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I’m so mad at Nate right now,pissedeven. But ultimately… I care about him and don’t want him to fail. After getting to know him over the past four weeks, I can recognize he’s stressing his way right into high blood pressure and a stomach ulcer. And he has aridiculousamount oftalent. I can’t sit back and watch him struggle when he’s come so far. Even if he doesn’t want us to be together, even if he wants to go home and never think about Candy Cane Key again, I care too much to not help him succeed.
But there’s no way I can face him right now. I’ve embarrassed myself plenty, and I don’t need his pity. It’ll be bad enough when Rose finds out, but I’ll worry about that later. I can still help Nate, though. I just have to avoid him for the next several hours until I can execute my plan, which shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll hole up in my room and only go out when I know he won’t be there.
This’ll be the first time since moving into this house that I don’t make a daily batch of cookies. It hurts not keeping up the tradition, but it would hurt more to face Nate’s rejection and I’ve had enough of that.
I steer clear of him all day, listening to him hover occasionally at my door or shuffle around in the kitchen, scrounging for food. Meanwhile, I’ve fleshed out three possible book endings, narrowing it down to the one I think fits him and his writing the best. I stay in my room for a while longer, until I’m sure the coast is clear, and then I tiptoe out into the house.
I stealthily make my way to Nate’s room, patiently waiting until I’m positive he’s asleep. Then, I carefully turn the knob, slowly popping the door open to minimize the sound. He’s lying in bed, facing away from me. But I can see the slow and steady movement of his body with each sleepy breath. The small nightlight from the hallway illuminates the side of his gorgeous face, urging me to snuggle behind him and be the big spoon to his little one.
But that isn’t what he wants, and I need to remember that.
Reminding myself what I came to do, I rise on the balls of my feet and sneak over to the desk to grab his laptop. Prize in hand, I creep back out and into the safety of the hall. Relief floods me when I silently close the door with a sleeping Nate still soundly tucked in his bed.
Mission accomplished.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I turn the laptop on and wait for the log-in screen to appear. Without hesitation, I type in the password I’ve seen him use almost every day since he arrived. Maybe I should warn him about his lack of cyber security, but I can’t deny his misstep has been to my advantage.
His desktop is easy enough to navigate with all his files neatly organized. In no time at all, I have his manuscript pulled up, scrolling through it for any recent changes he’s made. When I get to the last written page, I realize my suspicions were correct. Nate hasn’t been able to write any more today, and his story is still missing an ending.
I stretch my neck and roll my shoulders, preparing for the long night ahead of me. Then I start writing. And writing. And more writing. More than I’ve ever written before. By the time I make it to the last sentence, my eyes are dry, my fingers ache, my neck is tense, and my ass is numb.
Is this how Nate feels every day? Ugh! Even staring at the screen is giving me a headache.
As I click the save button—again, for the tenth time, just in case—I look down at the clock in the corner of the screen. It’s almost five a.m. and my eyelids refuse to stay open a minute longer. My limbs feel weak and unsteady as I wrap up at the table and start my perilous mission to return Nate’s computer. After successfully completing my task, I hightail it back to my room where I forego pajamas and drop onto my bed, ready to pass out.
Nate leaves in a few hours. I’ll catch a nap, so I can see him before he goes. Now that we’ve both had some time to cool off, we can at least say goodbye, right?
* * *
I haveno idea what time it is, but I need more sleep. My mouth is dry, my eyes are crusty, and it hurts to push myself out of bed. My body screams at me to lie back down, but a glance at my alarm clock tells me I’m going to sleep the day away if I don’t get up now. Besides, it’s Nate’s last day here. The thought of seeing him one last time motivates me to shove off the covers and throw on some clothes.
The house is eerily quiet, like it was in the middle of the night. But it hasn’t been like this since Nate arrived, and that makes me uneasy. Maybe it’s silent because he’s having his coffee on the lanai. But when I get to the kitchen, his favorite navy-blue mug is freshly washed and hanging on the drying rack. Then I step into the hall and my stomach dips.
“Nate?” I tentatively call out. But there’s no response, and my stomach drops to my toes.
I round the corner and see his door is open, so I take a step inside. Only I’m filled with disappointment when I find an empty room. The bed is made, the towels are folded, and there’s no suitcase or duffle bag in sight. He left it just like he found it, as if he were never here in the first place.
Suddenly, my knees go weak and I catch myself on Nate’s bed—I mean, theguest bed. My breathing becomes choppy as my chin quivers and my vision blurs.
Why? Why did he have to leave like this?
Unable to remain calm, my emotions spin out of control and tears soak my cheeks. I don’t know how long I spend crying in his room, but eventually a shadowy figure appears in front of me. I wipe at my eyes, a flicker of hope blooming in my chest that maybe he came back. But when I blink the tears away, I see it’s Rose, giving me the same sympathetic look as when I first moved here and my grandmother’s death was a fresh heartbreak.
“R-rose,” I try to say as sobs mask my voice. “H-he… he left.”
She sits on the bed with me, gathering my hands in hers. “I know, dear.”
I cry harder. “He… he didn’t even say g-goodbye. I just wanted the chance…”
She collects me in her arms and I rest my cheek on her shoulder. When she starts to rub my back, the shakes that have been racking my body finally begin to slow.
“I’m sorry, Teddie,” she murmurs against my hair.
My eyes are stinging and my throat hurts. “How could he leave when I… I lo… I—” I can’t get the words out. It would hurt too much to say them now, especially when Nate can’t hear me.
This time, Rose doesn’t say anything. She just holds me tighter. But she knows. She’s known this whole time. I’ve done a terrible job of keeping my feelings a secret. It seems Nate is the only one who couldn’t figure it out.
That jerk.
