Page 19 of Freefall

The moment I set my phone down on the kitchen counter, the word I’ve been trying to ignore for the last ten minutes comes barreling to the forefront of my mind.

Brother.

As in, Nate is Emory’s brother, not her fiancé. Her fiancé's name is Luke, which I’m sure she mentioned at some point during my first phone call with her. It’s funny how your mind will choose to believe something even if somewhere in the recesses of your brain you know it’s not true.

Nate let me believe he was getting married, and maybe that’s fair considering what I’ve done, but it doesn’t make me any less angry.

He sure as hell is angry.

He has a right to be.

Waving away the irritating voice in my head, I walk back into the living room where Daisy has her nose up against one of the stapled pages of her book as she furiously drags the eraser side of a pencil back and forth. She lets out a huff of frustration, causing the stray strands of blonde hair that had fallen in her face to jump.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I can’t decide on a name,” she whines.

“A name for⁠—”

“Oh, I know!” Her face lights up as she flips the pencil over to the pointy side. “Nate.”

“What?”

“The daddy in my story,” she says, her blue-gray eyes shining with excitement. “I’ll name him Nate.”

8

HARPER

Nate Caldwell is taller than I remember. I suppose that makes sense given that he was sitting down the last time I saw him. I’m not surprised he doesn’t remember me. I mean, who remembers the waitress who served you at a diner four years ago? My best friend, Grace, would say it’s kismet that not only did I run into him again, but he’s also taking me to a diner. Well, more like I’m taking him since I insisted on driving his car, but he chose the location. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall spot a few miles from campus where students go to soak up the alcohol with greasy fried food after a night of drinking. Not unlike the one I worked at in high school.

We pull up to the diner, and even though I’m driving, Nate hops out to open the door for me.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” His voice is gruff in that way that makes my stomach flutter.

We find a booth near the entrance, and the waitress drops two menus on the table.

I watch as Nate opens his menu, studying it as if there’s going to be a quiz. I don’t need to look at mine. I know exactly what I want.

“Disco fries with an extra side of gravy and a Coke, please,” I announce to the waitress when she returns. Nate’s lips twitch with what appears to be the beginning of a smile.

“I’ll have the same,” he says, collecting both of our menus and handing them to the waitress.

“Sounds good. I’ll be back with your drinks in a minute.”

Then she’s gone, and there’s a solid thirty seconds of awkward silence. We didn’t talk much in the short car ride here. As soon as I turned the key in the ignition, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers started pouring out of the speakers. Turns out, Nate loves classic rock, so we spent the drive listening to the greatest hits album. Now we’re here, and there’s no music to fill the silence.

“Is Nate your real name or is it short for something?” I blurt out.

Real smooth, Harper.

“Nathan,” he says.

“Does anyone ever call you that?”

“Just my Gram when I do something to piss her off. She usually pairs it with my middle name too.”