Fortuity: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (The Transcend Series Book 3) Page 7

“Oh. He’s good. I think. I’m not entirely sure. He sees a therapist every other week, but I have no idea what they discuss because he doesn’t want to talk about it with me.”

  “It’s hard to deal with losing someone—or in his case—the two most important people in his life. Maybe your role isn’t to be his therapist. Leave that role to the actual therapist. You should let yourself be his friend. His break from thinking about them or talking about them.” He hands me a cup of coffee and sits at the table across from me with his glass of water, an apple, and a knife.

  It’s hard to imagine that cutting an apple could feel like a slow seduction, yet … Nathaniel Hunt with his muscular, veiny hands cutting an apple kinda does it for me.

  Apple porn.

  What’s next? Will my legs start to shake when he sips his water?

  “Honey Crisp?” He offers me a wedge of the apple.

  I close my hanging jaw and swallow the pooling saliva from his apple porn while relinquishing a small nod and a weak “thank you.”

  “I’m sorry about your hair.” I nibble the edge of the apple slice.

  Nate smirks. “Why? Does it look bad?”

  “No. You look good—fine, I mean … it—your hair—is okay.”

  Nice, Gracelyn. Super smooth.

  He pauses his glass of water an inch before his lips and inspects me through intense eyes. “Have you ever been married?”

  Okay. We’re going there. I did not see that coming so quickly. Does he know I’m fantasizing about him?

  Is this a date? Are we having a coffee and apple date?

  “Almost.” I absentmindedly run the apple along my lips.

  After a few seconds, I notice his gaze is affixed to the apple—or my lips.

  It drops from my hand because he does weird stuff to me with a single look. This draws a tiny chuckle from him as I snatch it from the table and shove as much of it into my mouth as possible, which happens to be the whole apple slice.

  It’s more apple than I can handle, but now I’ve demonstrated just how much I can shove into my mouth. Is he thinking what I’m thinking? God … I hope not. Men don’t go through weird hormonal kidnappings in their forties like women do. Or do they?

  “Broken engagement?” he asks.

  I chew.

  And chew.

  Swallow. Swallow. Swallow.

  My level of awesomeness is off the charts this morning. I shake my head a few times. Then I nod an equal number of times. “Good question,” I mumble with my hand in front of my mouth while I clear the last of the apple from it.

  Smooth like the grittiest sandpaper.

  “He left me at the altar. So technically it was before we were married.” I twist my lips. “I suppose that’s a broken engagement.”

  “Damn.” He winces.

  “Yeah, I think the minister whispered the same word right after Michael closed his eyes for a few seconds, opened them, leaned forward, kissed my cheek, and whispered in my ear, ‘Sorry. I just can’t,’ before taking long strides out of the church.”

  “Wow … that’s …” He eats the last piece of the apple and shakes his head slowly.

  “Third strike.” I blow out a slow breath. “It was the third strike. Three men have crushed me. I’ve officially retired from dating. I call it a man ban.”

  If he has any illusions that this is a coffee and apple date, I think I just crushed those.

  “No explanation? Just a sorry, I can’t?”

  It’s a complicated question that’s impossible to answer without explaining everything. Nate doesn’t want to hear everything.

  “Just those three words.” I shrug. It’s true. That’s all Michael said. It’s what he did just seconds before saying those words that said everything.

  Nate shakes his head and leans back in the chair, lacing his hands behind his head. It does nice things to his arms and chest. “Morgan wants me to find someone. I think she’s worried I’ll be lonely when she goes to college. It’s not that simple. And I think I can keep myself busy without finding someone to keep me company. When my wife died, I knew Morgan would be the last woman I would ever love. Then …” His gaze falls to the table as his brow furrows.

  “Then what?”

  With a tiny head shake, he murmurs, “Nothing.”

  “I think it’s a misconception that every human needs to have a significant other to be happy.”

  His blue eyes lift to meet my gaze. After a few seconds, he nods. “Absolutely.”

  “It’s a big world. Lots to do.”

  Nothing. I have nothing to do except raise Gabe and die with a houseful of cats.

  “How old are you? Can I ask that?” He grins.

  “Yes.” I chuckle. “You can ask. I’m forty-one. Can I ask your age?”

  “How old do you think I am?”

  “What?” My head rears back. “No. You can’t ask my age and then make me guess your age.”

  “You could have asked me to guess your age.” That smirk of his is … dangerous.

  “And what would you have guessed?”

  “Forty-one.”

  “Liar.” I squint at him.

  Something delightful dances in his eyes. It’s been a long time since a man has looked at me the way Nate’s looking at me. My body reacts in ways it knows it shouldn’t react to any man—warm and tingly in regions far south, and even the hillier areas of my body have decided to perk up a bit. I tug on my tight T-shirt because my thin bra feels insufficient at handling those blue eyes on me.

  “Fifty.” I grin.

  Nate’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Fifty?” After a few slow blinks, he strokes his scruffy jaw and chin. “Is it the gray in my beard?”

  “It’s the expression on your face. I don’t think you’re fifty, but after putting me on the spot to guess your age, fifty is me being nice.”

  He laughs. It vibrates down into the bottom of my belly, settling like a warm piece of pie with vanilla ice cream.

  “Forty-six.”

  “Morgan’s right. You need someone.”

  “Oh, but you don’t? You can quit the game, declare three strikes, and ban men from your life, but I should keep playing?”

  “How many strikes do you have?” I drum my fingers on the table.

  His lips corkscrew for a few seconds. “Two.”

  “See.” I point a finger at him. “You have one more chance. Don’t let it go to waste.”

  “Mmm … if that’s the case, I think I’ll save my third chance for the nursing home.”

  I giggle. “Really? The nursing home?”

  He lifts one shoulder and drops it just as quickly. “Why not? A younger woman of course. Some hottie in her late eighties with her own teeth and who still wears red lipstick.”

  My smile threatens to crack my face. “Not me. If I had my last chance to use in the nursing home, I’d seduce a male nurse. We’d be the topic of all the gossip, and the other old biddies would hate me, always scowling at me from behind their pussies.”

  “What?” Nate coughs on a laugh, eyes wide, lips parted.

  I giggle to the point of tears, hiding my face behind my hands as I shake with laughter and memories. “My …” I try to catch my breath while wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes. “God … it’s been so long since I’ve thought about that. My grandma had a walker, the kind with the tennis balls on the back legs. After Christmas dinner, she asked my brother Kyle to be a dear and grab her pussy.” I snort, falling into a fit of laughter again as Nate’s expression deepens with shock.

  “Kyle was fifteen at the time. Sh-she got so frustrated with him because he just sat there with his mouth agape, eyeing our mom and dad. Grandma just kept yelling at Kyle. ‘Kyle! Shake a leg. Grab my pussy. I need to use the restroom.’ Finally, my aunt Jean translated for Grandma. Apparently, Grandma called her walker her pushy, but she also lacked good word enunciation, so pushy sounded exactly like pussy.”

  Nate barks out a laugh and presses his fisted hand to his mouth as his fa
ce turns red from laughter.

  “So now I can’t see one of those walkers without thinking about Grandma yelling at Kyle to grab her pussy.”

  “He must have been scarred for life.”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “We never forgot it. Kyle broke his leg in his early twenties before he met Emily. When I first saw him hobbling around on crutches, we made eye contact and he frowned. Then he said, ‘You know what I could use right now?’ I squinted at him for a few seconds, but as soon as he grinned, I knew what he was going to say. We said, ‘a pussy,’ at the same time. I miss those days of laughing at the craziest things. I miss …”

  Nate’s gaze falls to my chest and the heel of my hand rubbing circles over it. “Him. You miss your brother.”

  More tears burn my eyes, but they’re no longer tears of laughter. “Yeah,” I whisper.

  “It gets easier, but it never disappears. I still think of so many funny moments I shared with my wife. I just don’t think of them quite as often. And when I do, they don’t make me as sad. After I brought Morgan home, I found myself saying Jenna’s name aloud when Morgan would do something cute. I wanted to share it with her.”

  “Exactly …” I curl my hair behind my ears. “A week before we moved here, I couldn’t find the spare key fob to Kyle’s Land Rover, so I called him. I. Called. My. Dead. Brother’s. Phone. How crazy is that? And I can’t tell you how many nights I sit next to Gabe on the sofa, watching a movie, and for a split second my mind actually thinks, ‘I wonder if they’ll be home soon.’ Because when I used to visit them, I’d babysit Gabe so they could have a night out alone.”

  He nods several times, the smile on his face fading a fraction as is mine. I guess there’s no easy way to talk about lost wives and brothers without it stealing something from the moment.

  That’s okay. Right? Death should steal a tiny piece of happiness from the living for approximately eternity. It means that person’s life meant something to someone. I wonder if I will steal a piece of anyone’s happiness when I die?

  “I should get back. How much do we really know about Mr. Hans? We’re here and he’s alone with our children.”

  Nate’s eyes flare. “Shit. You’re right.”

  We stand at the same time and make a beeline for the door. I slip on my canvas shoes, but Nate doesn’t bother to put shoes on at all.

  “You’re such a bad influence,” he mumbles, following me out the door.

  I whip around before we make it to the porch stairs. “Me? No way, buddy!” I poke my finger into his chest.

  He grins, grabbing my hand and just … holding it at his chest while we mirror the most contagious smile. The warm feeling in my belly blooms to life again. I don’t even remind myself of my man ban because after thinking about Kyle and Emily—after missing them yet again—I need this feeling. A temporary Band-Aid on my heart.

  Nate’s thumb feathers over my wrist, arresting my breath as a wave of goose bumps shoots up my arms. For one insane I-will-never-ever-think-about-it-again second, I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.

  One.

  Okay … I’m done thinking about it.

  I slide my hand from his and offer a shaky smile just before turning back around and skipping down the porch steps. “Bad influence my ass,” I say just loud enough for him to hear me.

  “Elvis, your ass is a lot of things, but a bad influence is not one of them.”

  Holy shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!

  I stop.

  He stops.

  We stand in silence, a small line of two.

  Sweat pours out from my armpits, so I hold my arms close to my body.

  “Shit. I just made things awkward. I … I’m sorry I said that. It just came out. And nothing like that has left my mouth in many years. Not since … well … many years,” he talks to my back.

  I talk to my nipples and nether region, telling them to cool the hell off.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  I need to respond. What do I say? He feels bad. I feel like a volcano. It was inappropriate.

  Yet, I secretly want to fist-pump the air, run to my bedroom, and do some weird dance only a giddy young girl would do.

  Clearing my throat, I force my legs to take me to the house. “It’s not your fault I have such a great ass.”

  Biggest lie I’ve ever told. I do not think I have a great ass. Not even good. It’s adequate at best. However, I have nothing to lose when I’m on a man ban, so I just own it like I’ve never owned anything before this moment. And I add some extra sway for good measure.

  “’Bout time.” Mr. Hans shuts off the television and sits up in his chair. “Sorry, Elvis, I couldn’t stop Gabe from eating chips for breakfast because you took too long.”

  Dammit!

  Hugh’s gaze drops to my hands and then to Nate standing behind me. “No eggs? Did you bring back my stud finder?”

  Whipping around to face Nate, I cringe. “Oh my gosh! I … I totally spaced my whole reason for going over to your house. You were exercising…” with your shirt off, but never mind that “…and you offered me coffee. And we started talking, and I completely forgot.”

  In a nutshell, I forgot more than the stud finder because of shirtless Nate. I also forgot to discuss my stripping incidents.

  “So … I’ll go get the eggs—”

  “Two, please.” I shoot him a toothy grin. “I’ll pay you back after I go to the store later.”

  “Two eggs and the stud finder.”

  I return a sharp nod.

  “And you’ll go check on the kids.”

  “Yes, I’ll go check on the kids.”

  “I checked on them ten minutes ago,” Mr. Hans says.

  I glance over my shoulder. “Thanks, but I’ll check on them again anyway.”

  “You’re worried I did something to them. Smart girl. You can never be too careful.”

  I bite my lower lip, eyes wide. “Okay then. I’m…” I point to the stairs “…going now.”

  Nate makes his way to the front door as I head up the stairs. Three steps in, I peek over my shoulder. He’s still at the door, watching me.

  “What?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, that grin taunting me with everything he’s not saying. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Nathaniel

  “Do you like Gracelyn?” Morgan asks as we build a sand castle a few days after coffee, old lady pussy conversation, and the out-of-character ass comment on my part.

  I peer at her over the top of my sunglasses that have slid partway down my nose. Random conversations with my daughter are my favorite moments of every day. I’ve loved our time traveling together over the past eight years. No topic has ever been unwelcomed.

  Jenna’s death.

  Religion.

  Sex.

  Why two men were kissing on the subway in London.

  Every gathering of protesters.

  Every homeless person we’ve encountered.

  We talk about everything.

  I help her make sense of her world.

  She helps me make sense of mine.

  “I like Gracelyn just fine. Why?”

  “Because you get a weird smile on your face when you’re with her.”

  “I smile when I’m with you.”

  She dumps the bucket upside down, but the sand crumbles apart because it’s not wet enough. One of us needs to make a trip down to the water to fill up a bucket.

  “The smile you have for me is different.”

  “Different how?” I grab the empty water bucket and trudge through the sand to the water.

  Morgan follows me. “You smile at me like I’m your daughter. Like you’ve loved me forever. Like … your face has smiled at me a gazillion times.”

  I laugh, filling up the bucket. “And I smile at other people differently?”

  “Yes. Everyone else gets your friendly smile. It’s okay, nothing special like how you smile at me. But … when you smile at Gracelyn, you go like this fi
rst.” Morgan wets her lips and rubs them together. “Then you smile a little like this.” She attempts a weird half smile, but it looks rather scary. “And finally you go big … really big like this.” She shows all of her teeth, and it’s scarier than the distorted half smile.

  I know I don’t smile at anyone like that. “Wow!” We take the bucket to our elaborate castle that we’ve been working on for two hours. “I had no idea you were such an expert on smiles.”

  She shrugs. “I know more than you think.”

  I return a small chuckle while wetting the sand. “I don’t doubt that.”

  “If you want Gracelyn to be your girlfriend, I’m okay with it.”

  Giving her the hairy eyeball, I pause my motions for a few seconds. “You do realize we are here temporarily. For two more months. Then we’re going home. Gracelyn and Gabe live here. They will stay when we leave.”

  “Daaad …” She rolls her eyes. “It could just be for two months. Then you could write each other letters. Maybe you could visit each other. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  I dump sand onto her legs and start to bury them. She giggles.

  “Can you act your age? Ten-year-olds do not say things like absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  “Stop!” She laughs more as I shove as much sand as I can gather over her legs, ruining some of our castle in the process.

  “Absence also makes the heart hurt. Missing people hurts. When you go to college, I’ll be a broken old man missing my little girl.”

  She submits to having half her body buried in sand because she’s too busy giving me that look—the one where she acts like the parent and treats me like a child. “You won’t miss me as much if you have someone else.”

  On a sigh, I sit back, resting my hands in the sand behind me. “Nonsense.”

  “Grr!” She makes a growling noise while busting out of the sand. “I’m going to shower. Mr. Hans said his granddaughter is coming tonight and staying for a few days. Finally, another girl!”

  I give her my best smile, apparently my well-practiced Morgan smile. “Hose off before you go into the house.”

  “Yeah, yeah …” She carries her flip-flops to the side of the house while I gather the buckets and shovels.