Especially since Nate already knew what those final words would say.You need to forgive your dad.
No, thanks. Let his dad keep reaching out, Nate wanted no part of the man. What he wanted was his mentor back.
Nate slid his fingers beneath his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose to barricade any more tears, then breathed out a quiet laugh. Guess that was one thing he could say about Miss Crazy Pants. She had a way of distracting a man from his grief, didn’t she?
Under different circumstances he might not have found her so crazy. He might’ve found her... intriguing? The woman certainly loved her sister, no doubt about that.
Plus, not all that often he met a woman who matched his height. Looking her straight in the eyes had been kind of nice. Had he ever seen such a striking shade of blue before? Almost turquoise. Reminded him of the ocean. Not necessarily a peaceful one. More like an unhinged-category-five-hurricane-waves sort of ocean.
Come to think of it, unhinged may be the perfect description for her hair too.
Sounds to me like you want to get her number.
Nate shrugged off the thought that sounded suspiciously like his mentor’s teasing voice and whispered, “I came to Nebraska for you, old friend. Not silly bench-stealing beauties.”
Ah. So you admit she’s a beauty.
Nate smiled, knowing this was the exact type of conversation they’d be having if his mentor was still around. The memory of laughter echoed inside Nate’s head, filling his heart with an ache he imagined wouldn’t go away anytime soon. Man, he was going to miss the sound of that laugh.
Nate rotated his neck. Headache was better. The little nap on the bench helped. Should probably get back on the road. His mom would kill him if he missed his flight tonight. Not that he could blame her.
He hadn’t made a trip down to her B&B in Bugle, Tennessee, for far too long. Hopefully this little visit would win him back inside her good graces. Hopefully offer a quiet place to recharge after an especially busy school year, too.
He pushed off the rail of the bridge and started to turn when a body plowed into his. “Wha—?”
Crazy Pants covered his mouth with her palm. He still had his earbuds in, so while her lips moved in a frantic frenzy all he could hear was Simon and Garfunkel singing about a bridge over troubled water. Rather appropriate.
He pulled her fingers away from his mouth with one hand and paused his music playing on his phone with the other. “What is your problem now?”
“Shh. My sister and her boyfriend are coming.” Her words were muted, but he got the gist.
“Wonderful. I’m leaving. The bench, the bridge, the river—it’s all yours.”
“Stop shouting.” She popped out his earbuds. The sounds of the lapping river and the wind weaving throughout tree branches were amplified for a second until his ears adjusted. He forgot his earbuds had been on noise cancellation mode, so maybe he had been talking a little loud.
He took the earbuds from her, as well as his notebook, and dropped them into his messenger bag. “Thanks. See ya.”
The bridge creaked as he shifted to step around her.
“What are you doing?” Crazy Pants grabbed him by the shirt and spun them both around so that he was facing the opposite side of the river now. “You can’t leave. Not now. We’re in this together, baby.”
“You and I are in nothing together.” Though he couldn’t deny that hearing a woman, even an unhinged one, call himbabystirred up a warm little ripple in his gut. Which must be why his feet remained planted even though his brain screamedgo, go, go. “Can you go easy on the shirt? It means a lot to me. I got it for completing a triathlon for charity.”
Why did he say that? He wasn’t trying to impress her, was he?
“Sorry.” She smoothed the fabric with her fingers, then immediately clutched it again and crouched. “Can you stand a little taller? I don’t want them seeing my face.”
“I’m six two. Maybe you should stand a little shorter.”
“I stand any shorter, I’ll be the Hunchback of Notre Dame.” She spun them in another half circle. “There. I’m on the downward angle of the bridge. Now I’m shorter than you.”
“Is this height thing an issue for you?”
“It wouldn’t be if you were taller. Give me your hat.” Before he could respond, she swiped it off his head.
“Careful. That hat means a lot to me, too. I got it after I completed my first Ironman competition.” Okay, yeah. He was definitely trying to impress her.
“Good grief. Do you have a sentimental attachment to your socks as well?” So much for trying to impress her.
