I feel myself blushing from my neck to forehead, even as surprise and hope start to twist together in my gut. “Let’s not be dramatic. It won’tkillyou.”
I expect him to laugh, shrug it off, walk it back, but instead, his face goes dead serious. “Honestly, it’ll come close. It sucks to meet someone like you and to know that I can’t—I can’t…”
“You can’t want?” I ask, my voice so quiet, I can hardly hear it myself.
“That I can’t have you.”
“Butwhy?” I blurt out. As soon as I do, I wish I hadn’t. Thedemand, the disappointment, is so raw and obvious, you could probably tell from across the lake how desperately into this man I am.
“What do you mean? You know why.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Because I’m a simple Alabama guy who spends his weekends fishing, who hangs out in unstylish dad clothes, who has never had omakase and still isn’t sure that’s how it’s even pronounced. Oh, and I really can’t fix a damn car to save my life. Or yours. And I obviously never properly healed from a relationship that ended a long time ago now, and—”
“Nate! Nate. I need to stop you there.” Because I’m smiling, and I’m sad, and I’m confused all at the same time. “If we never get a chance to talk about this again, I want to be sure I make something very clear. All those things you just listed—those things are what make you so…you. The same guy who beautifully and lovingly restored this gazebo we’re standing in, which is such an important part of my family’s past, ofmypast. Who’s so great with my niece and nephew, and such a protective and kind brother and son, and such a hard worker, and so easy to be around, and so funny, and so, yes, weirdly sexy in those fisherman shirts.” Nate cracks a bashful grin at this, and I try not to let myself be distracted by that crooked incisor. “All those things are the reasons why…” I say, fumbling for the words.
“All the reasons…” he asks, his brow wrinkled.
“All the reasons why I know what I want. And what I want is to be loved by someoneexactlylike you.”
His face has gone from shocked to blushing to beaming. “Wait, really?” Then he swivels around, squinting into the setting sun, as if searching the crowd.
“What are you doing?”
“Just checking to see if there’s anyone else in the vicinity who meets those criteria.”
I laugh. “Pretty sure that list is unique to you. Which means I’m pretty doomed. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you could possibly, um, I don’t know, change your mind. About whatyouwant. And maybe, I don’t know, consider giving a chance to a girl who cannot handle unrehearsed karaoke and is weirdly obsessed with the level of matchiness in a floral bouquet and sometimes has a vindictive streak that can be dangerous while on a boat…”
He shakes his head. “I don’t plan to change my mind about what I want,” he says.
And my heart sinks. I try to look away, like I’m squinting into the distance and not bracing for the impact of his rejection.
But then he laughs quietly—a sweet, sighing laugh. He takes my hands. “Nikki, I alreadyknowwhat I want too. I’ve known it for a while; I’ve just been terrified that I’m not good enough for you, and that you’ll break my heart, and I won’t be able to deal with the loss—and I’ve already had to deal with a lot of fucking loss, so… Sometimes, it’s hard to actually go after what you want, even when you know exactly what that is.”
I look in his eyes. “Are you saying you want…”
He nods. “To be loved by you. To love you, Nikki.” His voice grows deeper, huskier. “Exactly how you want and deserve to be loved.” He clears his throat. “In case that wasn’t clear, I’ve been falling in love with you since the day we met, Nicole Bennet.”
I stare at him, bowled over by the feeling of being seen—not praised, not clapped and cheered for, not awarded a prize—just seen, and loved, forme. I think I’m actually in shock, half laughing, half crying, aware that my makeup is probably getting ruined—again. “Well, crap, Nate. I am definitely falling in love with you too.”
And then he sucks in a quick, urgent breath—before taking my face in both his hands and kissing me, pulling me closer to him, until we’re flush, and I can feel the buttons on his suit pressing into my chest. I kiss him back. Soft, slow, deliberate.
When I pull away and look up, I remember that we are standing under the newly repaired roof of my grandmother’s gazebo. As the sound of mingling guests’ laughter filters through the lattice and vines, and the lake twinkles in the distance, I realize I’m having the fairy-tale ending I always imagined, only it isn’t hazy around the edges anymore. It’s real, and it’s right here.
EPILOGUE
One Year Later
AFEW YARDS FROMthe gazebo, there’s a little trellis with baby tomatoes starting to sprout. Nate helped me plant them early in the spring. An extension of Mom’s old garden.
There are times I step off the porch, and I’m still surprised by how beautiful the sunlight is on the restored gazebo, and the bright yellow-green orbs that will one day soon start turning red. Just like there are some mornings when I step into the kitchen and forget that Mom won’t be there.
The flower garden isn’t what it was when Mom was here. The foxgloves reseeded, and so have the cosmos, though by this point in the summer, it’s just the zinnias that really shine.
They’re what I’m arranging now. The spiky petals of lipstick-red and the ballerina-pinks will always make me think of Mom.
She made it through Christmas last year, when we covered the tree in photos of all of us from Cara and Cooper’s wedding. And childhood photos, too, that I had framed in these sweet littleminiature hanging frames. I even included a few of my mom with her arm around me in a variety of pageant costumes. Her eyes lit up as I helped her hang a few on the tree, then finished the rest myself. Her voice was weak, then, but she still managed to give me specific instructions about how to drape the lights.
