Southern Bombshell (North Carolina Highlands 5)

“Maybe the people she loves need to lend a helping hand more often.”

“Maybe? Definitely. Trying to help my mom feel less overwhelmed was my childhood in a nutshell. Lo and behold, now I’m the one setting myself on fire to keep everyone else warm.” She lets out her hundredth sigh, but this one ends with a laugh. “Yikes, that’s a lot of metaphors.”

My turn to roll my eyes. “So many metaphors. Gotta be honest, I don’t hate it.”

“Me neither. But my point is, maybe being a woman and being creative—getting to experience the juicy part of life, as you say, getting to play and have fun—are, ultimately, mutually exclusive concepts. Girls are trained from the time we’re little to fill everyone else’s well before we’re even aware we have a well of our own.” She scoffs. “That pisses me off. So, so much.”

It’s true. I feel her anger radiating off her in waves. Her willingness to tell the truth, to show emotion when literally everyone else hides how they’re really feeling—

It’s electrifying.

It’s liberating.

It’s reminding me of how fucking great it felt to be friends with this woman and how much I miss it.

But what does missing her mean?

“It’s a double standard, and it’s bullshit,” I say.

She meets my eyes, her expression earnest. “You’re one of the good ones, Nate. You lend a helping hand without being asked, and you always take great care of your people. That’s a depressingly rare thing in men.”

My chest contracts. There’s a lot to unpack here.

There’s a lot I want to say.

I glance at the clock and see that half an hour has already passed. I started the ride praying it’d be over quickly.

Now I don’t want it to end. And that’s a big fucking problem.

One I’m choosing to ignore for the next half hour.

Chapter Thirteen

Milly

“It is bullshit,” I reply, looking out the window. “I wish I knew how to fix it. I need to fix it.”

Trees dapple the sunlight overhead, the last of their leaves painted every shade of yellow, orange, and red. They crunch under the tires and fill the air with their dry, sweet scent.

In true Nate fashion, we’re going five under the speed limit. It’s just fast enough to tug a few strands of hair out of my ponytail. Just slow enough to rock me into a kind of relaxed daze. I hadn’t realized how harried I’ve felt and how I hurry from one thing to the next until now. I meant it when I said I wasn’t thinking about my website.

I’m trying very hard not to think about how much I’m enjoying myself. How I’m getting that feeling. The one you get when you’re connecting with someone else on a level you didn’t think was possible.

“I say we start simple. First up is refilling your well.” Nate nods at the glove compartment. “Open it. I have some ideas.”

We.

My heart does a neat little somersault. I need to correct him and say he doesn’t need to help me fix the world or my life.

But hope, stupid and warm, fills my chest cavity. Not only does Nate get it, but he also gets what would make me feel better.

“Don’t tell me you still listen to—oh, yup, yes, you do still listen to cassettes,” I say as I open the glove box. I’m greeted by a few neat stacks of tape cases. I pluck one from the pile, a Coldplay mix, and hold it up. “These things are practically antiques at this point.”

“I know.” Nate smiles proudly, the skin at the edges of his eyes crinkling in genuine pleasure. “That’s what makes them great. Wanna listen to that one? I could go for some Coldplay.”

“I could always go for Coldplay.” I open the case, a tiny thrill darting up my spine when I glimpse the track titles. All my favorites: “Fix You,” “The Scientist,” “Yellow.” “I haven’t listened to them in forever.”

“Really? A girl who does romance for a living doesn’t listen to some of the most romantic music ever made?”

“I’m aware of the irony, yes.”

I pop the cassette tape into the dash and wonder if listening to this band on this day is a bad idea. But it’s too late to turn back now.

“Yellow” comes on first, and I adjust the volume so we can hear it over the open windows. “Now what?”

Nate shifts gears as he heads up a hill. The angle of the light streaming inside the truck changes, and it catches on his nose and lips as he turns his head and aims that deadly smile at me.

“Now we enjoy it.”

The drums pick up as the chorus approaches. Lucy rolls onto her back beside my leg, begging for a belly rub. The breeze blows a lock of hair across Nate’s forehead, and for a second, he’s the playful, unkempt country boy who stole my heart and wrecked my world.