3. Nate
three
Nate
“Come on, Quinnifer. Walk to Uncle Nate. You can do it.”
Quinn’s smile brightens the entire room as she stomps her right foot, but she won’t let go of her hold on the couch. When Vi told me she was pregnant, I knew I’d love being an uncle. But I had no idea I could love a tiny human as much as I love Quinn.
“Don’t rush her. She’s only ten months old. She’ll walk when she’s ready.”
Turning to my sister, I raise a brow. “I know she will. But I want to see her first steps in person, not a shaky video on a low-quality phone camera.”
Violet laughs and wipes the remnants of Quinn’s snack from her chin, shaking her head as Quinn laughs at the silly face I’m making at her. “I can’t believe how grown she is. How is my tiny baby old enough to pull herself up on the couch?”
Mom sighs as she settles on the loveseat with a cup of coffee. “Time goes so fast when you have little ones. It feels like just yesterday the two of you were tiny babies. Doesn’t it, Scott?”
Dad purses his lips and nods from his recliner. “It sure does. Babies don’t keep, Vi. They grow up and turn into parents and firefighters before you can blink.”
Mom nods wistfully, her eyes shining as though she’s not seeing her adult children in the living room playing with her granddaughter, but her young son and daughter on the floor playing with their favorite toys. “Mmm. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Violet runs her fingers through the little wisp of dark hair above Quinn’s ear, trying to tuck it into place. “Oh, I am.”
Landon walks into the room behind me, and Quinn’s face lights up as she reaches for him and calls, “Dada.”
He smiles and scoops her up, kissing her cheeks and tickling her belly until she giggles.
As he plops onto the couch beside Violet and tosses his arm around Vi’s shoulders, she settles into his side and reaches over to tickle Quinn’s belly herself.
My gaze drifts to my parents, who are watching the scene on the couch as if it were the coziest part of their favorite romantic comedy.
Drawing a deep breath, I pull my phone out of my pocket and check nonexistent notifications, pretending that I’m busy and unbothered by the fact that I’m the odd man out once again.
At this point, I should be used to it.
My family has never put pressure on me to date or get married, as a lot of traditional Southern families do. But I get the feeling they’re waiting for me to announce that I have a girlfriend.
I’m only twenty-eight. I have plenty of time to find the woman God planned for me to marry.
In the meantime, I’m good. I’ve got a great group of friends I spend my free time with.
I bought an old house a few years ago and am slowly restoring it.
When I’m off work and there’s a girl I’d like to get to know better, I take her out.
Granted, it has been a while since that’s happened.
But I’m not in a rush to settle down. God will handle that in His timing.
Landon’s phone chimes, and his brows rise as he reads the new message. Violet frowns, moving Quinn over to her lap as she watches his reaction. “What is it?”
He smiles as his gaze meets hers. “A new bike was just listed in Clarksville. It’s the model I’ve been looking for, and it’s in my price range.”
Mom sighs, her eyes darting from Dad to me, silently prompting us to stop Landon from buying a motorcycle.
I swallow and drop my gaze to my phone again.
I can’t tell them what to do. I’ve warned them about the wrecks I’ve seen.
They know the risks. If they want to get a motorcycle, who am I to stop them?
“Okay.” Violet bounces Quinn in her lap but keeps her attention on Landon. “Do you want to go test drive it tomorrow?”
He nods. “I do. Is that okay?”
Vi turns to Mom. “Can Quinn stay with you tomorrow afternoon while we run to Clarksville?”
Mom clenches her jaw, then releases it as she sets her coffee mug on the end table. “Of course she can, but… Are you sure you want a motorcycle? It seems like such a big risk to take while Quinn is so young. Why don’t you wait a few years?”
Landon and Violet share a glance before he turns to Mom and leans forward, setting his elbows on his knees.
“I appreciate you looking out for us. But this is something I’ve wanted since I was a teenager.
I know the risks, but I also know how to handle a bike.
They’re only dangerous if you’re careless with them, and I promise I won’t be. ”
Mom crosses her arms and leans into the couch cushion. “I still don’t like it, Landon.”
“You don’t have to like it, Kathryn.” Dad pipes up from his chair. “They’re grown adults and perfectly capable of making their own decisions. If they want to buy a motorcycle, they can.”
“What do you think about it?”
I turn my gaze to my sister to find her already looking at me. “Me?”
She nods, her blue eyes trained on mine.
I draw a deep breath and let it out slowly, focusing on Quinn settling onto Violet’s lap and cuddling against her chest, like she might be ready to admit that she’s tired.
I clear my throat and move my attention up to my sister’s face.
“I don’t like motorcycles. I’ve seen too many nasty wrecks to think that they’re a good idea.
But, like Dad said, you’re adults, and you can make your own choices. ”
Landon sighs and launches into a long and drawn-out defense of motorcycles, saying that riding them is a rush, and it makes him feel alive. But Vi’s eyes dart to me occasionally, unaware that I’m silently praying for their safety.
I set my worn-out Bible, a notebook and pen, and a bowl of Johnson’s famous stir fry on the long dining table of the fire station, settling in for a good meal and a few minutes of study.
The downside of being on duty on a Sunday is missing worship with my church family in Willow Bend.
Luckily, there’s a congregation in Nashville on my way to the station that offers an early morning service every week for first responders and medical staff who have to work on Sundays.
I’m glad they do. I’d hate to miss worship altogether because of my job.
But popping in for early service every few weeks is not quite the same as gathering to worship with believers who feel like family.
Once I have my phone propped up on my glass of water, an earbud in my ear, and the recording from my congregation’s morning worship playing on my screen, I pick up my fork and dig in, ready to follow along with the Sunday School lesson on the book of Romans.
By the end of class, my bowl is empty, and my notebook page is full.
Instead of ending the livestream after class and starting a new one for worship, the men in charge of the technology leave it running and record both in a single video.
So, I’m watching everyone who left the auditorium for class come back now for worship.
Every Sunday that I’m on duty and watching the livestream, I consider skipping through this part because it’s not technically part of worship.
But it’s the part I miss the most when I can’t be there.
The overlapping conversations, the kids weaving through the crowd to sit with their friends, the older ladies making their rounds, and the older men passing out peppermints.
Watching these interactions feels less like a livestream and more like videos of old family reunions.
As I settle back in my chair and watch the simultaneous conversations in the pews, a head of golden-blonde hair catches my eye on the side of the screen.
Lucy Burke teaches the preschool class on Sunday mornings, and she’s usually one of the last teachers to return to the auditorium.
I know this because I like to poke my head into her classroom and scare her when she thinks she’s alone.
Is it immature? Absolutely.
Do I care? Not really.
She’s too much fun to scare and tease—she always has been. I’ve spent my whole life finding every way possible to make her face turn all those different shades of red. After a lifetime of study, I’m proud to call myself an expert in the field.
Our parents have been friends since high school, and they’ve spent years trying to convince us to get along as well as our sisters do.
When we were kids, they planned regular cookouts and game nights to help us get over our differences.
But no amount of burgers or card games could take the fun out of riling Lucy up.
During a particularly heated game of Uno, I learned that when she’s furious, a vein in her neck pops out.
From that day on, I made it my life’s mission to make that vein reappear, and I have a very high success rate.
The corner of my mouth tugs up at the memory of a game night our senior year, when I annoyed her so much she let some colorful language slip—and Joanne overheard.
That was the day I found out that she inherited the vein in her neck from her mother.
I run my thumb along my lower lip, trying to regain control of the muscles holding my smile in place.
“What are you grinning at?”
My hand darts to my phone to pause the video as my friend Miles pulls out the chair beside mine and sits down. I shake my head and clear my throat. “Nothing. Just remembering something funny.”
He squints at my phone screen, then raises his brows, smirks, and nods slowly. “Sure. Yeah. I’m sure it was that hilarious memory and not the gorgeous blonde on your screen right now.”
A glance confirms that Lucy is perfectly centered on the screen as she walks toward the pew she usually shares with her friends about halfway down the center aisle.
Hearing him call her gorgeous makes my skin crawl.
I mean, he’s not wrong, I guess, but it’s Lucy, and he has no business looking at her that way.
I purse my lips, trying to keep my expression neutral as I lock the screen and lay it face down on the table for good measure. “Nah. It had nothing to do with her.”
Miles’s eyes narrow as they roam my face. “You’re lying through your teeth right now.” He sets a hand on my shoulder and shakes his head. “It’s okay to admit that you have a crush on a beautiful woman, Nate.”
I scoff and shrug his hand off. My stomach does a weird flip as I consider his words, but it doesn’t mean anything. “No, it’s nothing like that. We grew up together, and I was thinking about something funny from when we were teenagers.”
Miles sits back in his chair and crosses his arms, his brows draw together in the center of his forehead, and he purses his lips. “Are you going to try to tell me you love her like a sister?”
I frown and tilt my head as the thought churns the stir fry in my stomach a bit. “No, not exactly.”
“You’re not related to her, are you?”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Definitely not.”
He shrugs. “I’m not following.”
I take a deep breath. How do I explain my relationship with Lucy Burke? “We’ve spent a lot of time together throughout our whole lives, and we’ve always done everything we could to bug each other.”
His frown deepens. “Like bullies?”
I shake my head. “No, no. Nothing like that. It’s all good-natured fun. We just pick on each other.”
“So… you… like her?”
I sigh and lean back in my chair with a shrug. Do I like her? I guess. I like getting under her skin. “I don’t know, man. She’s just… Lucy.”
It sounds simple, but it’s not.
He nods, his eyes still narrow, then he shakes his head. “Yeah, that doesn’t clear anything up.”
I laugh and agree, “No, not really.”
But before I can try to explain it again, the alarm sounds, and we race to our equipment to respond to a call. Maybe whatever this is with Lucy is better left undefined anyway. It’s easier that way.