They’d met after a thunderstorm knocked down a white oak between their back yards. After Nate had cut up and hauled off the wood, Julia offered him a drink, and he’d accepted. She was attractive and smart, but they never laughed together. Julia wasn’t interested in dating or having a relationship, and if Nate was honest with himself, that had been fine with him. In May of that year, she took a job at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and he hadn’t heard from her since.
But it had seemed wrong. It hadn’t felt like he’d been unfaithful to Blythe, exactly. It was more that he’d betrayed his own heart. Because his heart had and always would, belong to her — even if she was out of his life.
“Blythe, whatever you did… it’s in the past. I’d never hold it against you,” he said, when her sobbing eased. “Let it go.”
“It’s not that simple,” she whispered.
“It used to be simple…”
“Things changed.”
Nate drew a deep breath and sighed. He tried another tactic.
“You’re worried about disappointing me, but I promise that nothing from your past would do that,” he said, spelling it out. “You want to tell me about it? Great. I’ll listen, and we’ll move on. You want to keep it to yourself? That’s fine, too. I don’t need to know what it is.”
From what he could hear, her breathing had calmed.
“I don’t know if I can move on with you,” she said, sniffing.
With the phone pressed to his ear, and the pain of her words coursing through him, Nate knew without a doubt that if he couldn’t be with her, he’d be alone for the rest of his life. There was no one else. There never would be.
“Can you try?” he forced himself to ask, but even he could hear the doubt in his voice, the threat of hopelessness wrecking him. He made himself picture what they could be. Blythe living with him in this house — a house that was too big for only him. Blythe wearing his ring and growing round with his children. It seemed like an impossibly wonderful life. “Do you want to try?”
She said nothing for what seemed like eons.
“I… I don’t see how that matters,” she said.
Nate blew out the breath he held.
“Of course it matters. Right now, it’s all that matters to me,” he said, all weakness gone and something close to anger taking its place.
“Okay, then, yes…”
“Yes?” He needed to hear it again to be sure.
“Yes, I want to try—”
“Then let me—”
“But I don’t know that it will work because I’m not who I used to be, and you still are.”
Her words shocked him. Did she really think that?
“I wouldn’t say that. How could I still be the same after I lost you?”
Nate thought he heard her gasp. She seemed to weigh his words in silence.
“I mean that you’re still innocent, and I’m not.”
His heart softened. Why did she have to be so hard on herself? So focused on her own mistakes? His mistakes were big enough to blot out the sun.
“I’m far from innocent, Blythe,” he told her soberly. “But clearly, we have a lot to talk about. Will you come tomorrow night? I’ll make dinner, and we can just talk — only about the things you want to share.” He gripped the phone and squeezed his eyes shut as he waited.
“Yes, alright, Nate.”
His eyes shot open.
“But not tomorrow night,” she added in a rush. “I need to settle in here, and I need some time to think. Can we do it next Saturday?”
“A week?” Nate asked, hearing the worry in his own voice. “Are you going to change your mind on me?”
She was quiet for long enough to scare him.
“I won’t change my mind.” The conviction in her voice settled his fears.
“Okay. Saturday, then. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Okay… I have to go now… Goodnight, Nate.”
“Goodnight, Blythe,” he said, wishing she wouldn’t hang up. Then she did. He crashed into his recliner again, his mind spinning from their conversation.
Dinner Saturday. It needed to be as perfect as he could manage. He thought back to their first date in Mr. Donallee’s flower garden. It was one of the happiest days in his memory. Nate realized he’d be competing with himself this time — trying to offer her something new. His dinner with Blythe needed to measure up so she could see that even if they’d both changed, they could still be good together.
He tapped the notes app on his phone and started planning.
CHAPTER TWENTY
BLYTHE GLARED IN THE MIRROR AT outfit Number Three. Her nerves wouldn’t settle, and she’d come close to canceling on Nate half a dozen times.
She’d changed from jeans and a sweater into a skirt and blouse and back to jeans. The clothes weren’t the problem, she knew. She was the problem.
But despite her guilt, despite her shame, despite her unworthiness, Blythe wanted to be near him. And — to her never-ending surprise — he seemed to want to be near her, too. Of course, he didn’t know the truth, but he also wasn’t asking for it.
Whatever you did… it’s in the past. I’d never hold it against you.
Those words had soaked into her like a balm. She wanted — she desperately wanted — to believe them.
All week, she’d asked herself if she deserved to — as Nate said — let it go. After all, she had been eighteen at the time. She had been scared, on her own, and heartbroken. And Blythe had regretted her choice from the beginning.
She remembered the awful night after she and Rae left the clinic. Sometime after midnight Blythe had woken Ellen with her sobs. She’d been so hysterical, Ellen had gone for their RA. And three days later, when Blythe had pretty much stopped eating or going to class, Ellen had dragged her to Student Services.
The counselors there had probably saved her life.
Slowly, she had begun to cope with what she’d done — well enough to be able to throw herself into her school work, which at least was safe and familiar territory. It was easier to stay busy, and so — just like in high school — her classes became her life, and she eased her broken heart with the city.
New Orleans captivated her. She’d jog through Audubon Park in the evenings and have coffee and beignets in the Quarter with Ellen on Saturdays when the weather turned cool. Or they’d ride bikes up Magazine on Sundays and stand in line for a table outside Slim Goodies. By the spring semester, she could look at a pregnant woman without blanching, and she could think about Nate without wanting to curl up in bed with the blinds closed.
But seeing him again brought back all of the regrets. Because it wasn’t just what she’d done that was terrible. It was how she’d done it. How she’d kept it from him. And even though telling him might set her free now, she couldn’t do it. Not only would he hate her, but knowing what happened would also hurt him. It would be one more loss he had to suffer. That chapter in his life had been bad enough. Why add to his pain?
This is what she told herself, anyway. It was the only way she could allow herself to keep seeing him. By his own admission, Nate didn’t want to know. And if he knew, he’d be hurt.
With that thought, Blythe took one more look in the mirror, avoiding her own eyes, and tried on the gray shawl collar cardigan. The look worked. The dark jeans and clinging black top were casual enough for a dinner at Nate’s, but the sweater was feminine and flattering.
She picked up her bottle of White Ginger, spritzed a cloud of scent in front of her, and walked through it just as Nate’s knock sounded at her door.
“Oh, wow…” Nate muttered, his eyes sweeping up and down. “You look amazing.”
The tone of his voice was almost reverent, but Blythe lost herself in the sight of him. The dark brown of his button down shirt reminded her of chocolate ganache, and it played off the rich brown of his eyes and his sun-kissed skin. But his shape beneath the fabric stole her breath. His shoulders. The plane of his chest. His tight waist. And the jea
ns did nothing to hide his muscled thighs.
“You look really nice, too,” she managed, reminding herself to swallow, blink, and breathe in and out.
“These are for you,” he said, lifting up a colorful bouquet wrapped in damp paper towels. Blythe gasped at the sprays of purple and the blooms of pink, gold, and orange. Clearly, they had not come from a flower shop.
“Oh my God! They’re gorgeous!” She reached for them, drinking in their perfume before they met her hands. “What are they?”
She looked up to find Nate’s eyes lit from within. Her own smile could not have been any bigger.
“These are marigolds,” he said, pointing to the sunny blossoms with crimped petals she now held. “The orange ones are California poppies. That pink is dianthus, and the purple ones are Brompton Stock flowers.”
“They’re really stunning. Let me put them in some water. Come on in,” she said, forgetting any hesitation about seeing him and turning toward her kitchen. She found a tall mason jar under the sink and filled it.
“I’m glad you like them,” Nate said, a little shyness in his voice. She looked up again, saw the way he blushed, and quickly pulled her eyes away. He was too adorable to take in.
Why is he blushing?
“Where did you get them?” she asked.
At this, Nate cleared his throat.
“They are courtesy of Mr. Edgar Donallee’s garden.”
Blythe frowned. Why did that name sound familiar? She studied Nate’s face, the deepening of his blush, and her eyes flew open.
“Oh my God, the one with the moonflowers?” She heard herself exclaim.
He nodded, and she saw both his uncertainty and his wish to please her reflected in his eyes. She wanted to pull him down to her and kiss him for a decade.
“Nate…” she said, instead. “You are so sweet.”
His look of uncertainty vanished, and a relieved smile took its place. Again, she had to look away as her own face flushed. It was as though every red blood cell thrumming through her veins wanted to move closer to him. She forced her mind to focus on the task of arranging the flowers artfully in the Mason jar, and she set it in the middle of her little kitchen table.
“They’ll last longer if you keep them out of the kitchen,” Nate said, pointing to the fruit bowl on the counter. “Ripening fruit will make them wilt faster.”
Blythe picked up the jar.
“Well, I don’t want that. Living room?” she asked.
Nate nodded and led the way.
“Where?” She scanned the small room, knowing that Nate would pick the best spot. His knowledge of plants and flowers had always impressed her. He pointed to the small end table she’d wedged between her couch and the front door.
“Here. It’s not in direct sun, and it’s not too close to your A/C.” She set down the arrangement and stood back to admire it. The flowers were stunning. And he’d hand-picked each one. For her.
You don’t deserve them.
The thought, clear and potent, hijacked her mind.
“Stop that,” Nate said.
She looked up at him in surprise.
“Stop what?”
He lifted a brow at her.
“Stop thinking whatever you were just thinking that made you frown,” he said, pulling open her front door. “Are you ready? I’ve got tofu marinating in soy sauce and grated ginger, and it’s time to flip it.”
“O… kay…” Blythe grabbed her purse and keys and followed him out the front door.
It was jarring. After all this time, Nate Bradley could still read her.
****
MINUTES LATER, THEY PULLED into the drive between Nate’s brick house and the garage that held his mother’s apartment. The property was bigger than she’d realized the day he’d driven her home in the rain. The house was older, but it had been well maintained, and, of course, the yard and landscaping gave it curb appeal that set it apart from the rest of the block.
“This is really nice,” she told him, stepping down from Nate’s truck.
Nate shrugged and smiled.
“The inside’s not much. Make sure you adjust your expectations,” he said, only half-joking.
Blythe sniffed a laugh.
“Yeah, because after my apartment anything will pale by comparison, right?”
“Well, that’s temporary,” Nate said, his eyes sweeping between his house and the apartment. “This isn’t.” He didn’t say it with any bitterness or regret — just as a matter-of-fact.
Blythe’s smile softened. She’d thought about it a lot over the years, but she couldn’t imagine the responsibility Nate had taken on and carried every day of his life. Despite the fact that it had caused her heartbreak, she was incredibly proud of him for looking after his mother. It probably took more courage and patience than she could ever marshal.
“No matter what,” she said, following him toward the house. “It’s impressive. All of it.”
He unlocked the back door and held it open for her. The smile in his eyes said that her praise pleased him.
“Come on in.”
Nate’s house smelled like Thanksgiving. Like pumpkin, sweetness, and comfort.
“Wow, that smells good,” she said.
She stepped past him into a small keeping room that separated a sunken den to her right from the kitchen on her left. The den seemed to be an add-on from the 70s with knotty pine paneling and a Ben Franklin stove. The room was dated, but it was also familiar and inviting. Nate docked his phone, and soon the room filled with the sounds of Arcade Fire.
“Would you like a drink?” Nate turned toward the kitchen. “I have beer, cab, some Tito’s…”
“A glass of wine would be great.”
She hoped the wine would help to settle her nerves. Nate on his own didn’t make her nervous; he never had, but it was the history that did it. Their history and her guilt.
“Wanna join me in the kitchen? I still have a few things to do before dinner’s ready.”
“Sure,” she said, following him. “How can I help?’
Nate’s galley kitchen was flanked with shallow cabinets stained a light brown. It was clear the space hadn’t been updated in their lifetimes, but Nate had made the most of it by adding a small island on casters. He took two glasses down from a cabinet and handed her a bottle of cabernet and a corkscrew.
“You can open this while I finish up.”
Blythe took the bottle from him and watched as he placed a pan of roasted vegetables into the oven.
“What was that? It smells amazing.”
“It’s some butternut squash, fennel, potatoes, and carrots. I cooked them earlier. It just needs to warm a bit,” Nate said, moving to the refrigerator and taking out a Pyrex dish of marinated tofu. “You like ginger, right?”
Blythe smiled easily.
“I love it. This is going to be the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”
Nate gave her conspirator’s wink and flipped a piece of tofu.
“Oh, there’s more. I have rolls from Great Harvest — vegan, of course — and a spinach salad.” He spoke so casually, as if it was nothing, but Blythe went still and regarded him with something close to awe.
“Wow… Thank you.” Nate had always gone out of his way for her. He’d always made her feel so comfortable. So special. Clearly, this hadn’t changed. The comfort of his care — familiar but long-lost and dear — settled around her shoulders like a cloak, and it was humbling to feel it again.
“How have you been?” she asked, emotion dropping her voice. It wasn’t the casual question it could have been, and Nate looked up from his work and locked eyes with her. The question reached across years, through past hurts, beyond the nervousness of now.
“I’ve managed,” he said in a near whisper. The cast of his eyes, the set of his mouth told her there was more. She poured the wine and handed him a glass.
“Tell me.”
Nate sighed, turned away from her to tuck the dish of tofu in the oven, and
faced her again.
“I have Lila and the business, and we’ve been lucky in lots of ways.”
Blythe took a sip of her wine, willing him to say more.
“Such as?”
Nate’s eyebrows rose and settled, and his gaze drifted down.
“Well, 2008 was hell.” He looked up quickly. “I mean, yes, it was hell for us without Richland, of course, but that was just the beginning. With the recession, a lot of people were scaling back, and when times are tough, people can live without lawn care and landscaping.”
Blythe blinked. Of course, what he said made perfect sense. She’d been in such a haze freshman year, the fact the country had been in a recession had barely registered on her radar. With parents who worked for the federal government and the public school system, little of what many Americans endured filtered into her reality.
“What did you do?”
“Oh, I made a lot of rookie mistakes with the business, but at least we had something to fall back on… Thanks to Richland,” Nate said, gratitude clear in his voice. “His life insurance money saved us in the beginning. And Father Gabe helped us apply for some federal aid for Lila.”
“Father Gabe?” Blythe asked, curious. She vaguely remembered a priest who’d been at the funeral.
At her question, humor lit Nate’s eyes.
“Yeah… We met him the day Richland died. He’s Lila’s best friend now.” He gave a laugh and shook his head. “He’s something else. Apparently, he and Lila both speak jazz.”
At this, Blythe tipped back her head and laughed.
“I can see that about her,” she said, glad that Lila had found a friend. But what about Nate? “So, Lila has jazz and Father Gabe. What do you do for fun?”
Nate shrugged.
“I have my work… It’s always been relaxing… rewarding.” There was truth in his voice and in those gorgeous brown eyes as he said this, but Blythe thought she saw something else, too.
“It sounds kind of lonely—”
Her words disappeared in the buzzing of the oven timer, and she startled at the sound.
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