There was a slight pause, before, much to Nate’s relief, his mother smiled. “Well,” she said, patting his cheek. “I did think you liked her a little too much. But as long as you’re not taking advantage of the poor girl.”
He sighed. “It’s kind of disturbing, how everyone seems to think I would.”
“Life is full of surprises, darling, and most of them are unpleasant. But I’m glad you aren’t one of those.” She looked thoughtful. “And I do rather like that girl, you know. Both of those Kabbah girls. They’re a credit to their mother. Oh, does Patience know? She’s in my bookclub.”
“Not yet, no.”
Shirley laughed. “I see. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to keep my mouth shut.” Then the humour in her eyes faded and she raised a hand to touch the cord around his neck. Beneath his T-shirt, Nate’s wedding ring hung warm against his chest. “I am pleased,” she said gently, “that you feel so strongly about someone. Strongly enough to take risks.”
“So am I,” he murmured. He didn’t explain that he was in love, or warn his mother that he’d be proposing to Hannah as soon as he was convinced she’d say yes. He’d didn’t need to. Shirley would see for herself, soon enough.
Everyone would.
When Hannah told her mother that she was, in fact, dating the man she’d been working for over the last few months, Patience’s response was short. Resplendent on the cushioned throne that was her favourite armchair, her attention torn quite fully from Deal or No Deal, she stared at her eldest daughter for three long seconds.
And then she said, “You will bring him to dinner.”
So, a week later, Hannah brought him to dinner.
Not so long ago, the Kabbah dining table had been half-empty every Sunday. On the day Hannah dragged Nate to her mother’s house, leaving the kids under Zach’s questionable care, the table was almost filled to capacity. Evan and Ruth sat on one side, Hannah and Nate on the other, and Patience settled at its head.
Where she proceeded to display a side of her personality that even her daughters had never seen before.
It began shortly after grace, when everyone else took their first mouthful of food while Patience stared darkly at Nate and asked, “How many nannies have you had, Nathaniel?”
He choked down a mouthful of rice. “Uh… Just Hannah, Ms. Kabbah.”
“Most of the youngsters around here call me Aunty,” Patience said.
Hannah started to relax.
“But you may indeed call me Ms. Kabbah.”
Hannah stopped relaxing.
Across the table, Ruth gave her a wide-eyed stare that might have been comical if it hadn’t reflected Hannah’s own alarm. She then performed a series of utterly obvious head bobs that Hannah interpreted to mean something like, “Is Mum on crack?!”
Hannah responded with a minute brow lift that meant, “Possibly. Prepare to seek medical attention.” Under the table, she gave Nate’s rigid thigh a reassuring pat.
“Hannah,” Patience said in severe and unfamiliar tones. “I see no reason for your hands to be anything other than visible during this meal.”
Was it possible to die of embarrassment? Yes. Clearly it was. Because Hannah was literally dying, right this second.
Turning her stare away from her eldest daughter and back to Nate, Patience spoke again. “What do you do, Nathaniel?”
“I’m a photographer,” Nate said. “Though I work more in creative consultancy, these days.”
“Hm.” Patience arched a brow. Hannah didn’t even know her mother could arch a brow. “That doesn’t sound like a real job.”
“Mother!”
“Yes, Hannah?”
“Will you just let him eat?”
“Of course, darling. I am only making conversation.” Patience gave her usual placid smile and looked down at her food, finally picking up her cutlery. Hannah’s heart rate slowed. Then Patience added casually, “Of course, he could have simply let you work, but—”
The whole table spoke at once. Hannah threw down her fork and snapped, “Stop, or we’re leaving.”
Evan, bless him, said gently, “Patience, I don’t think—”
And Ruth bellowed over them all, “For God’s sake, Mum. Get over it.”
Patience shrugged her narrow shoulders, her expression unapologetic. “This is my house. I will say whatever I wish.”
Hannah had been prepared for some minor discomfort, but she was not even slightly ready for this. At all. She jerked back her chair and stood, grabbing some part of Nate—maybe his hand, possibly his arm, potentially a fistful of his shirt—as she made her escape. She dragged him out of the room without looking back, and didn’t stop until they were both safely trapped in the downstairs toilet. She locked the door.
And then she looked at him. Blinked. Looked again. Blinked harder. Looked a third time, sure that her vision must be faulty.
But no. She was not mistaken. Nate was definitely doubled over in silent laughter.
Relief and disbelief flooded her buzzing mind. “What is so funny?” she demanded, her voice hushed. She was trying to be outraged—how dare he laugh while she was having a minor internal crisis?—but, as always, the sight of his smile brought hers out in response.
“She’s you,” he whispered back in between chuckles. “She is literally you.”
Hannah gaped. “My mother is nothing like me.”
“She’s exactly like you.”
“She lives on another planet! She doesn’t notice anything or anyone! She is physically incapable of concern, stress, anxiety, or any emotion stronger than mild amusement and general contentment!”
“Unless,” Nate said, his laughter finally calming, “she thinks her children are in trouble.”
Hannah paused, those words sinking in. “Oh. Oh. I suppose you’re right. Hm.” She cocked her head. “That’s actually rather sweet.”
“I agree.” Nate slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, kissing her cheek. “Are you okay?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Yes.”
“Not stressing out?”
“Not really.”
“Not worried I’m going to disappear because your mother said photography isn’t a real job?”
She snorted. “Should I be?”
“No.” His gaze caught hers, searing as blue flame. “You don’t need to worry about me. Ever.” He ran a finger over Hannah’s collarbone, up her throat, along the line of her jaw. Her eyes fluttered shut as a trail of electricity followed his touch, skating over her skin and setting her alight.
Until he added, “And I’m going to tell your mother the same thing.”
Hannah’s eyes popped open. “Tell my mother?”
“Yep.” He winked, kissed her forehead, and unlocked the door. Leaving Hannah to stand alone in the loo and wonder if everyone in Ravenswood had lost their minds today, or if the phenomenon was just confined to her mother’s house.
Nate might understand the source of Patience Kabbah’s animosity, but that didn’t make it any easier to sit at her table again and meet her eye. See, he kind of needed Hannah’s mother to like him. Because Hannah, whether she realised it or not, adored her mother. And Nate couldn’t be the thing that caused problems between them.
So he held Patience’s gaze and said, “I’d just like to make a few things clear.”
She gave him a glare that reminded him of Hannah’s, if Hannah’s were powerful enough to blow up the fucking sun. Across the table, Ruth and Evan practically leapt to their feet. “We’ll be in the kitchen,” Evan said, before giving Nate a sympathetic look. Which was reassuring, since not so long ago he’d wanted to punch Nate in the face.
“Bye,” Ruth muttered. She picked up her plate and kept eating, even as she hurried out of the room.
Which left Nate, Patience, and the monumental weight of a mother’s disapproval. Hannah, apparently, was still hovering in the toilet. Possibly hyperventilating, so he’d made this quick.
“Ms. Kabbah,” he
said, “I completely understand why you don’t like me. I have kids. I get it.”
“It is not that I dislike you,” she said sharply. “I am friends with your mother, you know. I think—I thought that you were a lovely boy. But I will not have you hurting my Hannah.”
“I know,” he said. “But I’m not going to hurt her. I love her.”
She cocked her head. “How convenient.”
“Actually, it was extremely inconvenient, all things considered. Things would’ve been a lot simpler if I could just stop loving Hannah. But I can’t, and I don’t want to. I’d rather walk over glass every day for the rest of my life than give her up.” He sat back, watching a series of unreadable emotions pass over the suspicious woman’s face. “If you want to—if you need to—you can spend all year needling me. And the year after that. And the decade after that. Because I’ll still be here.”
She studied him with narrowed eyes, her mouth a razor-sharp line. Then, finally, she said, “If you will be here so very long, I suppose you may call me Patience.”
He tried not to grin even as relief blossomed in his heart. “Thank you. Patience.”
She flicked him an arch look. “Hm. Go and find my children. I cannot believe they are running all over the house during dinner. These girls.” She shook her head despairingly and picked up her fork as if nothing had happened.
At which point, Nate gave up on holding back his smile.
A couple of hours later, Hannah and Nate wound their way through Ravenswood’s meandering streets. The afternoon sun had become the low, ripe disc of evening. Its glow warmed Hannah almost as much as the feel of Nate’s fingers laced through hers.
“I don’t know how,” she said, “but you really saved that nightmare.”
His lips quirked. “Your mother and I had a talk.”
“About what?”
“My undying devotion.”
“Ah.” She chuckled. “Well, it worked.”
“I should hope so. I meant every word of it.”
She faltered for a moment, her steps slowing, her eyes wide as she looked sharply up at him. “You… did?”
“Yep.” He pulled them to a complete stop and turned to face her. And then, to her absolute horror—and, disturbingly, her slight excitement—he sank down onto his knees. In the street. The quiet, abandoned street, but still.
“What on earth are you doing?” she hissed. “Get up!”
“I can’t.” He took her hands. “I’m being dramatic.”
“Nathaniel! Are you proposing?”
“No,” he laughed, “but thanks for the enthusiasm.”
Her cheeks heated. “Sorry. I just—”
“Hannah.” He squeezed her hands. “When I propose—” she almost choked at when “—you will be warned well in advance so you can organise the whole thing to your satisfaction. Okay?”
Her heart swelled. “Really?”
“Really.”
She was getting dangerously emotional, and all because he was going to let her arrange her own proposal. Oh, dear. “You’re the best.”
“I know.” He dodged as she tried to flick his head. “Settle down, woman. I’m declaring myself, here.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry. Do go on.” She cleared her throat and tried to look demure, but it was difficult to maintain with an enormous smile splitting her face.
Nate kissed her hands, one at a time, before he began. “Hannah. I wasted a lot of time and made this whole thing harder than it needed to be by holding back. I didn’t want to scare you off, I didn’t want to move too fast, I didn’t want to throw my feelings all over the place like confetti. But I’m not going to hold back anymore. Because I’m pretty sure that even if you do get overwhelmed, you won’t shut me out—and if you did, I’d find a way to open you up again regardless.”
She laughed, but the sound was choked by something that sounded disturbingly like tears.
“You,” he said softly, “are my sunshine. You’re my moon when I can’t sleep. You’re every star in the sky when I’m lost. You’re a galaxy, and I am constantly in awe of you. I’m yours—completely, utterly—for as long as you’ll have me. And I pray that’s a long damn time, because I don’t ever want to be without you.”
It wasn’t that Hannah wanted to sink to her knees along with him; it was more that she had to. Her legs kind of buckled. Plus, she suddenly needed more contact than just their joined hands. So she ignored the bite of gravel on her shins and knelt, throwing her arms around him, quiet sobs shaking her body.
“I love you,” she choked out, her face buried against his shoulder. “I love you. Even when I can’t tell you and I can’t touch you and I can’t think straight—”
“I know. I know.”
“Always, Nate.”
“I know.” He threaded his hands through her hair, raising her head. She glimpsed the adoration in his eyes for a second before his lips met hers.
And then she felt it. With everything in her, she felt it.
Epilogue
A Year Later
Hannah gave her trust fund to Ruth. Ruth leant some of it back to Hannah. They were calling it an advance, since Hannah was writing and planning to self-publish a book based on her blog.
Writing wasn’t always easy, but mental blocks were a hell of a lot more bearable when she was breathtakingly happy with every other aspect of her life. And especially when she was—finally—happy with herself. Even on days when the world seemed slightly grey or completely terrifying, that undercurrent of contentment made it easier to stay afloat.
Today wasn’t one of those grey or terrifying days, though. Hannah left the local café she liked to work in and took a slow walk home in the summer sun, watching pairs of cabbage butterflies dance. By the time she made it back, it was just after four. But when Hannah stepped into a house that should be filled with childish chatter, she found it silent.
It was a mark of the progress she’d made that her first thought wasn’t, Oh dear, everyone’s been brutally murdered. That was only her third thought. “Clarisse?” she called, wondering if the kids’ au pair had taken them out into the garden.
But it wasn’t Clarisse who responded. Nate appeared at the top of the stairs, looking all handsome and smiley and—ugh, just too fucking good. “You’re back,” he said.
“Looks like it.” She grinned up at him, any concerns she’d had disappearing. “Where is everyone?”
“Out,” he replied helpfully. “Come up here, would you?”
“Why?” She came before he answered, because she wasn’t worried. Hannah still didn’t like mystery, but she’d come to realise over the last year or so that Nate was never really being mysterious. Right now, for example, he was watching her with barely hidden excitement and a slight hint of nerves, everything he felt written all over his face.
And he answered promptly, too. “I have a present for you. I think you’ll like it.”
“I do love presents.” She reached the top of the stairs and his arms slid around her waist. He kissed her, soft and slow and gentle, as if he could spend hours doing nothing else. Which, she knew, he could. Sometimes he did. The memory of those times, along with the teasing caress of his tongue, combined to send tingles of heat running over Hannah’s skin.
But before he could really spark something, Nate pulled back. She studied the creases at the corners of his smiling eyes, the faint scars on his pale face, and felt her heart squeeze. She loved him so much. And somehow, loving him felt just as good as being loved by him. To call this sweet, secure sort of happiness a blessing felt like an understatement.
“Come on,” he whispered, leading her towards the bedroom they now shared. After Clarisse had been hired, Hannah had moved out of Nate’s house for almost eight months. But eventually he’d persuaded her to come back. She didn’t regret it. She didn’t believe she ever would.
Hannah entered the room expecting some extravagant surprise, but the neat and tidy space looked the same as usual. Except, she noticed, for a little
leather book sitting in the centre of the bed. Moving closer, she picked it up and realised…
“This is a photo album.”
“Yep,” Nate said.
She bit her lip on a smile. “What’s in it?”
“Three-hundred and sixty-five days.”
Hannah arched a brow.
“That’s how long it’s been,” he said, “since you told me I could take pictures of you.”
Oh, fuck. “I… I forgot about that.”
“I know you did.” He smiled, slow and sexy, leaning against the doorframe. “But I didn’t.”
Well, crap. Looking at 365 photos of herself was not Hannah’s idea of fun, but she loved Nate’s pictures. And she loved the fact that Nate was taking pictures at all. He’d been doing so more and more ever since Shirley’s symptoms had begun to improve, and nothing made Hannah happier.
So she wasn’t going to refuse to look. That would just be childish. But she did sit down first, just in case the sight of her own awkwardness was painful enough to bowl her over. Then she took a deep breath, opened the album, and looked at the first picture.
She knew it was her. Of course it was her. Or rather, the palm of her hand, outstretched, and the inside of her wrist, fine veins raised. The garden formed a verdant backdrop, blades of grass standing out bright and sharp against her skin. Yes, it was definitely a picture of her. But something about it seemed too perfect, too bright and alive, to be anything as mundane as a slice of reality.
The next image was just as ethereal. The tips of her braids hung against the small of her back, dark plaits striking against her white shirt and scarlet skirt. She could see a thin band of brown skin where the two items of clothing didn’t quite meet, and even that—just plain skin—seemed somehow…
Untouchable: A Small Town Romance (Ravenswood Book 2) Page 26