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“Just a thought,” Nate says, as if he didn’t radically change my entire life by offering me the key to the prison cell. “Think it over, but I need to find someone soon. It would save me a lot of advertising and headhunting. I’m incredibly picky about who I put in charge.”
“No pressure,” I joke.
“None whatsoever.” He leans in and kisses me soundly. “When you come over tonight, bring a bag. You and I can talk about where Walt would fit working for me, and what it would look like if you work at Grand Marin. And then you can stay with me for a week and try it on for size.”
“Funny, this feels like pressure.”
His grin isn’t one of denial.
“Where would Walt work anyway?” I ask, happy to change the subject. “Grand Marin is almost complete. You won’t need more construction guys here.”
“True. But I have other sites.”
“Like the one in Chicago.” As much as Walt tends to chap my ass, I’m not ready for him to be far away.
“And elsewhere. He lived in Atlanta without you. What makes you think he can’t live somewhere else without you?”
“Maybe I don’t want him to go too far.”
“Maybe you hovering isn’t good for him.”
That spikes my blood pressure. “I’m not hovering.”
“Family is important. I know better than anyone. But you have to let people make their own choices. We can’t watch over them twenty-four/seven. He’s not your responsibility, and I don’t want you hurt if he does backslide.” Nate squeezes my forearm with gentle pressure, comforting me.
“But I worry.”
“Of course you do.”
“He was in a rehabilitation home most of the time he was in Atlanta. That’s a far cry from living on his own,” I continue arguing, hearing how resistant I am. Do I not trust him? Or do I need a project? Would Grand Marin be a better use of my micromanaging skills?
“You can’t take care of him the rest of your life. You’re going to have to trust him to be on his own at some point.”
Damn Nate and his valid observations.
“If I stay with you for the week,” I start, and his smile spreads his mouth in a slow, tantalizing way, “it doesn’t mean I’m not going back to my apartment at all. It’s still my place and if I want to make a big pot of mac and cheese for my guests, I will.” I thrust up my chin in defiance.
His smile is cocky, but it’s also sweet—his signature.
He kisses me one more time. “Fair enough.”
