SEVENTEEN
Rose
I haven’t been in Kara’s room until now, but it’s just as pink as I expect it to be. The bedspread is printed with Gerber daisies, there are photos of Kara and two other young girls plastered all over a bulletin board, and there’s a pink fairy wand taped to the corner. Against one wall is a small oak desk with every kind of marker and colored pencil lined neatly across the top. Above it hangs at least a dozen drawings.
I cross over to admire them. “Did you do all these?”
Kara follows me and nods enthusiastically. “Yep! Some of them are kinda old. I’m better now. I did that one yesterday.” She points toward what is very clearly a bright green crocodile with menacing, sharp teeth, just like the one we saw at the zoo earlier today.
Next to it is a serene sunset landscape over a lake. There’s a small cabin in the foreground. “Kara, this is beautiful. Is this your cabin?”
“Yep! That’s my room, right there.” She points to one of the windows.
I move on to the next drawing, which features three girls, labeled, Kara, Maddy, and Jackie, and a dog.
“That’s Duke. He’s coming home from the trainer’s soon. I miss him,” Kara says.
“I’m sure he misses you too.” I smile. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
When I move on to the next drawing, my heart drops. Two adults and a small child stand hand-in-hand. They’re labeled Mom, Dad, and Kara.
“That’s my mom,” Kara says, pointing at the figure with yellow-blonde hair. “She was really pretty. See.” She lowers her finger to a framed photo I hadn’t noticed on the desk. A slightly younger Nate smiles with his arm around a woman with straight blonde hair and a bright, friendly smile. She holds a small toddler-aged Kara and rests her head on Nate’s shoulder.
I gulp. “She is beautiful, Kara. You look just like her.” And it’s true. She’s quite literally her mother’s miniature.
“Thanks.” She steps back and sits down on her bed.
“Kara,” Nate comes around the corner. “Maddy’s mom is here—” He pauses when he sees what I’m looking at.
Kara hops up. “Can we have s’mores when I get home?”
Nate doesn’t tear his eyes from the framed photo. “Um, yeah, we’ll see. It’ll be just about your bedtime.”
“Kay,” she says quickly as she brushes past him into the hall.
He’s perfectly still, but after a second, he blinks and cranes his neck toward her as she leaves. “Remember your manners! I’ll pick you up at 8:30.”
“Bye, Dad! Love you!”
“Love you too, Kara.”
When he turns to me again, the eyes that find mine are almost apologetic. But they shouldn’t be. Kara’s mother was and will always be part of their lives. No one should be sorry for that.
I glance at the photo and then back at him with a small smile. “What was she like?”
He rubs the back of his neck and sighs, but he continues into the room and sits down on Kara’s bed. “We met in college. In a comparative literature course. We both hated it. We wrote notes back and forth to each other in the back of the lecture hall like middle schoolers. I’m not sure how either of us passed the class.” He scratches his beard, not looking at me as I sit down next to him.
“Everything kinda fell into place after that," he continues. "We dated for a couple of years and then got married. She was a landscape designer. Knew about every single native plant. Could tell you what to plant in shade, what to plant in sun, what did well in acidic soil, what thrived with wet roots. Our yard looked a lot better once upon a time.” He stares out the window and frowns. “She was smart, but God, she was stubborn.” He laughs. “I once brought home a pallet of petunias for her garden and she about lost it with me for buying non-native plants. Said we’re killing the environment by forcing things to grow where they’re not happy. She knew they’d just die in the end, and that really bothered her.”
“It sounds like she was a very caring person.” I offer him a smile when he glances at me.
He gulps and looks down again. “When Kara was born, it was amazing how fast she took to motherhood. It was definitely a role she was meant for.” He clears his throat. “And I’m glad Kara has some memories of her.”
“And Kara was…four?”
“Yeah,” Nate replies. “Just barely old enough to remember. But someday she probably won’t.”
I look at the photo again. “She’ll have the pictures.”
Nate nods and takes my hand. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know about Amber, but at the same time, if you don’t want to know, I understand that too.”
It’s the first time he’s said her name, and I mentally roll it around on my tongue. Amber. The name of the woman he loved so much he married and then had a child with. My heart hurts.
“I truly have moved on,” he continues, rubbing his thumb over mine. “I wouldn’t be sitting here with you if I hadn’t.”
I lift my eyes to his, which are still calculating, cautious. “I know.” I take a breath. “And I think…I think I may want to know more about her…eventually. But right now, I’m just glad to know Kara’s mother was such a good person, and that she is holding onto those memories. I can’t imagine losing my mother at such a young age.”
Nate frowns. “Yeah, these last few years have robbed her of a lot.”
I squeeze his hand. “You’re doing amazing. She’s so smart and so kind. She’s lucky to have you.”
He nods. “I hope one day she can look back and think that too.”
I stand, still holding his hand. “I think she already does.”
His warm fingers close tightly around mine as he lets me pull him up from the bed, and his eyes dart between mine for a moment before he smiles. “Are you hungry?”
We make pizza for dinner—like, we really make it. Nate says he made the dough this morning, and he has all the toppings ready to go. Even pineapple. This guy doesn’t forget a thing.
He tops his half with only pepperoni, and I put pineapple and ham on mine. He tries a bite and admits the pineapple isn’t half-bad.
We eat on the sofa, watching a newly-released comedy, but it doesn’t hold our attention. Not when conversation flows so freely between us.
I set my plate on the side table and turn to him when I’m finished, pulling my feet up onto the sofa and crossing them in front of me. “When’s your birthday?”
He chuckles and leans back, resting his arms across the top of the cushions. “July 12 th , why?”
I shrug. “I have this theory about birthdays. The time of year someone’s born says a lot about them.”
“Oh no, are you one of those horoscope people?” he groans.
“No, no,” I reassure him. “It’s not like that.”
“Thank goodness.” He shifts so he’s facing me and raises an amused brow. “Ok, so what does July 12 th say about me?”
“Well…people with summer birthdays tend to be more laid back. You were born during a time of year when everyone’s a little more relaxed.” I mirror his pose and rest my arm on the back of the sofa too. “But a July birthday means you were probably one of the youngest in your class, so you’re always ready to work a little harder than everyone else to meet your goals. You’re motivated. You don’t settle.”
“And does the description fit me, do you think?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.
“So far, yeah, I’d say my theory holds.” I look toward our hands on the top of the sofa. He shifts his incrementally toward mine.
“And when’s your birthday?” he asks as the forgotten movie playing on his TV reaches what is probably a hysterical climax.
“November 3 rd ,” I reply.
He scratches his beard with his free hand. “So, let’s see. A fall birthday. Not too deep into the holiday season yet, so as a kid you probably didn’t feel like your day was overshadowed. That means you’re confident. You know your worth. And you were one of the oldest in your class. Maybe that makes you a leader. People can count on you.” He studies me closely. “But I think maybe you have a fear of letting people down.”
His blue eyes—the color of a cool lake, yet as warm as the sun that shines upon it—are impossible to look away from, even as he peels back my layers, encouraging me to reveal the deepest parts. Not only to him, but to myself.
“You’re allowed to choose your own path, you know,” he says when I don’t reply. “Choose what makes you happy. Don’t worry what anyone else says.”
“You’re just saying that because you want to be the one who’ll make me happy.” I poke him in the chest.
He moves his hand over mine and it makes my heart jump. Then he closes his fingers around mine and smiles. “I want nothing more than to make you happy, but it’s still your choice.”
I bite my lip and tug his hand down into the space between us, holding it tightly. “Until you, I never met anyone who cared so much. About me. Like… in depth .”
He cocks his head to the side as he rubs his thumb across my knuckles. “Really?”
I shrug and look down at the place where our skin touches. “Yeah, I mean, there’s always fancy dinners, exotic trips, expensive gifts. Lots of… things . My relationships have been built on things . Did he buy me a gold bracelet? That must mean he’s falling in love. Did he take me to Paris and show me off to his rich diplomat friends? That must mean he’s proud to be with me. He approves. His family approves. That must mean he’s a good match.” I sigh and meet Nate’s gaze again. “It’s always about the optics of the match. It has to look good on paper.”
Nate nods slightly, processing what I’ve said. His eyes are kind and understanding, even though I know he’s not familiar with any of this.
“I’m so tired of men who try to prove their worth in gifts.” I sigh. “They think buying me flowers is the ticket to success. But I don’t want the flowers. They mean nothing to me. I just want to sit and talk about absolutely nothing and everything that matters. But that’s too much effort for them. They want something measurable. Money is easy for them. Money can be measured, but connection can’t.” I shake my head and groan as the memories surface. “And God, please , if I have to date another guy who’s afraid to get his hands dirty because they might stain his shirt I’m going to lose it.” I turn Nate’s hand over in mine and trace the calluses. “These. These are a man’s hands.”
Nate chuckles and flexes his fingers. “These rough things?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “They’re…sexy.” I fight back the blush because I’m being honest and I don’t want to lose this moment. It feels good to be open with him. “I want to watch you chop wood and dig holes and…fell trees.”
Nate chuckles. “Well, that can be arranged.”
I look into his eyes, sparkling with admiration and totally invested in what I’m saying. I love the way his gaze tears me open in the best way. “What’s it like to not care about what it looks like on paper? What’s it like to simply care how it feels ?” I plead quietly.
The corner of his mouth turns up and he squeezes my hand. “Like this, Rose. It feels like this.”
And then he kisses me. Smooth and fluid and without hesitation. His lips are warm and sure against my own as his hands slide to my waist. I grip his broad shoulders, tracing the cords of muscle built from hard work, taut beneath my touch, and I find myself rising to my knees to close the space between us.
He exhales against my lips and grips my waist tighter as I press myself firmly into him. Frenziedly. Desperately. I can’t grasp enough of him. Can’t breathe until we’re closer. Nate responds in equal fervor, hooking his hands behind my knees and dragging me across his lap until I’m straddling his legs and our chests are rising and falling heavily against each other.
It’s dangerous…in a sense…losing myself like this with someone whose world is so different from the one that’s been painted for me. It’s forbidden, almost.
And I love it.
We’re kissing like teenagers, completely unhinged and frantic to run our hands over every inch of each other. Nate’s fingers grip my hips and then slide up my back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. And when he wraps his arms around me completely and runs his tongue against my lip in an eager invitation, I grin and open my mouth to sink deeper, tasting him. I’m throwing every bit of hesitation out the window, and it feels so… right. I can’t even remember what it’s like to kiss anyone else because kissing Nate right now is my whole world.
Without a thought, I roll my hips against his and he lets out a shallow groan as he captures my bottom lip between his teeth. It’s just for a second, and not enough to cause more than a sting, but I moan. I actually moan into his mouth.
The sound of it stuns me back to reality and I break the kiss, breathing hard as I rest my forehead against his. We need to slow down. This is new. Still so new. I need more time to process.
Nate takes a deep breath, plants one last gentle kiss on my lips, and then pulls back to look at me. His eyes, still glazed, watch me with a hint of concern.
But I smile at him and wipe a smudge of lipstick from the corner of his mouth. “I just…” My voice is breathier than I expected. “…don’t want to move too fast.”
He nods and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Of course. Neither do I.”
I sit back on his thighs and rest my hands on his chest. God, it’s firm, and broad, and ugh…. “It’s hard not to,” I laugh.
He smirks and takes my hands in his. “We can move as slow as you want. No pressure at all.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
His expression is so warm. So understanding. So patient.
“But…A+ performance there though…” I grin, climbing off his lap and tucking myself into his side to focus on the movie again.
“I was wondering if you were still keeping up with the spreadsheet. I’d like to see it.” He drapes his arm around me. “But where can I go from here if I’ve already received top marks?”
“Remember, there are extra credit opportunities.”
“Ah, I forgot about that. Well, I’ll wait patiently for those to become available.”
I sink further into him and smile. “If we’re trying to take this slow, I should probably wait a little longer to watch you chop wood, then.”
Nate’s chest rumbles against me and he pulls me closer. He plants a soft kiss on the side of my forehead, and I feel more at home than I ever have.