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“You know as well as I do those girls were dating you because you bought them nice things.”
“There’s nothing wrong with buying women nice things,” I argue, petulant.
“Listen.” He faces me, nearly eye to eye since we’re close to the same height.
Nate’s an intimidating guy if you don’t know him. That crooked nose confirms he can take a punch, and the sheer width of his shoulders suggests he could maul you without trying. I know him. Well. He’s upfront, straightforward, and confident enough in his own actions to do what he wants. I’ve always admired that about him.
“You like to do things for the women in your life,” he says. “So do I. I blame a twisted kind of white-knight syndrome, stemming from me not being able to take care of my family when I was a kid. Making up for it now, I guess.” He shrugs before adding, “Vivian fought me at first.”
“You won her over.” I point out the obvious.
“Took some doing. Talia is the independent sort, but she’s also the family sort. The women you dated in college didn’t care about anything but what you could buy them. The reason our parents, Dad in particular, were grouchy about the girlfriends you brought home was because they weren’t good enough for you.”
“Dad said the same thing about my clubs.”
“Yeah, but he’s wrong about that. He was right about the girlfriends. I remember one of them asking Lainey how much her shoes cost, and then asking to borrow them.”
I wince. I’d forgotten.
“Monica.” It’s coming back to me now. “I ended up buying her a pair exactly like Mom’s.” I was proud to afford a gift she wanted, but as I remember the way she bragged to her friends, my stomach flops. We broke up shortly after. She met someone else.
“Yeah.” Nate nods but doesn’t wait for an explanation. “Talia’s not as easily bought. She might be staying in your townhouse and driving your car around, but she’s also working her ass off, isn’t she?”
“Nonstop.”
“After she approached you at the fundraiser, she didn’t go home with you that night. She’s a challenge, Arch. You like that about her.”
“She didn’t approach me. I came to her.” I smile at the memory of the mystery woman wearing a necktie and pinstriped pants, her long, long hair a temptation I couldn’t resist.
“You’re different with her. I don’t know if you want to hear that or not, but there it is. When she wrecked your car, you were a mess.”
“Was not,” I growl, not liking that word. “I was concerned.”
“Concerned.” Another loud ha escapes his chest. “You were a mother hen. I’ve never seen anything like it, and neither has Viv. Concern is reserved for the people you don’t fall in love with. The sort of bone-chilling worry you were expressing is reserved for the woman who’s wrapped around your heart and squeezing.”
A visual of Talia’s long hair coiled around my heart pops into my head. Rather than argue with him, I say, “She’s leaving Clear Ridge after we open the spa.”
“Did you ask her to stay?”
I don’t answer, which is an answer in itself. I didn’t ask because, frankly, rejection with her is almost guaranteed. I hate being rejected. I like sure things. But as I glance around the spa I have built with Talia’s help, I realize this isn’t a sure thing, either. It’s a risk, and it’s made me feel more alive. Then again, if it tanks, I’ll feel awful.
That also parallels what I have with Talia.
“Her family is in Miami.”
“Go to Miami.”
Like it’s that simple.
“My family is here,” I counter. We have a miniature stare-off that ends with him calling my bluff.
“Sounds settled, then. She’s leaving. You’re moving on.” Without taking me to task further—which is both a relief and completely irritating—he walks down the corridor and calls over his shoulder, “This way to the massage rooms?”
