s hand. "Malcolm loved you fiercely. He’d want you to live again. To love again.”
Kate didn’t reply, but she didn’t have to. The flicker in her eyes said it all.
“And now to lighten the mood … I saw Roman.”
Kate’s head snapped up. "What? Where?"
"At the party thing I had to go to last night, to spy for my boss."
"You have to spy for your boss?" Kate asked with a chuckle.
"It’s less fun than it sounds. And I don’t have much to report, unless you count Roman low-key hitting on me in front of his pregnant wife.”
“What? That SOB is married … and his wife’s pregnant?!
Kate’s horror was instant and satisfying. Natalie brought her up to speed, describing the scene with the spilled drink, Roman’s overall ick, and his pregnant new wife.
“God, what a snake. I feel for his wife and their future kid. She’s gonna need a good attorney.”
“There’s more. The ironic cherry on top.”
Deep breath, Nat. Just spit it out.
"I saw Mr. Crown, my London one-nighter."
Kate’s mouth fell open. "What?!”
“At least, I think it was him. Maybe it wasn’t, I don’t know. Maybe I hallucinated the whole damn thing. Roman had me pretty flustered, so—”
The sound of Duke’s booming bark coming from downstairs cut her off.
Kate stood. “Pop must be sawing logs. I’ll go let him out one last time.”
“No, I got it. Then I’ve got to get in bed asap.”
Natalie was almost out the door when Kate said, “You know, Dash has a stepbrother. Interesting guy from what Dash has told me about him. We could keep it all in the family."
"No, thank you. I'm looking for something casual. Nothing to distract me, and definitely nothing long distance."
Natalie quickly tended to the dog, then headed straight back up to her room. She set her alarm then reviewed her to-do list one last time. Everything at Terrace Oak was in place. Every vendor confirmed. Every detail, airtight.
And yet …
Everything was letter-perfect for the London gala too.
She scanned her list again.
Stop.
This event is nothing like London.
It will be flawless.
By this time tomorrow, you’ll have your investor. Maybe investors—plural.
She texted Hart again. With a yawn, she scrolled through her Threads feed for a few minutes, thinking that maybe he'd respond before she silenced her phone for the night.
You know what? You've never stalked Hart’s social media. Noah would be so disappointed in you.
With a smirk she typed Hart's name into the Threads search bar. His name popped up at the top of the list, complete with the verified checkmark. His bio was brief but made her laugh.
@hartlockwoodwrites
Insert witticism here.
One million followers!
“Show-off,” she muttered affectionately.
She clicked the link which led to his website. A black-and-white photo filled her screen. Barefoot and sitting on the edge of a sleek, black leather sofa, he was dressed in a turtleneck sweater and jeans, looking more male model than science fiction author.
Below it, pics of five different books—his entire award-winning, bestselling series. Though his work was targeted at young adults, he'd amassed a huge following in all age brackets.
With a photo like that, it's no wonder. I'm a fan now, too.
Grinning, she tapped About the Author tab.
Born in Boston, Hart Lockwood was raised on science fiction.
His parents, both self-proclaimed Trekkies, encouraged his creativity and fostered his nerdiness from a young age.
He began his career as a literary agent.
After ten years at Howard-Goldman Lit, Hart jumped the fence and began writing.
The success of his Tamboor Realm series is currently funding his thrice-a-day Starbucks habit and his addiction to vintage comic book memorabilia.
A professor of Creative Writing, Hart Lockwood lives in Chicago with his talented screenwriter wife, Laurel, their rambunctious twin boys, and his obedient mutt, Wedge.
Natalie froze.
Her stomach dropped down into the basement.
Wife?
Twins?
WIFE??
TWINS??