Chapter 22
IT’S A LITTLE STRANGE to be back at Camberton’s Farmstand, where we first met.
This time, though, we’ve bypassed Katie Mae’s little hut where Nate procured that ungodly quantity of tomatoes, which somehow feels like forever ago.
Instead, we head back toward the field of zinnias.
He turns onto a dirt road, which we follow for a few hundred yards until a woman carting a bushel of flowers motions us toward another turnoff and a spot to park.
“We’re hoping to look at some flowers for a wedding,” I explain, once we’re out of the truck.
“Oh, how wonderful. I love weddings.” She introduces herself as Dee Dee and hands me a basket and some clippers.
“Feel free to take a look, sweetheart, but I imagine we’ll have a pretty different crop by the time y’all are getting married.”
“Oh no, we’re not—” I start to correct her, but Nate throws an arm around my shoulder.
“The wedding’s actually on Sunday,” he tells Dee Dee conspiratorially. “Things are coming together a little faster than anticipated.” He waggles his eyebrows and pulls me tighter to his side. I’m hit with the scent of wood shavings and salty, fresh aftershave.
“Ah.” The woman nods, not-so-subtly glancing down at my stomach. “I understand. Well, if you want to pull some of the flowers you like, I’ll make a note for your order.”
As soon as she walks away, I turn to Nate in amused exasperation.
“Thanks a lot! Now she’s going to think we’re having a shotgun wedding because I’m knocked up with your baby!” I try to pull free of his grasp, but he just holds me tighter and looks into my eyes.
“I just want you to know,” Nate says solemnly, “that no matter what happens between us, I will always be there to support little Gertrude Zelda Lancolm-Bennet.”
“Oh lord.” I roll my eyes.
“Or Bennet-Lancolm! Whichever you prefer.”
I start to drag him by the front of his T-shirt toward the rows of zinnias, realizing maybe he’s right. Maybe I need to chill out just a little, worry a tiny bit less what everyone else is thinking. “Come on, Dad. Let’s go.”
The flowers are bright and full, unsinged by the sun, which is still blazing hot above us and probably won’t go down for hours. It’s a delight to be out here, surrounded by lush blooms. July in Georgia can be beastly, but it’s also beautiful.
Nate and I decide to divide and conquer. As I wander the rows of dahlias and black-eyed Susans, I find myself thinking about what I’d want for my own wedding bouquet.
As I kid, I was obsessed with weddings. I’d watch my parents’ VHS wedding tape over and over, thinking my mom looked like a princess in her ballgown dress, complete with poufy Princess Diana sleeves.
Meema laughing and dancing in a gown almost as glamorous as Mom’s, ever the life of the party.
She and my mother were close in their own way.
A relationship I know my mom always wanted to replicate with me.
I remember I started a collection box of ideas for my own dream wedding, too—glossy cutouts from magazines and low-res pics printed off the internet with our old Inkjet. I’d add to it bit by bit.
I was sixteen when Linney got married. Hers was the opposite of Pete’s elopement.
It was a big to-do in Atlanta with fifteen bridesmaids and custom napkins.
She and my mom spent nearly a year planning it.
The event was far bigger than anything I’d want for myself, but the father-daughter dance to a ukulele rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” was heartbreakingly perfect.
There wasn’t a dry eye on that dance floor—including mine.
Father daughter ukulele song—into the box it went.
The more I think about it, the more I realize the wedding I always dreamed of is a lot like the wedding Cara and Cooper are planning right now. A homemade cake made by my mom. A dance floor lit by Christmas lights. A chance to wear Meema’s handmade veil.
I lose myself in thought. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I’ve managed to get a small bouquet pulled together. Nate’s a little ways down, bent over some flowers near the fence line. I wave him down, and we meet in the middle of a row of sunflowers.
“Okay, I know we’re supposed to be getting stuff for Cara and Cooper, but I couldn’t leave without first putting a little something together for the mother of my imaginary child.” Nate hands me a bouquet. “I think I nailed matching, but not matchy, don’t you?”
It’s honestly pretty decent. Cloudlike blue hydrangeas interspersed with several sprays of pale cosmos in light violet, white, and soft pink.
It’s a bit more chaotic than what I would’ve chosen, but the blend of pastels remind me of the colors of the sky over the lake.
I’m shocked that the guy whose work filing system is “piles” has managed to pull it together.
“It’s not bad actually.” I’m surprised by the breathiness of my voice.
I look up from the bouquet to find Nate’s eyes on me.
There’s a small smile on his lips, and he’s staring at mine.
I swallow hard, a hot, buzzing sensation zinging through my body.
When he looks at me like this, mouth slightly parted, our bodies only inches apart, I can’t help but lean in closer. I can’t help but think…
Suddenly, there’s a loud yip, and the bouquet flies from my hands.
Nate has jumped away, knocking my arm in the process.
“What?” I ask, right as he says, “Bee!”
He’s pulled the back of his shirt up and over his head, and he’s holding tight to it with one hand. I can barely see his eyes through the small opening. His other hand is karate chopping back and forth trying to ward off the bee.
“Oh my god, are you allergic?” He must be. Why else would he be flailing around like this? “Do you have an EpiPen in the truck? I’ll run and grab it.”
I start to run back toward the car but stop as Nate calls me back. Bent over, he’s gulping air with his hands on his thighs. “I’m not.” He sucks in another breath. “I’m not allergic. I just…” He takes another breath. “I just don’t like bees.”
Realizing that Nate is not, in fact, in danger of anaphylaxis, my heart rate returns to normal and my lips curl into a smile.
“You’re scared of bees?”
“Scared is a strong word.” He straightens and readjusts his shirt, removing his hood.
I snort out a laugh. “I’m going to say it’s not strong enough after what I just saw.”
He waves me off, crouching down to collect the flowers, shaking free the dirt. “If I got stung, though, you’d suck the venom out, right?” he asks as he stands.
“I don’t think that’s how bee stings work.”
He looks a little wounded as he hands me back the bouquet. “I’d do it for you.”
“Thanks,” I say softly, taking the flowers. Why does the idea of him sucking venom out of me feel like such a turn-on? “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Back at the farmstand, Dee Dee starts wrapping up the bouquet—neatening the arrangement with confident hands.
“Here you go, darling.” She squints at me. “You know, you look so familiar…”
“I’m one of Bill and Joan’s kids,” I say, assuming that she, like Katie Mae, knows my parents.
She shakes her head, peering at me in thought. “Oh, I know!” Dee Dee says, snapping her fingers. “You were on that dating show! LovedBy! You had that terrible breakup.”
Heat shoots up my neck. Fantastic. Exactly what I was hoping for today: to be reminded of my most humiliating, nationally televised failed wedding.
Now that she remembers who I am, my worry about what she may think—that I’m in a shotgun wedding, that I could be pregnant—grows tenfold.
The stress and adrenaline surge in my veins.
Is this what it’ll be like if I go on A Shore Thing?
I can see it now: every interview bringing up the Aaron situation, asking me to relive the heartbreak.
At least for those, I’ll be prepped with talking points.
Right now, I’m feeling a little ambushed.
I force a smile that feels stapled onto my face, suddenly becoming aware of how disheveled I must look—traipsing around out in the field in just a dress over a swimsuit, hair unbrushed, no makeup.
Normally, I’d never let myself out of the house like this. What was I thinking?
“That’s me,” I confirm.
“Well, I’m so glad you found love after all. Here, let me see those blooms, and I can try to earmark something similar for y’all’s big day.”
Her words land like salt in the wound. Moments ago, I was blissfully imagining my dream wedding, and now I’m slammed back to reality—the one where I’m hopelessly single, spending all my time being “just friends” with a guy I’m starting to like way more than I should.
Nate must see my stricken expression, because he immediately pulls away.
“Oh no,” he tells her, voice filled with good-natured cheer. “We’re not the ones getting married. It’s her brother. And my sister. We’re just innocent bystanders.”
I breathe a sigh of gratitude for his quick clarification, but I’m still on edge. Dragging our siblings into this will risk leaking that story.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Dee Dee says. “You said…”
“I’m actually deathly allergic to the concept of marriage,” Nate continues earnestly. “You might have seen me have a mild reaction out in the field just now? Someone tries to get me down the aisle, my tongue swells up like a balloon; very dangerous actually…”
Dee Dee gives an amused little laugh, but as Nate continues to expound on the myriad symptoms a long-term commitment would cause him to suffer, another thought occurs to me: Did this Dee Dee woman see us almost kiss in the flower field?
Could she have snapped a photo? Great. Another chance for the world to speculate about my “mystery man”—who is currently making it abundantly clear how uninterested he is in anything serious.
I place a hand on Nate’s arm to stop his rambling. The less we say, the better. “It’s fine. It was just a misunderstanding.” I hand him my credit card and force my smile to stay in place. “Can you ring these up? I’m going to head back to the truck.”
I throw myself into the passenger seat and try to lower the anxiety creeping up my chest. But without the car on, the sunshine pouring in starts to get oppressive.
Sweat accumulates along my hairline and trails down the side of my face.
The bikini feels like it’s riding all the way up into my butt crack.
I’m itchy and uncomfortable and longing for that shower I should have taken earlier.
Finally, Nate climbs into the driver’s seat.
“Everything okay?” he asks, starting the car. The sweet relief of air conditioning blows across my face.
“Everything’s fine. Let’s just get out of here.
” I try to iron the edginess out of my voice.
I look down at the flowers he’s still holding.
After all that, all we’ve come away with is the bouquet he made for me.
They’re a little worse for the wear after being used to swat bees, but the selection is still pretty beautiful.
“Dammit,” I mutter.
“What?” Nate asks warily.
How can I explain the surge of emotions roiling inside me? It’s everything. It’s the way Nate looks at me one minute, then professes to have no interest in a relationship whatsoever the next.
“Nothing,” I sigh.
“Sorry they got a little mangled,” he says, sounding a bit crestfallen.
I shrug, feeling something curl up tightly inside my chest as I sink deeper into the seat. “I mean, it’s not like they were meant to last anyway.”
“Whatever you say.” He places the bouquet, now dusty and battered, on the console between us and pulls back onto the highway without a word.