Butterfly Ginger

by Stephanie Fournet

  “Sorry,” Nate said, silencing it. “I didn’t want to burn anything while I broiled the tofu.” He pulled oven mitts over his hands, took the pan from the oven, and proceeded to flip each piece again.

  “This should be ready in another five minutes,” he said, resetting the timer. Then he looked at her in a way that made her go still again. “And, you’re right. It is lonely sometimes.”

  Questions lined up in her mind. Questions she had no right to ask, but she found herself asking anyway.

  “So… Do you go out much?”

  Nate shook his head and took another sip of wine.

  “Not much.” Then he looked up at her with a sudden thought. “Wait, do you mean like on dates?”

  Heat rose to her face.

  “Um… yeah.”

  “Then, no.” He seemed to watch her reaction as she spoke, but Blythe thought he looked almost pleased at her question. “Pretty much never.”

  She picked up her wine and drank to keep from staring. How in the world was he still single? Nate Bradley was everything good. He was a gentleman who was kind and compassionate. He was honest and thoughtful. He took care of his mother. Not to mention he owned his own business and his own home. These last details didn’t really matter to Blythe, but they certainly made him the most eligible of bachelors under the age of twenty-five. Women should have been throwing themselves at him.

  “I can’t believe you’re not married,” she mused, unable to help herself.

  Nate’s eyes bugged.

  “I wouldn’t w—” He stopped himself, closed his eyes for a second, and shook his head. When he opened them again, she felt pinned by his look. “Marriage… hasn’t really been on my mind.”

  “Sorry,” Blythe said, flushing and regretting her stupid comment. “I know you’re not even twenty-five. You just always seemed older… more mature.”

  Nate rolled his eyes, but he appeared to suppress a smile.

  “You’re the second person to tell me that in as many weeks.”

  This made her laugh and relax again.

  “Well, now I’m really sorry.” The timer buzzed a second time, and Nate shut it off. He checked the oven and then drew on the mitts.

  “Dinner’s ready,” he said, wearing a smile of satisfaction. He pulled out the tofu, the remnants of marinade now sizzling in the pan and filling the kitchen with a savory promise. The roasted vegetables came out as well, cooked to perfection.

  “That looks incredible. What can I do?” she offered. Nate thrust the wine bottle at her and picked up their two glasses.

  “Come in here.” He led them toward the front of the house, into what Blythe realized was his living room. In its front corner — at some distance from a cozy seating area with a couch, an over-stuffed chair, and a television — there was a small, round dining table laid for two.

  “This is lovely,” Blythe said, and it was. It felt welcoming. The space filled her with an ease that she couldn’t quite explain. The decor was simple, earthy browns and light blue — certainly not as chic and stylish as her house on Delachaisse had been, but it had its own perfection. In fact, it could not have been more perfect.

  “I’m glad you like it… Please. Sit.” Nate set down their wine glasses and pulled out the chair for her. Keenly aware of his closeness, Blythe sat.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” he said, turning back toward the kitchen. Blythe surveyed the basket of rolls on the table, the cloth napkins, the water glasses, and pitcher of ice water. She remembered the flowers now waiting in her apartment as she watched Nate through the kitchen door. He’d gone to so much trouble.

  She fought the impulse to give in to her guilt. If she let herself drown in it, Nate would not only sense it, but it would spoil all of his efforts. Blythe knew that she didn’t deserve anything from him, but he didn’t deserve to feel as though his welcome wasn’t good enough.

  “This is really wonderful,” she said when he returned carrying a stainless steel bowl full of green salad.

  “I’ve enjoyed doing it… I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

  Something about the way his eyes held hers stirred her again. No one in her life but Nate could look at her like that. She remembered what it was like to feel so unguarded, to feel so free to gaze back. That summer, they used to lie together — in his bed, in her bed, in the grass under the stars at night — and just look. Unhurried and unafraid.

  Even at eighteen, she had known that he was more than just a boyfriend. In the time they’d been together, he had become everything. Protector. Confidant. Lover. Beloved. Best friend. And when she’d lost him, she had lost a whole tribe.

  I’ve missed you so much.

  She wanted to say the words, but she didn’t trust her own voice. Blythe felt like she might cry — maybe even for a week. She struggled to swallow, and she felt her silence stretch too long, but instead of asking what was wrong, Nate turned back toward the kitchen.

  He was gone less than a minute, but it was enough time for Blythe to breathe in and out through her nose and let the intensity of the moment pass. When Nate returned to the table carrying their two steaming plates, she could tell by the softness of his gaze that he’d missed nothing, but to her relief, he didn’t ask her to explain herself.

  There was one thing she knew for sure. The years might have changed a few things about him, but Nate Bradley was still her favorite person on earth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  HE WAS ALMOST AFRAID TO BELIEVE IT.

  Blythe was finally in his house. And now, all Nate wanted was for her to stay.

  Of course, he couldn’t tell her that. He had a mental battle over everything he allowed to leave his mouth because the possibility of scaring her off was only too real. That look of uncertainty had crossed her face more than once since he’d knocked on her door, and he wanted to banish it.

  Even worse, he’d probably sounded too caught up when he said he’d been looking forward to her visit all week. She’d gone quiet, and she even seemed a little sad. Nate could have kicked himself.

  And he had to keep from looking so pathetic.

  He wanted to tell her that he hadn’t loved anyone since her — that he didn’t date because he’d never wanted anyone else. But who said things like that? Admitting to her that he felt lonely was bad enough. He never went out. He had no friends. And — essentially — he lived with his mother. What did he have to offer? Nate really couldn’t blame Blythe if she thought he was kind of a creep.

  But when she’d said that his life sounded lonely, he couldn’t deny feeling a sense of relief at telling her the truth. People who knew him could probably guess he was lonely — Father Gabe and Pete among them — but it wasn’t something he talked about.

  Having Blythe in his presence was the antithesis of lonely. Being with her — then and now — was nothing short of fascination. Nate smiled as he watched her enjoy the dinner he’d prepared.

  “This is so good,” she said, spearing a carrot with her fork and swirling it through the ginger soy marinade left on her plate. “I swear, I haven’t enjoyed a meal this much since I left New Orleans.”

  “There’s more tofu if you’d like another piece,” he offered, hoping she’d accept. Instead, Blythe shook her head.

  “No, I don’t even think I’ll be able to finish my plate — which is a shame because it’s heavenly.”

  “Save room for dessert,” he said, and she rewarded him with a look of surprised delight.

  “Dessert? What’s for dessert?” Blythe set down her fork and pushed back from her half-full plate, clearly done. Nate laughed. She could always make him laugh.

  “Nothing fancy,” he warned, not wanting to disappoint her. He stood and cleared their plates. He intended to wait on her, but Blythe rose, too, carrying their empty wine glasses. “You don’t have to do that.”

  She arched a brow at him.

  “I beg to differ. I feel like a freeloader — eating that wonderful meal that must have taken hours to prepa
re…”

  Nate could only shake his head. She had no idea what it meant for him to be her host. He’d been happier today anticipating her visit than he’d felt in half a dozen years.

  “It’s a pleasure to be able to cook for someone else — and use more than one color,” he said. Her dimpled smile threatened to drive him to distraction, so he turned away to set their dishes in the sink and cross the kitchen to his refrigerator.

  “What. Is. That?” Blythe’s glittering blue eyes danced when he took out the tray of dark chocolate.

  “It’s pistachio bark,” he said, setting it down. He broke off a piece of chocolate and handed it to her.

  “You made this?” she asked in awe, eyeing the candy with clear appreciation.

  “Yeah… it’s easy.” He broke off a piece for himself. “Toast some pistachios. Melt some chocolate. That’s it.” He watched her take a bite and slowly close her eyes.

  “Mmm… Oh. My. God.” She opened them again. “I had no idea you were such an amazing cook.”

  Nate took a bite, too. The chocolate was good — a perfect mix of salty and sweet. Lila liked it on Saturdays with toasted almonds, but he’d chosen pistachios for Blythe because of their color. As he savored the taste, he tested the words in his head, hoping they wouldn’t sound like self-pity.

  “Believe me, back when we dated, I was clueless in the kitchen… I learned how to cook after…”

  Her face softened as she watched him.

  “I bet you had to learn how to do a lot of things,” she said gently. Nate broke off another sliver of chocolate and handed it to her. He didn’t want her to feel sorry for him, so he turned the attention on her.

  “What about you? What have you learned how to do?”

  He could see the question surprised her, but she welcomed it.

  “Let me see…” Her glittering eyes searched the ceiling for a moment. “I know how to sew. I know how to hang wallpaper. I know some basic html programming. I know how to haggle…”

  “H-haggle?” he choked. Her gaze came back to him with a hint of proud defiance.

  “Hell, yes. Anyone who pays full price in The French Market is a fool.”

  Nate shook the kitchen with his laugh. It wasn’t her statement that sent him over the edge. It was the battle-ready blaze that lit her eyes. He’d seen hints of that hidden strength when they were together, but years in New Orleans had obviously honed it.

  “Why is that funny?” she asked, but her beautiful mouth tipped up into a smile even as her eyes seemed to accuse him playfully.

  At last, they were where he wanted them to be. They might not have cleared the awkward landscape that came with seeing each other again, but this moment felt good. This felt like flirting.

  Nate gave his head a shake, still laughing.

  “You just sound so fierce. That’s all.”

  Now her eyes narrowed at him, but she still fought her smile.

  “You don’t think I can be fierce?”

  Nate held up his hands, conceding everything.

  “Oh, no. I know you can be fierce.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a look full of suspicion.

  “Then why are you so amused?” she teased.

  He shook his head, still smiling. “I’m not amused. I’m admiring.”

  His answer seemed to catch her off guard, but she recovered quickly.

  “Admiring the fierce Blythe Barnes?” she asked, arching a brow at him. She was so cute, his smile almost hurt.

  “Always.” He broke off another piece of chocolate and — steeling his courage — Nate pressed it to her lips. Blythe blinked in surprise at the gesture, but she accepted the bite from him, color coming to her cheeks. The edge of his thumb brushed against the flesh of her bottom lip as he pulled away, and Nate felt awakened by the touch.

  He wanted to touch her again.

  Watching for any hint of reluctance in her face, Nate lifted his left hand and ran his knuckles down her cheek. He’d forgotten how soft skin could be. Blythe tensed under his caress, but instead of letting her pull away, he stepped in closer and cupped her cheek.

  “So much to admire…” he murmured.

  Her skin burned under his hand. Heat filled the inches between them. Blythe’s crystal blue eyes held alarm, but there was something else that kept him from releasing her.

  She was afraid, yet Nate was almost certain that she wasn’t afraid of him. He could have sworn she was afraid of herself.

  He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and his gaze fell to her mouth. Her lips parted, and Nate wanted nothing more than to seal his against them.

  “Nate, I—”

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I won’t kiss you.”

  She looked at him in surprise, and he watched her swallow.

  “You won’t?”

  Nate shook his head, slowly, still tracing his thumb over her impossibly soft skin. It was enough. To be able to look at her was like a death row pardon. To be able to touch her was immortality. He could wait a little longer for her kiss.

  “I want to… You should know that… But I won’t unless I’m sure you want me to.”

  Nate didn’t want to move, and he was glad she hadn’t made him. He felt spellbound, watching her take in his words and puzzle over them.

  “How will you be sure?” Her voice was barely a whisper, and Nate smiled because it felt like they had invented whispering to suit this moment. Anything more might shatter the fragile hope the evening had given them.

  “Blythe, do you want me to kiss you?” He knew she wouldn’t say yes. He asked simply to show her that he knew it. To show her that he still knew her. To show her that it was okay that she wouldn’t say yes. Yet.

  Still, her hesitation hurt.

  “I-I don’t know…” Her wide-eyed look didn’t surprise him, but he had to hold his smile steady. There was only enough room for her to be on shaky ground. One of them had to be sure. Even if it stung that she didn’t feel the same about him, Nate had no doubts about how he felt for her. About what he wanted with her.

  So when he spoke again, he drew from that certainty. A certainty that could never be shaken — had never been shaken.

  “When you know, I’ll know.” He allowed himself one more caress before he pulled his hand away, and he was rewarded with her sudden look of disappointment.

  “But—” Blythe’s phone cut through her protest, and a hint of frustration marred her perfect features. She reached into her pocket, plucked up the offending device, and declined the call. “Sorry… Calvin.”

  She gave a little eye roll. A smile played on her lips, and Nate knew exactly what she was thinking. Her little brothers could always pick the worst moment to intrude. It had once been a running joke between them. Nate smiled, too, as years seemed to vanish in front of them.

  He was about to quip about her brothers’ radar, when Blythe’s phone rang again, and Calvin’s name flashed across the screen. Blythe frowned.

  “Maybe I should take this,” she said, shrugging. Nate nodded.

  “Sure. Go ahead.” Blythe swiped the screen and pressed the phone to her ear.

  “Calvin? What’s up?”

  Nate was about to start attacking the dishes when Blythe gasped.

  “Where are you… Do you need an ambulance?” He turned to see the color drain from her face. “Calvin, I’m going to call Mom and D — But Calvin, they need to kn — But why… Fine… Fine… Yes, I promise… Just tell me exactly where you are…”

  Her eyes met his, and he saw resolve. The battle-ready look had returned.

  “Alright. Hang on…” Blythe covered the phone. “I think you know I’m going to ask to borrow your truck. Calvin’s been in a fight, and he needs me to come get him.”

  “Shit… We’ll go get him together.” There was no way she was going alone, so Nate hoped she wouldn’t resist his help.

  “I’m sorry about this,” she said, frowning. “He doesn’t want to call my parents.”


  Nate waved off her apology.

  “It’s okay. I want to help.” He moved to the entryway and grabbed his keys. “Where is he?”

  Blythe followed right behind him. “He’s in the little park behind the parking garage on Vermilion.”

  “Stoner’s Alley?” Nate pictured the spot the police often raided. It was officially named Parc Putnam, but nobody under the age of twenty called it that. Nothing good happened there.

  Blythe put the phone back to her ear. “Are you alone?”

  They were outside and in the truck before Nate could get any more information out of her.

  “How badly is he hurt?” he asked, keying the ignition. She covered the phone again.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “He sounds awful. He said he fought with some guys, but he won’t tell me who they were.”

  By the sound of it, Calvin hadn’t gotten in a fight; he’d been jumped. Memories of high school crowded in. He’d been cornered — and out-numbered — once in the locker room after school sophomore year. Chris Campbell had hissed a command to see Nate’s answers during a geometry test, and Nate had pretended not to hear him. Campbell and his shadow, Peyton Straub, got in a few gut punches before Coach Reynolds walked into the locker room — close enough to spook them, but not close enough to see what they were doing. With more time, they would have done much more damage.

  “Assholes,” Nate muttered under his breath as he drove. He’d been a lot bigger than Calvin at sixteen. Even two against one, he’d managed a swipe to Campbell’s jaw and a jab to Straub’s solar plexus. But Calvin was slight. Nate could only hope that Seth had whaled on him enough over the years to give the kid some decent skills.

  “Calvin? Cal?” Blythe called into her phone before shooting Nate a worried look. “He hung up.”

  “We’re almost there.”

  Nate turned right onto Vermilion and hung a left into the parking garage. Blythe jumped from the cab before he could even throw the truck into park.

  “Whoa! Hang on!” He leapt down and chased after her. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight, not where she was headed. She turned and waited for him to catch up, but Nate could see the fear in her eyes.