Lucy
I hum happily as I swipe on mascara, meeting my eyes in the mirror with a smile. I had a good day with Gabby and Stella, came home to another little kindness bomb from Nash in the form of a freaking ballet barre. And tonight?
Tonight, I am finally free from the big black boot of death. Wearing a soft, pale-blue dress that skims my thighs and makes me feel like the breezy, effortless version of myself I thought I’d lost when that car almost hit me.
And Nash is taking me on a date.
A date-date.
I smooth the hem of my dress, take a shaky breath, and run my hands through my hair, which falls in soft waves around my shoulders. My ankle feels strong. Myheart feels full. Life feels better than I ever knew it could be.
There’s a knock on the doorframe.
“Lucy?”
Nash’s voice is low, warm. The kind that slides under your ribs and settles in places you didn’t know were empty.
“I’m almost ready,” I call back, double-checking my face in the mirror. The woman who smiles back looks happier than I ever remember being.
When I open the door, Nash is standing in the hallway, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a small white rose. He’s wearing dress slacks and a crisp button down with the sleeves rolled. His hair is swept back off his face and his eyes… his eyes travel from my heels all the way up to my face. Slowly. Reverently.
Like I’m something precious.
“You look stunning.” He hands me the rose with a sheepish grin. “Didn’t feel right, showing up to your door empty handed on our first official date, so I ran out while you were in the shower. Even if your door is the door to my guestroom.”
I press the flower to my lips, breathing in the perfumy scent as the silken petals brush my skin. “Thank you,” I say, suddenly shy. “I don’t know that anyone’s brought me flowers before.”
Nash’s jaw drops, incredulous. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“Wish I could.”
“And here I thought it was just your taste in musicthat needed re-educating. Looks like it’s your taste in men, too.”
“See, that’s the thing. I don’t think I’ve been going out with men. I think they’ve all been boys.”
Nash makes that face that means he agrees with me but wants to drop the subject. He stands back and gestures for me to walk in front of him, his hand firm but gentle on my lower back. We stop in the kitchen and I put the rose in a glass, then we step into a glorious spring evening, the sun just beginning to dip low, scattering golden light and long shadows across the lawn. He opens the passenger door to the truck and offers me a hand as I step up, then carefully closes the door behind me. When he turns on the engine, he cues up his Re-Education of Lucy Calder playlist. Warm guitar and soulful lyrics filter through the speaker.
“Who is this?” I ask as Nash backs out of the driveway. “I’ve heard this one before.”
“Like it?”
I nod.
“Better than Sandro René?” The glimmer in his eyes suggests he’s been waiting for the perfect opportunity to hit me with that question.
“Yes,” I admit on a laugh. “I like this one a lot better than Sandro. This guy? He’s deep.”
“He’s an oldie, from my parents’ generations. Made it big as pure bubblegum pop, then something happened and he evolved into this.” Nash grins. “Guy’s name is Liam McGuire. He’s worth looking into.”
“If this track is any indication, I’d have to agree.”
“I always knew there was hope for you.” And the look in his eyes—that quiet, softened warmth—makes my chest flutter.
We finish the drive in companionable silence, surrounded by good music and better company.
“Let me know if your ankle starts to ache,” he says as he pulls into a parking spot at The Landing, a high-end restaurant near the pier. “Or if you need to slow down. Or if those shoes are too much, too soon. As your doctor, I should have told you to put on flats.”
“Are you checking in on me, Dr. Kincaid?” I tease.
