“Your dad?”
Nate nodded. “He lives near Nashville, and I just don’t want him showing up and trying to reconnect if he finds out I’m in the area.”
“Has he tried doing that before?”
“Not showing up, no. But every so often he’ll text. Or email. Occasionally I’ll get a card or letter from him in the mail.”
“How long has that been going on?”
“Since college. Since, you know, the weight and responsibility of raising a son was pretty much over. Couldn’t bother to show up before, but sure, Dad, now that I’m making my own way in the world, let’s reconnect and get to know each other.” Nate shook his head. “If I wasn’t good enough for him back when I was a kid, why should I be good enough for him now?”
McKenna peeked at Nate’s profile, his quiet words striking a familiar chord. “Well, I obviously can’t speak for your dad, but let me assure you, Nate Lambert, that the woman I spoke to on the phone earlier this evening thinks the world of her son. Pretty sure your mom couldn’t be prouder of you if she tried. You are loved, that’s for sure.”
She tapped the back of his hand resting on his thigh. Now would probably be a good time to stop touching Nate’s hand altogether. But apparently her hand wasn’t on board with that idea. Her fingers decided to camp out on his knuckles.
Which must’ve started giving Nate’s hand some ideas. His hand rolled over, leaving her fingers tucked against his palm. His voice, already soft and low to begin with, scraped with an added texture of huskiness, making heat drizzle inside McKenna’s belly like honey. What was happening right now? “So you think she’s forgiven me for that marker incident over twenty-five years ago? Is that what you’re saying?”
His fingers slowly slid between hers.
McKenna worked to keep her voice steady. “You kidding? That was a white fridge we’re talking about. She’s your mom, not Mother Teresa.”
His quiet chuckle warmed her left ear. “I guess some mistakes you just don’t come back from, do you?”
“Exactly.” And hopefully holding hands with a handsome guy in Tennessee wasn’t one of those mistakes. Because that’s what was happening. She and Nate were holding hands.
“I wouldn’t worry though,” McKenna said, trying hard to hide the freak-out session taking place in her head like a middle school slumber party. Except even middle schoolers probably wouldn’t freak out about simply holding hands. Why was she freaking out about holding hands with Nate? “Give it another twenty-five years, and I think there’s a good chance your mom will be ready to let it go.”
“I see.” His thumb moved against hers.
Okay,that’swhy she was freaking out. Their two hands weren’t simply holding. No, their two hands were caressing. Snuggling. Cuddling. Possibly even spooning.
“So if I’m hearing you right,” Nate’s soft voice continued, “you’re saying despite the rocky start, I’ve got reason to hope things will turn out all right between us.”
Us.McKenna turned her head the same moment he did, their gazes colliding. She hadn’t noticed the pleasant smell of his aftershave earlier when they’d been sitting across from each other at the picnic table. But now she could detect a woodsy spice mixed in with a hint of smoke from the grill. “You smell good,” she whispered.
She could feel his soft breath on her lips as he chuckled and said, “Thanks.”
His face was close. Kissably close. One false pucker and they’d be bumping lips again for sure. Just like on the bridge.
The bridge.When Nate hadn’t kissed her back.
Could someone remind her why he hadn’t kissed her back? Oh, that’s right. Because they were complete strangers, and he thought she was absurd at the time.
But they weren’t strangers now, were they? And she liked to think she’d resolved the whole absurdity theory by this point. She must have. He said he liked her. And they were holding hands. Tightly. With all sorts of intertwined finger action taking place.
But... New York. Nebraska. Hopefully soon, California.
Yeah. If McKenna needed a reminder of why holding hands and locking lips—forget bumping—wasn’t a good idea, that might be it.If everything went according to plan, they’d soon be living on opposite sides of a very large country.
“McKenna? You okay?”
Was she okay? “No.” She let go of his hand. “I mean, yes. I do. Hope. Us. There’s between.”
Another soft laugh warmed her lips. “Come again?”
“Your mom.” McKenna jumped up, sending the porch swing motion off-balance. They were supposed to be joking about his relationship with his mom, not giving McKenna thoughts about a relationship between themselves. “Your mom said something on the phone earlier about... something.”
“Well, thank goodness you remembered.”
