Page 51

Damn.
I eye her father. “This was a trap, wasn’t it?”
He takes a slow sip of his wine. “Welcome to the family, Nate.”
The room erupts in laughter. And as much as I should feel like I’ve just been thrown into the deep end, I don’t. I feel…fine. Hell, better than fine.
I glance at Lacey. She’s watching me closely, like she’s still expecting me to get angry, to hate this, to hate them.
Instead, I just lean back, laughing as I gesture at the chessboard.
“Rematch?”
She exhales, rolling her eyes, but there’s something in her gaze—something softer, something warm.
And as I sit there, surrounded by the warmth and chaos of her family, I realize something else—I don’t mind how she’s gotten under my skin. I don’t mind how my body instinctively seeks her out in a room and how my hand finds the small of her backwithout thinking. I don’t mind any of it—and that alone should scare the living hell out of me—but it doesn’t.
Sixteen
Lacey
“Dad never loses at chess,” I say, kicking off my shoes as we enter Nate’s house. The Florida sunset streams through his windows, painting everything in deep purples and oranges. “Never.”
Nate laughs, rich and low, as he loosens his collar. “Maybe he let me win that rematch.”
“Trust me, Robert Monroe doesn’t let anyone win anything.” I collapse onto the couch, tucking my feet under me. “Not even when I was five and crying over Candy Land.”
He drops down beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. “That explains a lot about you, actually.”
“Hey!” I swat his arm, but I’m smiling. The whole evening feels like a win, and the relief makes me giddy. “Seriously though, how are you so... okay? My family is a lot. They’ve sent half my old boyfriends running for the hills.”
His fingers find mine, playing absently with them as he considers the question. The casual intimacy of it makes my breath catch. “They’re genuine,” he says finally. “No pretense, no agenda. Just real people who care about each other. It was refreshing.”
The simple honesty in his words makes my heart squeeze. Of course, that’s what would appeal to Nate—the genuineness of it all. No wonder he handled it so well.
“Plus,” he adds, his thumb tracing circles on my palm that is definitely not helping my concentration, “your sister’s approval was worth all the interrogation.”
I sit up straighter. “What? When did Blaire—“
“She cornered me in the kitchen when I was helping clear plates. Said anyone who could hold their own with your dad and still look at you like...” He trails off, something shifting in his expression.
“Like what?” My voice comes out breathier than I intended.
His eyes meet mine, dark and intense. “Like you were the only person in the room.”
The air between us crackles with tension. I’m suddenly very aware of how close we’re sitting, how his hand is still holding mine, and how easy it would be to lean forward and—
My phone chimes, breaking the moment. I grab it with my free hand, not quite ready to reclaim the other from Nate’s grasp.
“Tomorrow’s interview is canceled,” I read, relief flooding through me. Rachel says they need to reschedule for next week.”
“Thank God,” Nate mutters. “I think we’ve earned a break from performing.”
The word ‘performing’ hits me oddly because nothing about tonight felt like a performance. Nothing about the way he’s holding my hand feels fake.
“So,” he continues, “what should we do with our unexpected free day?”
“Something normal?”