He reaches for the bowl of tomato salad and takes two huge spoonfuls. For some reason, it makes me smile. Between the tomatoobsession and the many seasons ofSurvivorDVDs, I’m getting the sense that this guy doesn’t do anything halfway.
He passes me the bowl, and I take a much more reasonable serving before handing it off to Linney on my left.
“Y’all have a great setup here,” Nate says, turning toward me. “I would have loved growing up on the water.”
“Thanks,” I say. “My mom actually grew up in this house too.”
“That’s cool it stayed in the family,” he says, grabbing two sets of buns and filling both with a heaping of pork.
“Nate,” Cara hisses. She’s passing by our end of the table on her way to the ice bucket and looking pointedly at his double serving, clearly embarrassed.
If I were feeling more charitable, I’d assure Cara that nothing would delight my mother more than a guest enjoying two—or three, or four—servings of her cooking. But I’m not, so I just turn to Nate. “So, carpentry?”
“Carpentry,” he agrees.
“A noble profession.”
“Some might even call it divine.” He flashes me those dimples again while placing slices of watermelon on his plate.
“And what are you building these days?” From the corner of my eye, I watch Cara return to her seat and start chatting earnestly with my family down at the other end of the table. Cooper’s hand never seems to leave the back of her chair.
“Whatever my dad tells me to,” Nate says, drawing my attention back to him.
“You work for him?” I ask.
Nate nods. “He tells me where to go, I go there and hammer things until they stop wobbling.” He gives me a crooked grin. “As long as I’m off the clock early enough to get the boat out while thefish are still biting, I’m good. What about you?” He takes a huge bite of pulled pork sandwich.
“I’ve got my own company,” I explain. “It’s an athleisure line. And I do a lot of brand partnerships with other companies. Right now, I’ve got deals with a CBD gummy company and a skincare line. I also have a newsletter I send out twice a week, and I’m trying to get a podcast off the ground. And I have this new partnership that I just locked in—it’s not even announced yet.”
He swallows, his eyes wide. “Wow. So when do you sleep?”
I shrug, a little embarrassed by his impressed response. “Oh, you know the cliché, ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead.’” I take a sip of my water.
“Right, you’ll be a real corpse of leisure.”
I laugh, nearly choking on the drink, and burst into a coughing fit.
“Everything okay down there?” my dad asks, but I just wave him off and take another sip of water.
Nate, unhelpfully, pats me on the back a few times, but that only has me sputtering more because his touch is so unexpected. Even after I’ve recovered, Nate’s hand lingers an extra second on my back, and I notice how warm and big it is, feeling the pressure through the fabric of my top. I hope I’m not blushing.
A dozen tiki torches are burning throughout the backyard to ward off mosquitoes. My parents’ standard playlist rises from the speakers tucked around the patio. Brooks & Dunn fades into Mary Chapin Carpenter. If it weren’t for the circumstances, it’d be a really lovely night.
There’s a clink from the end of the table, and I turn to see my mother standing.
“I hope y’all will indulge me a minute. I just wanted to say a few words about how happy we are to welcome Cara into our family.”
My stomach clenches. There are murmurs of agreement from all the Bennets. I force a smile and tighten the grip on my fork.
“I’ve gotten to know this young lady a little bit over the past few months,” Mom continues. “She is truly special—and so good for our Cooper.”
Coop nuzzles Cara’s neck playfully, and she blushes. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Sweetheart, how many times have I told you to call me Joan?”
“Sorry, Joan!” Cara grins.
I throw a sidelong look to Linney. Her husband, Graham, was still calling our parents Mr. and Mrs. Bennet until their one-year anniversary. She kicks me under the table.
