That gets a laugh from Nate.
Then he leans back on his hands and hums quietly. A warm breeze drifts across the dock, bringing the smell of sunscreen and grilled corn and the faintest trace of pine sap. All the scents of home.
“What about you?” I ask.
“Me and my buffet of dating options?”
I blush. Now it looks like I’m fishing to find out if he’s single. “No, I just meant… You said the city wasn’t for you—what is?”
“Places where you can hear yourself think,” he says with a soft laugh. Then he looks out at the water. “And, uh, people who don’t make me feel like I’m constantly three steps behind.”
The way he says it makes me wonder if there was a specific person in his life who made him feel that way… or just a specifickindof person.
I take another swig of the margarita—the thermos is getting low.
“So whatisthe dating scene like in Auburn, Alabama?” I ask casually. May as well get some clarity while we’re at it…
“Outsideof Auburn,” he corrects. “Trust me, there’s a difference.”
He reaches for the margarita, but instead of taking it from me, he just places his hand on top of mine and draws the thermos to his mouth, pulling my hand with it.
My eyes follow the path of movement up to his face—how the dim light makes the angle of his jaw sharper, the way his neck muscles flex as he swallows. I notice how he clenches his jaw sometimes when he’s looking at me… like he’s doing right now. Watching me watching him.
When he finishes his sip, he lets go, leaving my hand holding the thermos to hover awkwardly in midair for a second before I place it on the dock between us.
“To answer your question,” he says, “it’s, uh, pretty quiet.”
“You don’t date much?” I can’t help the skepticism that creeps into my voice. Because,come on—look at him.
Nate shrugs. “I date, but just, you know…” He glances sidelong at me. “Casually.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Ah, so you’re a player.”
“No!” Nate says emphatically. “I’m just not looking for anything long-term, and when I tell women I don’t see myself ever getting married, they tend to move on pretty quick.”
“You don’t think you’ll ever get married?”
The words come out in a whisper. Maybe because it’s the same question I’ve been asking myself ever since my engagement to Aaron imploded. The house behind us feels a million miles away. It’s like we’re on our own small planet—floating, suspended, quiet.
Nate looks at me for a minute, as if debating, then says softly, “I just think the idea of forever is kind of a fantasy, you know?”
I nod. “After everything with Aaron”—I stop myself from addingand Cara—“I’ve definitely become more cynical. I mean, I still date. But it’s like half the time I’m desperately seeking out The One, and half the time I’m convinced the whole concept is a myth.”
“No ‘Happily Ever Afters,’” Nate nods. “That’s what you said at the farmstand.”
I lean back on my hands, tilting my head back to the night sky, now full of stars. “It’s a line from the show,” I tell Nate. “I actually thought you knew who I was and were throwing it in my face.”
He leans back too, his pinky grazing mine. “Nope. Just a hapless country boy who doesn’t have theLovedBycast memorized.”
“But does probably have the cast ofSurvivormemorized.”
“Well, obviously.”
A peal of laughter rings out from the shore, bursting our little bubble.
“So what about them?” Nate asks, nodding back toward land. “Think they’re going to get their Happily Ever After? Or are you still planning to Reverse–Parent Trap them?”
I let out a noise that’s half groan, half laugh.
