26. Nate
twenty-six
Nate
Lucy’s gaze returns to the set of coffee mugs on the pottery vendor’s shelf. I should have known that bringing her to the farmer’s market was a dangerous idea, but I had to get her mind off her new devices.
She’s been so nervous about getting them. She hasn’t told me why, but if I had to guess, I would say it’s because the devices are more visible than the diabetes case she hid in a bag and took to the bathroom.
The nurse who showed us how to set everything up was friendly and helpful.
But watching Lucy flinch as the insulin pump clicked and inserted the cannula in her skin made me want to push the nurse aside, scoop Lucy off the table, and bare my teeth like those weird vampire movies she liked when we were in high school.
That’s a normal response when watching your non-romantic wife experience small, temporary pain from life-saving devices, right?
I’m not sure what happened to me, but it’s like that moment unlocked some protective beast in my chest, and all I want is to make sure that she’s okay before we go back home. Does that justify a day date at the farmer’s market with constant excuses to put my arm around her or hold her hand?
I mean, I think it’s necessary.
She takes a couple of steps forward, looking at other things, then drifts back to the mugs, which are a deep navy with varied blue speckles all over them.
I smirk as she runs a finger down the side of one of the mugs, like she’s afraid to touch them and like them more.
I reach beside her and pick one up, standing close enough to feel the heat from her back against my chest. I tilt my head and nod as I roll the mug around in my hand.
“Hmm. These feel a lot sturdier than they look.”
Her shoulder does a little shimmy, like she’s fighting a shiver, and she nods. “They’re beautiful.”
Someone walks toward us in the narrow aisle between the shelves of fragile pottery, and I set my free hand on Lucy’s hip, guarding her back so they don’t bump into her. As they pass by, I lean closer to Lucy to give them room. Lucy’s back presses into my chest, and I hear her draw a sharp breath.
The person passing us pauses to look at a dish on the shelf behind us, so I stay put and speak quietly in Lucy’s ear. “Everything okay?”
She takes a shaky breath and nods. “Fine.”
Her eyes meet mine over her shoulder, and I pause.
Something in her gaze stirs that protective beast in my chest again.
I can’t put my finger on it, but for some reason, she looks so vulnerable.
I’m sure she doesn’t feel threatened by the person taking their sweet time passing us in this pottery booth.
Is it me? Am I making her uncomfortable?
As soon as the person walks by, I drop my hand from her hip and take a step back, trying to relieve any discomfort I caused her by crowding her like that. She drops her gaze to the mugs and tugs on her shirt.
Now, I need to distract her from the devices and the way I overstepped.
Gently, I scoop two of the blue mugs from the shelf and walk to the man at the front of the booth. He smiles as he sees me coming. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
I nod and chuckle. “My wife couldn’t take her eyes off these. I figured I’d better grab them before someone else does.”
He laughs. “Good thinking.”
We swap more small talk as I complete my purchase, then I turn to find Lucy waiting for me outside the booth. She frowns when I join her. “You didn’t have to get those for me.”
I raise a brow. “Bold of you to assume they’re for you.”
Her eyes widen, and she walks down the aisle between the booths. I fall into stride beside her and lean in. “I assumed one of them was for me.”
She rolls her eyes and sighs. She opens her mouth to say more, but she changes her mind and snaps it closed as we walk down the path toward the large building casting a shadow over the outdoor booths.
I open the door to the indoor market house, and her brows rise.
“Wow. It’s like a five-star food court. I had no idea all of this was here. ”
I chuckle and lead her farther into the dining area with a hand on her lower back, enjoying the connection far more than I should. “I can’t believe you’ve never been here before. I could see this being a place where you spend the day with Reese, Emerson, and Skye.”
She nods as her head turns on a swivel, taking in all the lunch options. “They’d love this. We’ll have to come back sometime.”
“So, what are we eating for lunch? There’s sushi, crepes, wood-fired pizza, deli sandwiches, gyros, burritos—you name it, they have it.”
Her brows climb higher as her eyes roam the options around the open space. “Pizza sounds good. But I’ll have to see if I can find the carb counts online.”
She reaches for her phone in her back pocket, but I set my hand on her arm and shake my head. “I already took care of it.”
She frowns as she turns to me. “What do you mean?”
I shrug and drop my hand from her arm, tucking it into my pocket to keep from touching her too much. “I called a few of the restaurants and got some carb counts while you were in the restroom at the doctor’s office.”
Her eyes widen. “You did?”
I nod. “I checked on the pizza place, the sushi place, and the crepes while I was waiting.”
I pull my phone from my pocket and open the notes I took from the phone calls, turning the screen toward her.
“I didn’t get carb counts on all the pizzas; they have a lot of options.
I asked about the sausage because it’s your favorite.
But I also asked about the pepperoni and the chicken and pesto, in case you wanted something different. ”
She swallows, and her eyes, now glassy, meet mine. “Thank you.”
I smirk and nod. “Of course, anything for my little wifey.”
She tilts her head and raises her brows.
I chuckle. “What?”
“‘Little wifey’?”
I shrug. “I thought it was cute. You don’t like it?”
She tilts her head to her other side, and her gaze drifts around the room, as if she thinks she can avoid the embarrassment if she looks away. “It’s not my favorite, but it’s better than Babe the pig.”
I can’t contain my laugh as I recall that day in the coffee shop when she laughed so hard she snorted. That day feels so recent, but it also feels like a lifetime ago. It belongs to a time before tragedy.
Lucy sets her hand on my arm as my smile fades and I draw a deep breath. I clear my throat. “So, ‘Wifey’ isn’t a contender for acceptable nicknames, then?”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “No, definitely not.”
Erasing ‘Wifey’ from the notes I left her the day after our wedding was the right call after all.
I nod, pursing my lips as I think. She turns to me with pink cheeks and a brow raised. I tilt my head in the direction of the pizza restaurant and slide my hand into hers as I lead the way. “Well, I’ll have to think of something else to call you.”
She rolls her eyes. “I think you’ve given me enough nicknames at this point.”
I shake my head as we walk to the pizza place. “Those nicknames are good, but you need something different now.” I place a hand on my chest. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t have a specific term of endearment for you?”
Her cheeks tint pink, and she runs a hand through her hair as her eyes roam the restaurant. “A normal one, I think.”
I raise a brow. “You’re telling me you think married couples don’t have special names for their spouses? Your parents don’t have nicknames for each other?”
She shrugs as we join the line at the counter. “Not really. Do yours?”
I nod. “Sure. Some of them are too embarrassing to repeat, but Mom calls Dad ‘Scotty’ if she needs him to do something for her, and Dad calls Mom ‘Katty’ when he’s trying to bother her.”
She chuckles. “That explains a lot.”
I smirk and lean closer. “What do you mean?”
She shakes her head. “You get your obsession with annoying nicknames from your dad.”
The line moves forward, and she steps ahead of me. I pause for a moment to hide my smile, then stand behind her. I lean over and speak quietly in her ear. “You don’t think the nicknames I call you are annoying, do you?”
She rolls her eyes, but her shoulder shimmies like she’s suppressing a shiver. “Yes, they’re ridiculous and immature.”
I try to flatten my smile, but half of my mouth isn’t cooperating. “Really? I thought Lucille sounded very mature.”
She shoots a glare over her shoulder, but somehow I don’t feel any heat from it.
“And Lucinda sounds like a very dignified person. Definitely someone I’d want to know.”
Her gaze meets mine, and she exhales slowly.
Her deep blue eyes pull me in, and for a moment I forget we’re in a crowded restaurant.
My gaze roams her face, and I find myself memorizing every detail—the way her hair swoops across her forehead, the subtle shimmer of makeup on her eyelids, the way her dark lashes frame her eyes, and how soft her pink lips look.
I haven’t let myself think back to our kiss on our wedding day, now I can’t help but wonder if her lips would feel as soft as I remember.
“Next!”
Lucy jumps, bumping the back of her head against my chest with a thunk. She tucks her hair behind her ear, exposing her pink cheek, and steps forward to place her order.
I blink and shake off the feeling of hypnosis I found in Lucy’s eyes. I know better than to let myself get pulled in too far. She’s not interested in me like that.
After I order my pizza and pay for our lunch, I notice Lucy rubbing the back of her head. I frown as I tuck my wallet back into my pocket. “Are you okay?”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Just sore from hitting the metal plate you must be wearing under your shirt.”
I chuckle and pat my chest. “No metal here. It’s just me, sweetheart.”
She visibly cringes, and I chuckle. “So, you don’t like sweetheart?”
She shakes her head. “Not from you. Dad calls me sweetheart.”
“Fair enough, darling.”
She grimaces and shakes her head. “That one really only works if you have an accent.”
The crowd pushes behind us, and I set my hand on her hip to keep her from being jostled. “An accent?”
She nods. “English, Scottish, or a deep southern drawl.”
I can’t help but laugh, and she turns to me with amusement dancing in her deep blue eyes. I shake my head. “Good to know that if you meet an English or Scottish man, or a man with a stronger drawl than mine, I should be on my guard.”
She rolls her eyes and nudges my side with her elbow.
“What about sugar?”
Her lip curls. “No.”
“Honey?”
She shakes her head.
“Angel?”
Her eyes widen, and her face scrunches in disgust. “Never call me that.”
“Princess?”
She grimaces. “What, am I four?”
I chuckle and move my hand around her hip to pull her closer as the crowd shifts again. But my fingers brush a hard lump under her shirt, and I freeze. I drop my hand, and my eyes fly to her face. Her gaze meets mine, and her cheeks slowly darken as she exhales.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. Did I mess it up? Did I hurt you?”
She sets a hand over the devices on her stomach and frowns. “No, I’m fine. It didn’t hurt.” Her eyes dart around the crowded space and then meet my gaze. “I’m sure nothing’s wrong with it, but I’m going to go to the restroom and check.”
I nod as I hear our order number called. “I’ll grab a table.”
She slips through the crowd with a hand on her stomach, guarding the devices from any other unwanted bumps, and I blow a long exhale. This date was supposed to get her mind off her devices, not draw attention to them. I weave through the people waiting to pick up their pizzas and grab our plates.
It takes a minute to find an empty table that’s not in the middle of a huge crowd. But I find a small table for four tucked into a corner of the dining space. I set Lucy’s mugs in the center of the table and our pizzas across from each other as I take my seat.
Once I’m settled, I scan the room, searching for Lucy, barely registering a group of women filing into the empty table beside me. One of them catches my gaze and smiles. I give her a friendly smirk and nod, then continue the search for my wife.