Southern Bombshell (North Carolina Highlands 5)

“Thank you for that,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt. “I needed it.”

“No one needs to hear me sing, but I appreciate the compliment,” he replies with a chuckle. Then, softer: “You gonna be okay, Milly?”

I blink hard and reach for the door handle. Lucy tries to protest by crawling back into my lap. “I feel better already.” And then, because I really don’t want to leave, I say, “We talked a lot about me, but not a lot about you. How’ve you been, Nate?”

Keeping his foot on the brake, he rattles the gearshift and looks away. A muscle in his jaw tics, and I know he’s deciding how much he wants to share. “I’ve been good, all things considered.”

“Great,” I say, running my hand along Lucy’s back. “And your dad? Silas?”

Nate talked about his family often. What’s left of it, anyway. It was something we bonded over—the fact that we both lost parents.

“Silas is doing well. Really well, actually. Thanks for asking. My dad . . . he’s all right. Still sketchy as hell, but with the Nobles in the picture I don’t have to deal with him as much, so it’s worked out.”

I nod, trying in vain to swallow the lump in my throat. Things have worked out for both of us. We’re succeeding in ways we only dreamed of years ago.

Why, then, do I feel like such a failure?

“That’s awesome. Keep doing what you’re doing.” I cringe. Keep doing what you’re doing? What does that even mean?

But Nate, being Nate, just smiles, his kindness making the ache inside me deepen. “You keep working on filling that well, you hear?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Good.”

“Good.” I realize we’ve been looking at each other for a beat too long. Giving Lucy one last pat on the head, I open my door. “Thanks again for the ride.”

“Anytime, Milly. Take care.”

My vision blurs as I grab my bag and climb out of the Bronco. I shut the door behind me.

This feels so final. Like it’s the last time we’ll ever get to talk like this, and be like this, ever again.

I hate it.

I scurry across the gravel until I’m in the shadow cast by the eaves of my wide front porch. I’m unlocking my front door and opening it when I hear a crunch, followed by a muffled shout.

“Lucy, no! Lucy! Lucy!”

Keys still in hand, I whip around to see Lucy sprinting toward me, tail up and tongue wagging. The passenger side door hangs open. I must not have closed it all the way.

Shit.

I drop my bag and make a beeline for the dog, arms outstretched. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nate leaping out of the truck and running after Lucy. He moves his big body with surprising grace and speed.

Then again, this is his beloved wiener dog we’re talking about. The two of them are practically codependent. I’m not at all surprised he’s running after her like his life depends on it.

“Lucy,” I call. “Come here, honey.”

Just when I think I’m about to grab her—she’s running right for me—she hangs a right and dashes past me up my front steps.

“Lucy, come, now!” Nate is shouting. He’s at my side now, and the two of us are running up the stairs after her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I pant as I watch Lucy dart inside my house.

Shit, shit, shit.

I go in first with Nate hot on my heels. At one point, he’s so close his arm brushes mine—it’s quick, impersonal—but I still feel it like a shot to the heart. My body rises on a wave of poignant, almost painful hunger.

Careful to keep my distance, I let Nate take the lead. He still knows his way through my house, and we end up cornering Lucy in the kitchen. The carcass of a rotisserie chicken I forgot to throw out last night sits on the counter beside the sink. Lucy stands in front of it, tail wagging.

“You little shit,” Nate groans, leaning down to swoop her into the crook of his arm. “You have to listen to Daddy. No more treats for you today, that’s for damn sure.” But then he pecks her head and gives her neck a scratch, and she rewards him with a big old lick on the face.

Putting a hand on the countertop—the cuteness, the closeness, it’s killing me—I manage a tight grin. “Yeah, right.”

Nate grins too as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. “Are you saying Lucy’s got me by the balls?”

“I am. You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love, yeah,” he says, and looks up.

Our eyes lock. Something strong and loud ignites the air between us as he looks, and I look, pressure building behind my eyes and inside my chest.

Today was so good. Too good. But I can’t have days like this with Nate. He. Is. Someone. Else’s.