Nate started to argue but caught himself. The point was to dodge dating, not skip straight to the resentment and bartering aisle of a shitty relationship. Besides, under the chill dose of Flynn’s contempt, it was possible it wasn’t such a great idea. Even if none of the stories about Flynn Delaney and why he’d come back to the island last year after nearly twenty years on the mainland were true? He was still a miserable bastard. Nate wanted to date again one day. Someday. A couple of months of Flynn and he’d get Wi-Fi put into the old hermit’s cave on the beach.
The ache in his balls snorted at that for a lie, but he stuck to it.
“Yes, it is.” He pushed himself up off the chair. “Sorry to take up your time.”
He got a grunt from Flynn for that. On his way out the door, Nate stopped and spun around. Rejection was never nice, even if it was for a fake relationship designed to go wrong, and it was instinct to gloss it over.
That was something he’d learned from Max’s dad. Teddy Saint John never failed. He just succeeded sideways.
“By the way,” he said. “Now that I’ve finally seen the inside of this place? It would be perfect as part of one of the Granshire’s wedding packages. I’ll drop you down a proposal.”
“Don’t.”
“It’s a couple of bits of paper.” Nate rolled his eyes. “Read it or burn it. It’s up to you. Good night, Mr. Delaney.”
Outside, with the door closed behind him, he let some of the facade slip. The night air was cool against his hot face as he stalked down the slippery steps to his car.
That was humiliating. He felt like an idiot. He felt like the fifteen-year-old kid he used to be, all sweaty from a crush and rejection. The only difference was that teenage Nate thought he’d eventually grow out of it. Instead he was a stone’s throw from forty, with burning ears and a deep-seated desire to eat a whole bag of Mars Minis.
At least there was slightly more dignity in driving off in a car, rather than trying to make a brooding exit on a BMX.
“YOU SHOULDeat breakfast,” Ally said. “It’s the most important meal of the day.”
Nate grabbed a slice of toast from the rack and shoved it in his mouth. He tore the corner off and chewed it while he pulled the carafe off the coffee machine and filled his travel mug.
“There.” He took a swig of coffee to wash away the dry toast crumbs and bent down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Happy?”
Shetchedat him and pointedly added a cup of nuts and dried berries to her breakfast. The spoon clinked self-righteously against the china as she stirred the roughage into her yogurt.
“That’s not breakfast,” she said. “That’s a recipe for an ulcer.”
“You used to eat Tayto Cheese and Onion Crisps for breakfast,” Nate pointed out. “You said it was two of your five a day.”
Ally spread her hands. “And I got cancer,” she pointed out. As if that were the “I win” clause to every argument they had from then on. It kind of was, even with her hair growing back in baby-fuzz curls. “Eat some yogurt. Or we have granola.”
“No time,” Nate said. It was technically true. He had a “crack of the morning” meeting with Teddy, and then he had to get to the ferry to meet the head of a charity that wanted to hold a fundraiser there. But even if he had the morning free, he wouldn’t eat the granola. Ally ordered it from some artisan farmer’s website, and it was flavored with fennel and green tea. At least the toast—although it had been carved off some sprouted-wheat probiotic sourdough loaf—was burned enough that it only tasted crisp. “And I have a bride coming in this week with her family to finalize the plans.”
That distracted Ally from force-feeding him something healthy. She perked up over her green tea and demanded details. Nate filled her in as he added cream to his coffee and cinnamon sugar to his toast and got his suit jacket on.
His mother was a wedding fanatic, and he learned his skills by osmosis when he was growing up. From celebrity wedding pictures in glossy magazines to organizing them for her friends, Ally loved it all. She didn’t believe in marriage, but who could object to a three-tiered cake and a poufy dress?
“Snorkeling?” Ally scoffed. “You want to talk them into doing that after the wedding. A bride’s feet get uncomfortable enough without getting them cut up from rocks.”
Nate grinned. “Already on it.” He buttoned his jacket and turned to face her, arms spread to give her the full effect. “How do I look?”
“Very handsome,” she said. “You always do. That’s why it’s such a shame—”
“Mum.”
“—that I’m the only one who gets to appreciate it. You spend every day making people happy. When are you going to spend some timebeinghappy?”
“I’m happy.”
“Happy people don’t eat all the Mars bars.”
Nate bit his tongue on an answer. In the month since she’d gotten the all clear, Ally had bounced back from the bag of bones she’d been. She was eating, exercising, and cheerfully going to all her physio appointments. Nate felt like one harsh word might undo all that. He still snapped sometimes, but he always felt like crap afterward.
He forced a breath out through clenched teeth and shook his head.
