Chapter 22
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Bev
Aimi’s words have been on my mind, looping like cursive font, Don’t abandon yourself. I whisper them Friday when we prep the animals for the event. I whisper them when I check my phone and see that Nate still hasn’t texted. I whisper them when I feel myself get triggered, wondering why my mom left and now Nate too. Is it just a coincidence? Or even worse: Something about me?
I cross the street—admiring the flowers in hanging baskets on the old fashioned street lamps—and step onto the sidewalk, a few stores away from the bookstore. I fidget in my cotton sundress and make sure it’s not sticking to the back of my thighs. It’s hot, and although I’m not quite sticky with sweat, I feel it gather at the back of my neck, so I sweep my hair back into a quick ponytail. The sun should set in the next two hours and cool off the island. Either way the animals will be okay because they’ll be set up in air conditioning. The cats in a reading room, each in kitty kennels, and a large adoption van will be out front for the dogs .
I see Tommy before he sees me. He paces along the bookstore’s big, picturesque window. He wears sandals and a shirt with the bitcoin logo on it. He chews on his lip like he’s nervous.
I’m nervous too but for a whole other set of reasons. I’m nervous Nate won’t show up. I’m nervous Nate will show up. I’m nervous my feelings will firework into something greater than they already are—just at the sight of him. I’m nervous he might ignore me, or even worse, pretend not to see me. It all stews in my belly like some kind of witchy cauldron. If only I could cast spells, I know what I’d cast first: That against all odds, Nate and I could be together, somehow, somewhere. Although not just somewhere—but here in Melody Bay.
After exchanging the usual greetings, Tommy and I enter the bookstore, and it’s a packed event, although not everyone has taken their seat.
Tommy points out two empty chairs near the front. I scan the room, heart thumping, but I don’t see Nate. Disappointment curdles, a sour taste on my tongue.
There’s only one seat between myself and an outer aisle. Lo and behold, Jay snags it. “Hey there,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
Tommy looks at me like, “Who is this?”
“My ex,” I explain.
Tommy rests an elbow on the back of my seat, and I look over at him as if to say, “Move it.”
He doesn’t.
I’m about to push back harder when I feel Nate enter. The air in the room suddenly feels charged, fuller, and even a little sparkly in his presence. My heart beats harder than I thought possible. I can feel it in my temples, in my fingertips .
A man in a baseball cap sings lyrics to Nate who flashes a megawatt smile, even though I know it happens to Nate all the time.
Nate’s gray eyes meet mine. His mouth parts, and a dark strand of hair falls across his forehead. Those lips. Those goddamn lips. I flush remembering our kiss at the fundraiser.
Nate suddenly frowns, and I follow the direction of his gaze. It’s at Jay’s hand dangling off the back of my chair.
“Jay,” I whisper. “Move your arm please.”
Jay winks at me, and I nudge his arm off the back of my seat. I try to make eye contact with Nate again, but he’s already taken a seat.
A microphone squeals, and I turn to see Chandra standing in front of us. “Thank you for supporting indie authors,” she says triumphantly.
We clap.
She takes a nervous sip of water and then begins. “So as many of you know, I write at night when I get home from work. My cat curls up on my lap—or sometimes keyboard.”
Laughter.
“And then I get to writing. But for months, I couldn’t write a kiss scene. The scene was crucial to the book, but nothing was coming to me. Let’s just say, though, I was recently inspired. So without further ado, here we go.” She clears her throat.
She begins reading about a fundraiser, and a tall, sultry man in a black shirt. I immediately envision Nate because Nate is those things, but so are a lot of rom com heroes. But the more she reads, the clearer Nate becomes. The scene seems to take place at his house. There’s a private dock. An infinity pool. Fairy lights swaying in the wind .
Janice, one of the volunteers at MBAS, glances over at me as if to check how I’m responding. It makes me realize that this might not be in my head. That other people might be making this connection as well.
Then, Chandra introduces the heroine, who wears turquoise Converse, a yellow dress, and takes care of a sick grandpa—it’s not me exactly. But it’s pretty damn close. I can feel Nate’s glance on me.
I begin to feel hot—sweaty actually. I recall my conversation with Chandra when she’d asked about the reading, but I’d been too distracted by Nate to completely concentrate on what she’d said. Upon further reflection—like my oh shit moment now—I realize that she might have been asking me permission to read the scene. And I said, “Okay.” Gah!
People lean forward, taken with her words. The violet sunset, laced with pink, the twinkling stars, the clinking of ice in crystal glasses, and the pop of champagne being uncorked.
It has to be, I think. That night.
And I’m back to how Nate’s lips felt on mine and how my whole life felt like it made sense—and how often does that happen? The way pleasure zipped through me, and the relief— finally, it’s happened —but also wanting more at the same time.
I can feel Nate’s stare. There’s a weight to it. The way his eyes slide against my skin, they leave a trace, that I know.
I glance over at him. He’s leaning forward to catch my eye. His cheeks are hot. His dark, wild hair falls across his forehead, and the tattoo of a heart on his inner arm, makes my own hammer .
I stand suddenly and scoot past Jay into the aisle. I hurry toward the back of the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement. A flash of black shirt. Nate stands too, following me.
I don’t quite know what I’m doing. All I know is that it’s too much. I think of Aimi’s words, Don’t abandon yourself. What does that mean in this situation? Don’t fall for him again? Don’t set yourself up for hurt? Or does it mean to go all out? To leave nothing on the line? I just wish that things like this could be clearer.
All I know is my gut: And my gut loves him.
He rushes to me.
I stop, pinned in place, by the back bookshelf.
His arms wrap around me.
I slide into his embrace like a warm bath, familiar, yet amazing every time.
“I love you,” he whispers in my ear, barely louder than a breath. “I’ve felt it for fifteen years and couldn’t wait another second to tell you.”
Pleasurable shivers roll through me like those big waves at sea. Such peaks. So treacherous.
“I love you too. But…” I trail off. There are so many words to follow after “but” that I don’t know where to begin. My father. The long distance. The fear. My fragile heart, my abandonment issues.
After I trail off, I’m struck by the silence.
The silence? We’re at a reading. Shouldn’t Chandra’s be talking at least?
Nate and I both turn back to the reading. I expect to see the back of everyone’s head; I expect to see them all facing the podium. Instead, every single person has turned in their chair to stare at us, before breaking into applause .
Chandra claps the loudest and lets out a few, “wohoo’s” into the microphone.
I look up at Nate, and he kisses me again over the sound of cheers. The room spins with pleasure. Warmth shoots through my veins. And when he stops, I’m glad he’s still holding onto me.
Neither Nate nor I acknowledge my “but.” I wonder if I should just forget it myself, but I can’t—I already know I can’t. All those things that follow after are important to me. I still feel them on my shoulders.
I notice then Nate’s expression has shifted. He looks over my shoulder as if staring out the glass door of the bookstore.
I turn to look too.
And there is Moose, frantically pawing at the glass door. He nudges the handle with his nose like he’s trying to get in.
“Moose?” Nate asks, confused.
Nate and I bolt toward the door. How did Moose end up in Melody Bay’s small downtown area? Did my dad drop him off here? But why?
Nate reaches the door first and pushes through. I follow closely behind, the outside air warm on my cheeks.
Nate leans over Moose, trying to pet him. But Moose is agitated, whining and turning.
“How did Moose find you here?” I ask.
“I stopped by your house. But you’d already left for the reading.”
“So he tracked you here?”
“He’s part hound, right? Don’t they have a good sense of smell?”
Moose gently takes Nate’s hand in his mouth and seemingly tries to guide him away from the store .
“Why would Moose leave my house…” The answer to my question tightens in my throat, the way sadness can sometimes feel like it’s caught there.
It’s as if Nate reads my thoughts. “Let’s go,” he says.
We hurry to my house. It feels as if I’m watching myself go through the actions from a faraway place.
As I run past our mailbox and down the stone path to my house, I can tell something is up. I don’t know what tips me off exactly. No sign unfurls, reading, “Trouble inside.” It’s just the quiet vibe. That too quiet feeling.
Nate points at the door. “It’s probably how Moose got out.”
Unease jerks a jagged path down my spine. Our front door is cracked open.
I push inside. “Dad?” I shout.
No response.
I run into the kitchen.
My dad lies on the floor. Not moving.
Nate catches me before I can fall.