“I do,” I say. “Granted, I have a six-year-old niece and an eight-
year-old nephew, so I have an excuse. But I’m trying to get them into the classics.”
“Citizen Kane?” he says, completely serious—except for his eyes, which are dancing.
I snort. “More likeLady and the Tramp. That was always my favorite.”
Nate gives a slow nod, handing me back the thermos. “I can see it. You do give off Lady vibes.”
“Are you saying I look like a cocker spaniel?” I tease.
“No! Just like… put together. Classy.” Nate looks out at the water, as if lost in thought. “Ihavealways wanted to try that spaghetti thing…”
I roll my eyes and elbow him until he looks back at me.
I can see the rim of dark blue surrounding his iris even in the growing darkness. The shadows bring out his wide cheekbones.
“Honestly, I think that movie is going to be off the list for a while,” I say, breaking eye contact. “I don’t think I can stomach anything with a romance plot, with our siblings constantly staring at each other all googly-eyed.”
“Right. Forgot I was sitting here with Nikki Bennet: Wedding Crasher.”
I know he’s kidding, but it’s just so refreshing to be able to vent how I’m really feeling about this situation out loud to someone. Someone who actually seems to be reacting rationally. Someone who agrees with me.
Someone who also happens to be extremely adorable, particularly with his shirt off.
“So, um, where’s home for you?”
“Alabama,” Nate says. “Near Auburn.”
“Oh, so you’re still there?” I know from my internet stalking that’s where Nate and Cara grew up.
Nate nods. “I went to school for architecture, but…” He runs a hand through his hair, then picks at a splinter in the dock. “City wasn’t for me. So I moved back home, got a little place. Needed a ton of work”—he shrugs—“but that’s what I do. Plus, it was right down the road from my dad.”
I picture all my siblings—Linney in the Atlanta suburbs, Pete inAthens, and Cooper just a few hours’ drive north in Nashville—everyone orbiting close to home like good little satellites. And then there’s me. An entire continent away.
“You’re living out in LA?” Nate asks, as if reading my mind. “What’s that like?” He says it like he’s asking me what it’s like to walk on the moon or tame a wild bear.
“It’s… different.” The sun has dropped low enough that the water looks metallic, like someone drew a silver paintbrush across the surface. Crickets are starting up in the trees, their rhythm syncing with the soft push-and-pull of the lake. “Way different from here.”
Nate leans back on his palms, shoulders brushing mine. “Different how?” he asks.
I straighten a little, smiling. “It’s… amazing, actually. There’s so much energy, things happening all the time, the best sushi in the universe, or at least in the States—you have to try omakase in LA, seriously. Plus, sunshine practically every day.”
“Haven’t had omakase inanycity, if I’m being honest.” He tilts his head, watching me quietly, as if weighing my words. “Sounds nice, though,” he says—but it’s obvious he doesn’t mean it.
“Itis,” I insist. “People there are so ambitious. Everyone’s always trying to be discovered or reinvent themselves. Sometimes it feels like the whole city is a big audition.” I laugh.
“Sounds exhausting,” he says gently.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “But at least you never run out of options.”
“Oh, I’m sureyouhave a lot of options.”
I blush. “That’s not what I meant.” Though it’s true. The stream of available, perfectly manicured men does sometimes seem endless. And yet it’s that endlessness that gets so repetitive. It’s like I keep trying on the exact same unflattering shirt, hoping the next one will fit.
“Yeah, but I bet you have a buffet of guys to choose from.”
I shrug. “Well, men are like sushi. A buffet is really not their ideal format.”
