“Yes, ma’am,” Nate said dutifully.
She patted my shoulder and swept back toward the kitchen.
Nate grabbed a piece of bread and pointed it at me, his expression stern. “Word on the street is Holly Bascombe was at your house today.”
I groaned, inwardly kicking myself for not anticipating this. “How did you?—”
“Small town, Luke. Also, I drove past your place and saw her car in the driveway.” He took a bite of bread and chewed thoughtfully. “How’d that go?”
Nathan Hale was a no-nonsense type of man. Quiet, like me. Kept to himself—mostly. But ever since he and Tessa Pope got together, he’d turned into a bit of a gossip. Now that he’d gone and fallen in love (despite his best attempts not to), my cousin was all about discussing feelings. Specifically, mine.
“Fine,” I said, hoping to head off any further conversation.
“Fine,” he repeated. “That’s it? Just fine?”
“It was a professional meeting to go over her ideas for the Candlelight Walk. We discussed greenery and flameless candles.”
“Uh-huh.” Nate studied me with the same assessing look he probably used on suspects. Not that Mistletoe Bay was a hotbed of illegal activity. Well, outside of Tessa, anyway.
“And at any point during this professional meeting,” he continued, “did you manage to have a personal conversation about anything other than greenery and candles? Like, I don’t know, the fact that you’ve been mildly obsessed with her for months.”
Mildly? Yeah right.
“I talked to her. Briefly.”
“So you said more than five words at a time?”
I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling like I was back in high school being interrogated by the guidance counselor about my “social development”—or lack thereof.
“Maybe.”
“Luke. Come on, man. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m not good at this, okay?” I bit out, my words sharper than I intended them to be. “Youknowwhat I’m like.”
Nate’s expression softened. “I do know. But here’s the thing—and I say this from experience—you’re getting in your own way. Holly’s not some Silicon Valley shark who’s going to judge you for being weird or awkward. She’s nice. Everyone in town loves her.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Everyone loves her. She’s confident and beautiful and talented. Why would she be interested in—” I gestured vaguely at myself. “This?”
“This,” Nate said dryly, “being a smart, successful guy who restored one of the most important houses in town, who also gives away most of his not insignificant fortune to charity. Yeah, real undateable stuff right there.”
“You know what I mean, Nate.”
“I do. And I’m telling you you’re wrong.” He leaned forward, dropping his voice low. “Look, I’m not saying you should do what I did and propose, like tomorrow or anything. What I am saying is, you could try having a normal conversation with her. One where you don’t flee the room like she’s your personalbrand of kryptonite. Let her get to know you—the real you—and she’ll be just as smitten as you are.”
Rosa appeared with our food then—chicken parmigiana for me, lasagna for Nate—and I was grateful for the interruption.
We ate in silence for a few minutes before Nate spoke again. “You know what your problem is?”
“I have several ideas, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me definitively.”
“You think too much.”
“Family curse,” I pointed out, my shoulder lifting in a slight shrug. Nate was the same way.
“Yeah, but I’m just a stubborn fucker. You’re stuck in your head, trying to calculate the exact right thing to say and the exact right move to make, and by the time you’ve figured it out, the moment’s passed.”
He wasn’t wrong. That wasexactlywhat I did. With everything.
