34. Eve #2
The drive to our hotel passes in comfortable silence, both of us processing the emotional weight of the afternoon. Nash has booked us a room at the Wintervale Inn, a charming bed-and-breakfast that's been operating in the same Victorian house for as long as I can remember.
"That went better than expected," Nash observes as we carry our bags up to our room.
"Did it? My mother looked like she wanted to interrogate you with a spotlight."
"Your mother wants to protect you. I respect that." Nash sets our bags down and turns to face me, his expression serious. "But speaking of New York... are you sure that's what you want? To stay, I mean."
The question catches me off guard, though I suppose it shouldn't. We talked about it briefly with my parents, but there's a difference between making public declarations and having private conversations about the future.
"Why? Are you having second thoughts about living with me?"
"God, no." Nash crosses the room in two quick strides, his hands framing my face with gentle urgency. "Eve, I want you in my life every day, in every way possible. I just want to make sure you're choosing what you want, not just defaulting to whatever seems easiest."
His concern is touching, but unnecessary.
"I'm not defaulting to anything. I want to stay in New York because that's where you are, yes, but also because that's where I feel like myself.
Here in Wintervale, I'll always be Charles and Lorna Turner's daughter who made safe choices and never rocked the boat.
In New York, I can be whoever I decide to become. "
Nash's thumbs brush across my cheekbones, his blue eyes searching my face with the intensity I've come to associate with his most serious moments. "What do you want to become?"
It's a question I've been avoiding for months, maybe years. During my relationship with Ethan, my future felt predetermined—wife, mother, supporter of his career ambitions. My own dreams and desires got buried under the weight of his expectations and my need to please everyone around me.
"I don't know yet," I admit. "But I know I want to find out. I want to try things and fail at them and try again. I want to figure out what makes me happy instead of what makes everyone else comfortable."
"What about work? You mentioned that Ethan convinced you to quit your job with your father."
The reminder of my current unemployment status makes me wince. "He said it would be better if I focused on planning our wedding and supporting his consulting work. That a wife shouldn't compete with her husband professionally."
Nash's jaw tightens, and for a moment I see a flash of the man who was willing to kill to protect me. "That bastard tried to make you smaller to make himself feel bigger."
"Maybe. Probably." I shrug, trying to appear more casual about it than I feel. "The point is, I need to figure out what I actually want to do with my life. I have a business degree, but I've never really used it for anything meaningful."
"So use it now," Nash says simply. "Try different things. Take classes. Start a business. Whatever appeals to you, I'll support it."
The easy confidence in his voice, the assumption that my dreams are worth pursuing and supporting, makes emotion clog my throat. "You really mean that."
"Of course I mean it. Eve, you're brilliant and capable and you've spent too many years letting other people tell you who you should be. I want to see what happens when you stop asking for permission to want things."
His faith in me is overwhelming and terrifying and exactly what I need to hear. "I love you," I tell him, the words feeling more significant somehow in the context of planning a future together.
"I love you too," he replies, sealing the promise with a kiss that tastes like possibilities.
We spend Christmas Eve with his mom, and it's perfect. Fiona Callahan is so sweet, and she didn't seem surprised at all when Nash showed up with me in tow. She just hugged me and said it was about time. Other than that, she didn't say a word about it.
Then we spend Christmas Day with my parents, and by the end of it, the atmosphere has thawed considerably.
Nash charms my mother by helping with dinner preparation and listening attentively to her stories about her years as a high school English teacher.
He wins points with my father by demonstrating genuine knowledge about lumber grades and construction techniques—apparently, his years doing odd jobs before medical school included some time in the building trades.
More importantly, my parents begin to see what I see in him.
The way he anticipates my needs without being asked, how he makes me laugh with dry observations about small-town holiday traditions, the careful attention he pays to my comfort and happiness.
By the time we exchange gifts around the tree, even Dad seems to approve of my choice.
The next morning dawns clear and cold, with fresh snow covering everything in pristine white.
Nash suggests a walk through town, and I agree eagerly.
There's something magical about Wintervale in winter, the way the snow transforms even the most mundane locations into something from a Christmas card.
We bundle up in coats and scarves and venture out into the crisp morning air. The town is quiet this early, most people still recovering from Christmas festivities, but the snow-covered streets and glowing windows create an atmosphere of perfect peace.
"Remember when we used to walk these same streets as kids?" I ask as we make our way past the elementary school where we first met.
"I remember following you around like a lovesick puppy while pretending to hate your guts," Nash replies with characteristic honesty.
"You were very convincing in the pretending part."
"I was a master at self-sabotage. Still am, sometimes."
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, our breath creating small clouds in the cold air. The familiarity of these streets, combined with the presence of the man I love beside me, creates a sense of completeness I've never experienced before.
"You know," I say as we approach the path that leads to the old quarry, "there's probably someone having a bonfire out there even now. Half the high school population is probably huddled around a fire, making the same bad decisions we made at their age."
Nash's grin is wicked. "Feeling nostalgic? Want to go crash their party and scandalize some teenagers with our advanced age and relationship status?"
"God, no. I'm perfectly happy being the responsible adult, thank you very much."
"Responsible adults are overrated," Nash argues, but he's still smiling. "Though I suppose if we're avoiding outdoor fires, we could always find an indoor one. Wasn't there a ski lodge up the mountain that had those big stone fireplaces?"
The suggestion makes me perk up with interest. "Cascade Lodge. I used to ski there all the time when I was younger. They have the most amazing restaurant, and the rooms all have fireplaces and mountain views."
"You ski?"
"I love skiing. Haven't been in years, but I used to spend every weekend on the slopes when I was in high school."
Nash considers this information with the same seriousness he applies to everything that interests me. "We should go sometimes for a weekend."
"That would be amazing," I agree, already imagining the two of us on the slopes together, the way Nash would probably approach skiing with the same methodical precision he brings to everything else.
We continue walking, following the familiar paths of our childhood without conscious decision. Soon we find ourselves at an open field near the high school with Silver Lake in the distance, its surface frozen solid and covered with a thin layer of snow that sparkles in the morning sunlight.
"This is where we met," Nash says quietly, his voice carrying a note of wonder like he can't quite believe we've come full circle.
I nod, remembering that day twenty-one years ago when my family first moved to Wintervale.
Seven-year-old me had been so excited to explore our new town, so eager to make friends and feel like I belonged somewhere.
Eight-year-old Nash had seemed like the most fascinating boy in the world, right up until he called me a city girl and made me cry.