I bury my face in my hand and let out a groan. “I’m sorry again.”
“You turned her into a human skipping stone,” he says with a wry grin. Then he comes to sit next to me on the steps. “Look, I know she’s… a lot. And I know there’s a whole history there that involves people behaving badly. But she’s my sister, Nikki. She’s the only one I’ve got.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I just… I hate who I am when she’s around. It’s like I spent all this time out in LA building this version of myself—Nikki B., the TV personality, the entrepreneur, the girl who has it all together—and then I cross the Georgia state line and suddenly I’m a petty, insecure teenager again.”
Nate gazes out at the water, his expression unreadable in the deepening shadows. “Home can do that to you. People expect you to act a certain way, and eventually, you just… do. It happens to the best of us.”
“That’s exactly why I need to get back to LA as soon as possible,” I say. “I’m regressing here.”
Nate leans back on his elbows, the wooden step creaking under his weight. “I don’t know. You call it regressing, but maybe it’s just… honesty? You’re allowed to be messy, Nikki. Especially at home, with your family. It’s okay to just be a person for a week.” He shoots me a sidelong glance. “Even if that person is currently a little bit of a menace.”
I want to argue—to tell him that being a “person” doesn’t pay the bills or keep the FitGirl partnership alive—but instead, I just look at him. He seems so comfortable in his own skin, sitting on these weathered steps in his beat-up flip-flops, perfectly content with the life he’s built for himself in his own hometown. He’s not worried about who he’s supposed to be. He’s just Nate. And for a split second, I’m almost jealous of it.
He doesn’t look away. He just watches me, his eyes searching mine with a quiet intensity. The silence stretches out, getting heavier with every second, until the air between us feels thick and charged, like the moments right before a thunderstorm breaks. I try to think of something to say—a joke, a deflection—but my mind is a total blank. All I can do is sit there, my heart thudding against my ribs, waiting for him to be the one to break.
A moment later, he does.
“Come on, your mom says food’s almost ready.” He stands up and offers me a hand. His palm feels warm in mine, and I leave my hand clasped in his for a beat too long before awkwardly taking it back and shoving it in my shorts pocket.
“And hey, look on the bright side,” Nate says, as we walk through the double back doors. “If you really are regressing, maybe we’ll make it all the way back to age five, and you can start a food fight! I’ve been looking for an excuse to throw mashed potatoes at Cara for years.”
WE EAT DINNER OUTon the screened porch again—barbecued chicken, a celery slaw with a shallot and Dijon vinaigrette, and one of my mom’s famous tomato salads. Nate showers Mom withcompliments, and I watch her blush from the praise even though her replies are mostly to the tune of, “Oh, stop, for heaven’s sake. This was nothing.”
Still, she’s obviously pleased. And maybe even a little flustered.
For someone so unpolished, Nate seems to have that effect on women, even my mom.
He’s not wrong though. We really are lucky to be fed this well; my mother’s no joke in the kitchen.
“So,” my dad says while everyone is in the midst of digging into their food. “I hear y’all went out tubing today. What fun! Cara, I hope you enjoyed the view from out there on the water. We always say there’s no better view of the lake thanfromthe lake.”
He’s grinning so widely and so cluelessly I almost feel bad. He has no idea Cara face-planted out there—or that I had anything to do with it.
“Oh, I got agreatview,” Cara says. “Of the bottom of the lake.” She laughs. “Nikki really helped me out with that.”
I squirm in my seat, keeping my eyes on my salad plate.
“I’m jealous,” Pete says. “We’ll have to go out again before the week’s out.”
“For sure,” Cara agrees. “I think I’m getting the hang of it.” And to my shock, she actually looks like she means it. “I see why y’all love it so much. Definitely gets your adrenaline going.”
Tripp, who’s sitting next to Cara, leans over and grins. “Well, if you really want to get your adrenaline going, you should try playing board games with these people. They’re on another level.”
“Oh yeah?” Cara asks, intrigued.
“I’m so glad to have another in-law on my side.” Tripp says, then looks over at Linney. “Graham’s a dear, but he doesn’t have the ruthless edge needed to keep up with the Bennets.”
Cara’s eyes flash to mine. “I think I might be able to help you there.”
AFTER WE CLEAN UP, Mom brings out more sweet tea while Linney finds Ticket to Ride and sets it up on the table. A favorite board game among my siblings. The kids like it, too, helping us organize and count all the little trains, keeping track of the cards for us.
The cicadas sing, and every now and then, there’s the thrum of a boat driving by as I happily shuffle and deal out the train cards. Ilovea good board game. (Except when I lose.) Nate’s fingers brush mine as I hand him his initial pile of cards.
“Thanks,” he says. “You’re going to have to show me how to play though.”
I blush, for reasons unknown. It’s not like he said anything overtly flirtatious.
“I can show you!” says William proudly, running over to Nate’s chair and launching into a complicated and confusing explanation of what is actually a quite simple game.
