25. Lucy
twenty-five
Lucy
The now familiar scents of eggs and coffee meet me on the last landing of the U-shaped staircase, and I consider running back upstairs to change and put on some makeup before Nate sees me in my pajamas.
This is ridiculous. I’m overreacting. It’s Nate. He’s seen me without makeup my whole life, and this would be far from the first time he’s seen me in my pajamas. Of course, we were usually camping with all our friends and family, but it’s the same concept.
The only difference now is that we’re married.
Standing on the last stair and curling my toes against the cold wood under my bare feet, I muster the courage I’ll need to slip into the kitchen and grab my diabetes case.
As I walk across the foyer and into the kitchen, I run my hands through my hair to try to calm some of the snarls my pillow left behind.
When I step into the kitchen, Nate’s gaze rises from the skillet on the stovetop to meet mine.
His hair is sleep-mussed, and he’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts.
I tug at the hem of my pajamas—of course, I’m wearing the white ones with fuzzy brown teddy bears—nervously making sure everything is in place.
He pauses for a moment as his eyes roam my face, and I drop my gaze, crossing the kitchen to the island where I left my diabetes case.
His voice has a sleepy rasp, and my stomach swoops behind my belly button. “Good morning, Lucinda. Did you sleep well?”
I clear my throat and nod. “I did. Did you?”
His eyes tighten at the corners, and he drops his gaze as he nods. For some reason, I get the feeling that his nod is not entirely honest. He has faint circles under his eyes, and the sparkle that’s usually present in his hazel gaze is dull.
I frown as I open my diabetes case and sink onto the barstool, deciding to handle my morning blood sugar routine here instead of taking it back to my room. “Are you sure?”
His eyes meet mine, and he frowns. “Yeah, why?”
I tilt my head as I wipe my finger with an alcohol swab. “You seem tired. Did Quinn wake up?”
He shakes his head. “No, she slept through the night. I’m fine. I just need some coffee.”
I nod, but I’m not convinced. My glucometer beeps, alerting me to yet another error code, and I sigh as I pull out the unused test strip and insert a new one.
“When is your appointment for your new equipment?”
I keep my focus on my finger, barely flinching as I poke it with the lancet and collect the sample in my glucometer.
When I agreed to marry Nate, he insisted that I call the doctor and set up an appointment as soon as possible.
He even helped me research insulin pumps and continuous glucose monitors and spent hours on the phone with his insurance company to make sure everything was sorted out. “Next Tuesday.”
Nate hums and nods as he pushes scrambled eggs around the skillet. I roll my shoulders against the shiver that tries to run down my spine.
As my number loads, I open my blood sugar tracking app and draw a deep breath. “Will you go with me?”
He turns to me with his brows raised. “To your appointment?”
I nod, feeling my cheeks heat. “You don’t have to.
When I called to book the appointment, they mentioned that I should bring someone I trust so they could show both of us how to use the pump and CGM.
I thought it might be a good idea in case something happens and you need to know how the machines work. ”
He nods enthusiastically. “Yes, I’ll go.”
My eyes dart between his, finding a determined fire in his hazel depths. But I don’t want him to feel obligated. “You don’t have to if you don’t want—”
He shakes his head, leaning against the other side of the island. “I want to. I’m glad you asked me.”
I nod and mumble, “Thanks.”
He returns to the stove, scooping eggs onto three plates. I calculate my basal dose of long-acting insulin as we fall into an oddly comfortable silence. I don’t feel his gaze on me until after I’ve completed my basal dose and I’m putting the insulin pen back into the case.
He crosses the room with a plate and a coffee mug, and I feel heat blooming along my neck. Did he watch me take my insulin? Why didn’t I go to the bathroom this time? I always go to the bathroom to take my insulin when I’m in public.
As he sets the plate in front of me, I silently admit the reason to myself. I’m not in public. I’m comfortable here, and I didn’t feel the need to hide.
Nate sets the mug of coffee beside the plate of eggs, toast, and a banana. “This is 64 carbs.”
I wince. “That’s a lot of carbs to start the day with. Maybe I’ll skip the banana for now.”
He frowns and takes the banana off the plate. “Sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize. Thank you for making breakfast.”
His eyes dart between mine, and he nods. He turns back to the plates on the counter and replaces the banana in the fruit bowl. I clear my throat as I run some quick mental math and calculate my bolus dose.
To dispel some of the awkward energy, I chuckle. “We might have to consider getting chickens with all the eggs we’re going through.”
He turns to me with a brow raised and one corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe I should learn how to cook something different for breakfast.”
I shake my head as I dial in my bolus dose. “I love eggs for breakfast. Don’t feel like you have to cook them every day, though. I’ll happily eat yogurt or a granola bar. I can even cook breakfast sometimes to give you a break.”
He smirks as he sets his plate beside mine. “I don’t mind cooking. And if you want chickens, I’ll build a coop.”
My heart flutters in my chest, and I have to tell my inner pioneer woman to calm herself down. I blow a shaky chuckle. “I’m not sure if our neighbors would appreciate us having chickens.”
He shrugs. “It’s Willow Bend, Luce. I don’t think they’d mind. In fact, I’m pretty sure the Masons at the end of the road have a pet pig.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I think you’re right. Either that or the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”
He laughs as Quinn calls from the monitor on the counter. I slide off the barstool, but he holds out a hand and walks toward the kitchen door. “I’ve got her. Take your insulin and eat.”
Slowly, I sink back onto the barstool as he climbs the stairs.
Relying on muscle memory, I take my bolus insulin as my mind wanders.
We just had an entire conversation without any teasing or name-calling.
How did that happen? This man used to drive me absolutely batty—he still does sometimes—but now he’s consistently making breakfast, counting my carbs, and offering to build me a chicken coop after one desperate attempt at a joke to break the tension.
When he came home smelling like smoke, and I was worried—and reasonably so—he asked if marriage was already making me soft. But if Nate keeps making me breakfast and offering to build random backyard structures, I might think marriage is making him soft.
Tugging at my shirt hem, I adjust it to hide the two new devices now attached to my abdomen, checking in the mirror to make sure they’re covered.
I run my thumb over my wedding ring, as I nervously check my reflection.
Having Nate with me as the nurse showed us how to use the new devices was equally awkward and comforting.
It was nice having someone else there to hear everything, and I’m glad that he knows how to handle the devices if something happens.
But sitting together in the little exam room while we waited for the doctor and having him focus on my bare stomach for a large part of the appointment was a little uncomfortable.
I had to remind myself repeatedly that it was nothing new for him. He’s no stranger to healthcare, and he’s seen me in a bathing suit before.
I release a long breath. It’s going to take time to get used to this tubeless pump and continuous glucose monitor.
Having them will make managing my blood sugar so much easier, but it might complicate my efforts at keeping my diagnosis under wraps, and the last thing I want is for people to see the devices before they see me.
Deciding there’s nothing else I can do in this public restroom, I push the door open and step into the hallway.
Nate’s head snaps up, and he meets my gaze as he leans against the wall and slides his phone back into his pocket. His eyes roam my face. “Everything okay?”
I swallow and nod, wordlessly leading the way down the hall so we can get out of this office building.
As we wait for one of the elevators to arrive, I tug at my shirt again. Nate pulls my hand away from the hem, and my eyes meet his. He frowns. “I’m sure it feels awkward, Luce. But I promise no one can tell it’s there.”
He weaves his fingers through mine, and my heart picks up speed. Before I can evaluate that reaction, the elevator dings, signaling its arrival. We step into the elevator, which is empty except for a man who smiles and nods as we enter.
As the doors close, Nate sets his hand on my lower back and takes a step closer to me. His hand slides around to my hip, and I try not to stiffen at his touch. I sneak a glance at his face and notice his eyes dart to the man in the corner of the elevator before dropping to meet mine.
I raise my brows, silently questioning him. He clenches his jaw and tilts his head, giving an almost imperceptible one-shoulder shrug, but his hand tightens on my side.
When the elevator doors open, Nate guides me through the hall with his hand firmly planted on my lower back.
I would pinch him for the unnecessary contact, but it’s kind of nice.
And we are in public after all. It would be weird for a married couple to walk down a hallway without touching or acknowledging each other.
The people we’re passing might think that we aren’t in love, and we can’t have that.
As we walk through the parking garage, Nate tugs me by my elbow, gently pulling me to walk on the inside, by the parked cars and not the cars driving through the cramped aisle.
When we get to Nate’s SUV, he opens my door for me, and my heart flutters as I slide into my seat.
He walks around the car, settles into the driver’s seat, and starts the engine.
I clear my throat. “Where did that little bout of chivalry come from?”
He glances at me as he turns in his seat to back the car out of the tight parking space. “Did you honestly think Kathryn Walker would raise me without good manners?”
I chuckle. “Sometimes I wondered.”
He shakes his head as he shifts the vehicle into drive and starts winding through the parking garage.
“Ever since I was little, Mom made sure I knew how to behave. Whenever we’d go out, she’d stand by the car and wait for me to open her door or stop in the middle of a sidewalk until I walked on the outside.
I don’t think she pumped her own gas until I moved out, and even now Dad makes sure her tank is full before he leaves on a haul. ”
I nod. “Smart woman.”
He chuckles and nods as he flips on the blinker, waiting for the traffic to clear so we can leave the parking garage.
I clear my throat and focus on the dashboard as I muster my courage. “So, what made you decide to turn on your manners today?”
He turns onto the main road and clenches his jaw. As he stops at a red light, he meets my gaze. “Because you’re my wife and it’s my job to take care of you.”
Holy matrimony.
I don’t think he understands the effect those words can have on a woman. My heart has decided it’s a caged bird, and it’s fighting to make a meal off the butterflies swarming in my stomach. I swallow and drop my gaze to my lap as I try to regain my composure.
Nate’s hands tighten on the steering wheel as the light changes. “If I pushed our ‘only in public’ agreement too far, feel free to pinch me as punishment.”
He holds his arm toward me, and I frown. I glance at his face to find a playful gleam in his eyes, and his mouth is tilted into a crooked smirk. I roll my eyes and push his arm away, declining his pinching invitation. He smiles as he sets his hand on the steering wheel again.
He clears his throat and glances at me as he drives down Highway 70. “I know you don’t want me to babysit you. I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to make you feel that way.”
I shake my head and cross my arms, still begging my heart to chill out. “No, you haven’t.”
He nods, and his shoulders drop, like they’re releasing pent-up tension. But that’s ridiculous. Nate Walker wouldn’t stress something like that.
Nate drives by the turn we need to take to go back to Willow Bend, and I turn to him with a frown. “Where are we going?”
He shrugs. “Well, we have a babysitter for a couple more hours. What if we grab some lunch and hang out for a bit?”
I am hungry. I could go for some lunch. “Okay.” I grab my phone from my purse on the floor. “Let me check with Mom and make sure she’s okay for a little longer.”
“I already did.” I turn to him with my brows raised, and he shrugs. “She said she’d be happy to keep Quinn while we go on a little date.”
My eyes widen. “A date?”
He chuckles. “Is that okay? You do love dates, don’t you?”
My cheeks feel warm as I nod and fight a smile.
Why am I so excited? This is Nate, the boy who called me Lucy Bo Peep when I was six and wore a beautiful lace-trimmed dress to church for Easter.
I shouldn’t be this excited to go on a date with him.
If I were being honest, I would admit that I’m secretly hoping he’ll decide to be chivalrous again.
But I don’t really feel like being that honest yet.