I used to obsess over that, passing, shrinking myself, making sure I took up as little space as possible so that no one would question me. I know that’s unfair to myself, and I’ve gotten better, more comfortable in my own skin.
But being here, on a date, with Nate Wesley in my hometown, brings all of those insecurities a younger version of me had back to the surface.
“I like this outfit,” He announces, letting his eyes drag over me.
“Thanks,” I mumble, crossing my arms as his gaze keeps trailing down to the inch of bare skin on my torso.
I tug at the bottom of my shirt, wishing it were longer.
“You look nice too,” I add when we’re already walking toward Main Street.
He reaches over in response, taking my hand and slotting our fingers together. “Thanks, Darlin’.”
My cheeks heat up like they do every time he calls me that. It makes my stomach feel all squirmy.
In a good way.
“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the town square. “It’s not far. They’ve got the whole square blocked off for the fallfestival. Figured we’d walk around, grab a funnel cake, win some shit we don’t need—”
He talks as we walk, telling me about his brother and his classes and the mascot tripping over a water cooler during a game last week.
And I don’t even realize that I’ve been smiling the entire time until my cheeks start to hurt.
Nate’s good at this.
I’ve never met someone who could leave room for me to breathe, let me speak when I have something to say, but fill any awkward silence I might leave as if it was never there to begin with.
The closer we get, I hear the music from a live band echoing between brick buildings, and the chatter from families passing us.
And something about it makes my heart squeeze tight.
I would have come here with my family.
Before.
“You alright?” Nate asks, squeezing my hand.
“I haven’t been to a festival in a long time,” I tell him, trying to shake off the hurt feelings my family always brings up.
We step into the square, and the town shifts.
The street is glowing, with golden strings of lights hanging from lampposts, while booths line the street, selling treats, candles, jewelry, and anything else you could think of.
I don’t know where to look. Everything’s so bright and-
Nate’s still holding my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles absently, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He nods in understanding. “We don’t have to stay long if it’stoo much. Just thought it might be fun.”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand. “It’s nice.”
We walk past a booth with homemade candles shaped like pumpkins and leaves, the scents labeled in cursive writing. Nate picks one up and sniffs it, and whatever it is makes him scrunch his nose up.
“Try the pumpkin chai one. It smells like fall,” I tell him with a chuckle.
“Damn. That does smell like fall.”
“You want one?” Nate asks when we reach a cart with big steaming cups of cider.
“I can get it,” I start, but he’s already handing the vendor a crumpled bill from his pocket.
