Nate doesn’t answer, and I don’t want to pry about his ex—Sarah, I think he’d said her name was. But clearly, it left him scarred.
“I just mean,” I go on, after the silence feels a little too intense, “that despite what’s happened to us individually, maybe notalllove is a delusion.”
Nate opens his mouth, but before he can respond to that, the waitress arrives with our sandwiches.
He takes his first bite, and I raise my eyebrows expectantly. “Well? What’s the verdict?”
He chews thoughtfully, then swallows. “This might be the best contender yet. The butter ratio is perfect. Here.” He holds his sandwich across the table for me to take a bite. My lips graze his fingers, and I feel a jolt of electricity that I try to ignore.
The sandwichisgood, and I let out a groan of pleasure—then watch as Nate’s eyes darken.
“Um, do you want to try mine?” I say, trying to break the crackling tension. Instead of feeding him, I slide my plate across the table.
“Mm, good tomatoes,” Nate says, after he takes a bite. “Not as good as your mom’s though.”
Just then, my phone buzzes. I glance at the text then hold it up for Nate to see.
“Speaking of Mom, she’s wondering if we’ve had a chance yet to ask the florist about boutonnieres, in addition to stems for the bud vases.” I roll my eyes. “Guess we should head straight there, once we finish eating.”
“Why are you even agreeing to pick out the flowers—aren’t you the one who is so against this wedding in the first place?” Nate challenges playfully, one eyebrow raised.
I shake my head, not really knowing how to answer. Because Iamagainst it. But also… I don’t want to spend the rest of this week in negativity, bemoaning the awkwardness of my situation and living in fear of Mary Moore or someone else gossiping about the family.
I just wish I could—could unwind and trust in the process, like they’re always saying on the show. But there’s too much at stake. I don’t want my future ruined by bad press, and I don’t want to deal with the same public humiliation I’ve already gone through before.
Still, I’m getting tired of the sabotage—especially since I’m pretty sure I’m in it alone. We have less than a week left, and I want to spend it differently. After all, once this week ends—and once I go back onLovedBy…ifI go back onLovedBy—then whatever this “friendship” with Nate is will officially be over.
“I still think it’s potentially disastrous,” I say cautiously. “But I can admit when I’m wrong, and I was wrong about one thing.”
“That you’d never beat my sister in a martial arts sparring match?”
I laugh softly. “No, I was wrong aboutthem. Cara and Cooper. I literally never thought I’d admit this, but they actually do kind of seem… good together.”
“Careful,” he says with a lopsided grin. “You keep talking like that, and people are going to start thinking you actually believe in happy endings.” He flags the waitress for our check, then insists on paying it. “Come on,” he says, reaching out a hand to lead me out of the restaurant. “We’ve got a date with a flower farm.”
My stomach flips, and I try not to look too eager as I take his hand.
Because the last thing I want to admit is the truth—that the improbable romance I’m rooting for might not be Cooper and Cara’s at all.
22
IT’S A LITTLE STRANGEto be back at Camberton’s Farmstand, where we first met. This time, though, we’ve bypassed Katie Mae’s little hut where Nate procured that ungodly quantity of tomatoes, which somehow feels like forever ago. Instead, we head back toward the field of zinnias. He turns onto a dirt road, which we follow for a few hundred yards until a woman carting a bushel of flowers motions us toward another turnoff and a spot to park.
“We’re hoping to look at some flowers for a wedding,” I explain, once we’re out of the truck.
“Oh, how wonderful. I love weddings.” She introduces herself as Dee Dee and hands me a basket and some clippers.
“Feel free to take a look, sweetheart, but I imagine we’ll have a pretty different crop by the time y’all are getting married.”
“Oh no,we’renot—” I start to correct her, but Nate throws an arm around my shoulder.
“The wedding’s actually on Sunday,” he tells Dee Dee conspiratorially. “Things are coming together a little faster than anticipated.”He waggles his eyebrows and pulls me tighter to his side. I’m hit with the scent of wood shavings and salty, fresh aftershave.
“Ah.” The woman nods, not-so-subtly glancing down at my stomach. “I understand. Well, if you want to pull some of the flowers you like, I’ll make a note for your order.”
As soon as she walks away, I turn to Nate in amused exasperation.
“Thanks a lot! Now she’s going to think we’re having a shotgun wedding because I’m knocked up with your baby!” I try to pull free of his grasp, but he just holds me tighter and looks into my eyes.
