Chapter 21
I CUT LONG, SLOW strokes through the lake, coming up rhythmically for air, savoring the cool, mineral softness of the water against my skin.
After my run this morning, I made sure not to miss the chance for a solo swim.
After a few hardy laps, I roll over and float on my back.
Out here, everything is calm, peaceful. Out here, my restless thoughts ease, until there’s nothing but the gentle rippling of the waves, the sway of the willow trees along the shoreline, blue of the lake kissing the blue of the sky.
I swim over to the floating dock and climb up the ladder, lying flat on my back to absorb a little sun as my skin dries.
I want to stay like this forever, but I can feel myself burning, and I didn’t bring sunglasses either. So eventually, I make a clean dive off the dock and swim back toward the shore.
I step out at the sandy area and grab my towel off the ground, drying off a bit before tying it around my chest.
Mom wants me to go to the flower farm today for those arrangements, but I’m dragging my feet. As I get closer to the house, I see Nate.
He’s working on the gazebo yet again today. My heart swells with appreciation for the way the gazebo is starting to be restored to its former glory… and appreciation for Nate’s strong back as he holds a drill up to one of the supporting beams.
And I’m hit with the most obvious wave of clarity, that he never intended to actually help me try to stop this wedding.
Not for a single second. He’s been restoring the gazebo lovingly—so that his sister can get married in it.
Nate loves his sister, clearly, and whatever relationship trauma he may still be carrying, he’s not going to stand in the way of her happiness.
Which means all his banter about subtle sabotage has been just that: banter. Just humoring me. An excuse, maybe, to have something to bond with me over. Surprisingly, the thought makes me smile as I approach, makes me appreciate him even more.
He has a small radio playing, and as I get closer, I can hear him singing along to the music.
“Aretha fan?” I ask.
He turns around and switches off the drill, dropping it down to his side. “R-E-S-P-E-C-T!” he sings.
I laugh. “You actually have a pretty good voice.”
“Pretty good? I was in my school’s best a cappella group, I’ll have you know. We won every local competition.”
“Ah,” I say, surprised. “A fellow competitor? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“I literally had to quit the group sophomore year because I was so tightly wound during competition season that the tension was doing damage to my vocal cords.”
I laugh. “Seriously? You really don’t strike me as a perfectionist. No offense.”
He raises an eyebrow. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Nikki.”
I swallow hard, realizing how badly I want to know exactly what he means by that.
“Okay, well… here’s one thing I’d like to know about you.
I’d like to know if you’ll accompany me to the flower farm.
” I feel myself blushing like I’m a seventh grader asking a boy to the Sadie Hawkins dance—which gives me an idea…
“I’ve gotta pick out some stuff for the day-of,” I tell him, “and as you know, my relationship with Reba these days is pretty on-again, off-again.”
“You just using me for my wheels, Bennet?”
I smile, squinting into the sunlight behind his face. “Guess we’ll have to find out if there’s anything more to it than that.”
He grins and puts down the hammer. “I’m intrigued now.”
I look him up and down, absorbing the sweaty yet insanely attractive whole of him. “Actually, while you’re at it, throw on something suitable for public consumption.”
“Why, are the public planning to consume me?”
“No and ew. But you might be the one consuming.”
“Come again?” He blinks and grins.
“Nate, I’m taking you somewhere, but it’s a surprise, so just shut up and get changed.”
“I like this bossy side of you,” he says, eyebrow raised. “Okay, okay, I’ll change. For you.”
I DON’T SHOWER. IT’S so hot out that by the time I’m upstairs, my suit is pretty much dry already, so I just grab another sundress—this one probably a bit too short, but is that really a bad thing?
—and throw it on right over the bikini. My hair is tangled from my swim, but I find that I don’t really care.
It’s not like this is a date, anyway, and I don’t want Nate to think that I think it is.
Just friends.
So maybe it’s better that I only finger-combed my hair while racing back down the stairs, a little breathless.
And then before we can run into anyone who might ask where we’re going, I meet Nate by his truck, and off we go.
“THIS IS THE BIG surprise? You’re taking me to a greasy-spoon diner?” Nate asks as I direct him into Sadie’s parking area.
“Not just any greasy-spoon diner. Just you wait.”
I don’t know where the idea came from, really. I was just looking for an excuse to get away from the house, I guess. And to spend more time alone with Nate.
Just as friends, of course.
But as his friend, I couldn’t help but think about what he told me the other day when he was dragging me around the lake on the kayak.
About his mom’s grilled cheese sandwiches.
This place had flown out of my mind and been shuffled away with all my other strange associations with LovedBy until Sloane’s call.
Nate hops out of the car and opens the driver’s side door for me, helping me out.
“Check out the menu,” I direct him as we approach the diner. A laminated menu is pasted to the window. “See that?”
“It’s… all variations of grilled cheese,” he reads out. And then his expression changes, and he turns toward me. “You remembered.”
“I mean, it was only a few days ago,” I say, blushing. “My memory’s not that bad.” I look away. “But you have to try it. I doubt it could ever rival your mom’s recipe, but you can decide that for yourself. Maybe it’s, I don’t know… A little portal back into those memories.”
I dare a glance at him, and tears have welled up in his eyes. “Nikki, that’s—”
“What friends do? I know.” I shrug. “Come on, let’s go in. I’m starving.”
WE’RE SEATED IN A booth near the window, and the midday sun streams through.
We place our orders—me the tomato and bacon variety, Nate the simple Cheddar-and-American-on-White—along with shared fries and a couple sodas.
While we wait for our orders, a silence descends between us. Our feet brush under the table, and I almost jerk back, heart skipping. It’s absurd—but after yesterday’s kiss, even this small contact feels loaded. I glance at him, and he looks back, eyes flickering away too fast.
The waitress comes back with the fries, and we both thank her at the same time.
“My Aunt Maggie would love this place,” Nate says as the waitress walks away. He gestures around at the kitschy decor. “She’s a big fan of bright colors. And feathers.”
I grin. “Was this aunt on your mom’s side or your dad’s?”
“Mom’s,” Nate clarifies. “Though she wasn’t her sister, more like an older cousin, I think? After my mom passed, she was around a lot—kind of like surrogate mother and grandmother figure.”
“That’s really sweet. I love that, actually. Like a fairy godmother.”
“Are any of your grandparents living?”
I shake my head. “I was close to my mom’s mom—Meema, we called her—but she died when I was ten. It’s actually her gazebo you’ve been repairing.”
“Your mom mentioned that.”
I play with the straw in my soda cup. “It’s funny, being home, watching you restore the gazebo to its former glory…
it’s made me think about her more. She and your Aunt Maggie probably would have gotten along.
Meema was kind of larger-than-life too. She traveled a lot…
I wish I had asked her more questions while she was alive.
I actually think… in some ways she’s the one who made me dream of having…
I don’t know… a bigger life. That probably sounds childish. ”
“Not at all.” Nate offers me a soft smile.
“But yeah, I know what you mean. Losing my mom when she was so young… it makes you realize how short life is. That’s why I try not to get too bogged down in petty stuff.
Well, except for when my dad talks through movies.
But I think that deserves a certain level of rage in response. ”
“Oh, absolutely,” I agree with a grin. “What’s it like working for him? I mean, I love my mom, but I think if she were my boss, one of us would definitely murder the other with a tomato knife.”
Nate laughs. “Is there a specific type of knife that’s just for tomatoes?”
“Actually, yes. It’s serrated. I’ll show you our stash sometime.”
He smiles and takes a fry. “Well, no homicides on my end yet… but it is a little weird sometimes. Dad’s a very old-school guy. Has some quirks that can make doing business together a challenge.”
“Like?”
“Like, he never trusts the accountants—even though he himself is terrible at math. And he always wants paper receipts for everything. That’s why I have all that crap in my truck,” he says, a little sheepishly.
“Ahh, I see,” I say with knowing smile. “So he’s the master of the mobile filing cabinet.”
“Yep. But if I’m going to work for him, I gotta do things his way,” Nate says with a shrug.
“Do you have to work for him?”
“I guess not…” Nate leans back in the booth. “This might sound lame, considering we’re just talking about a small, father-son carpentry business, but I kind of like the idea of a family legacy.”
“That doesn’t sound lame at all,” I say.
“I mean, maybe someday I’d like to expand to do more contractor work—actually help people build homes from the ground up. Put that year-and-a-half’s worth of architecture classes to good use.” He gives a little smile, but I can tell it’s half-hearted.
“You left school after a year and a half?” I ask gently. I don’t want Nate to think I’m judging him; I’m just curious.