Epoch (Transcend Duet #2)(73)

I shrug. “My dishwasher went out. Three hundred dollars for a new one.”

He studies me. “I’m not going to take pity on you. A dishwasher is not a necessity.”

Of course he would say that. Growing up, he didn’t have one.

“I don’t expect pity. I will earn the Swayze, You Are Awesome award fair and square.”

“He nuzzles Morgan’s neck and she giggles.”

“Ready?” I grin.

Nate smiles. It’s big. It’s familiar. It’s the boy who loved me in that other life. “Do your worst.”

I take Morgan back from him, holding her so she’s against my chest, facing him. My mouth nuzzles her ear as I whisper so only she can hear me.

“Da da …” she says with a grin.

Nate looks like he’s in shock. I’m not sure if he’s going to pass out, cry, or swallow his tongue.

It’s just conditioning. She doesn’t really connect that word to him yet, but she can say it—thanks to me. And it’s her first official word.

That incredible smile eases up his face as his gaze moves from her to me. I smile back. Not a gloating smile, just genuine happiness. It’s the Jenna-died-but-Morgan-will-adore-you-forever smile. I can’t really articulate how much I want him to have something special in his life last forever.

“You’re awesome,” he says in a choked whisper. And he’d never admit it, but those are the beginning of unshed tears in his eyes.

This feels like butterflies in my tummy and orange and red popsicles on hot days. Like my life makes sense again. Maybe I’m here to make Nate smile. Maybe I’m simply here for Nate, and he knew it, even Griffin might have known it, before I was ready to admit it.

“You’re welcome.”

After a few more seconds of total bliss, he slides his wallet out of his pocket and thumbs through a wad of bills, depositing three hundreds on the counter.

“Who just happens to have three hundred dollars in their wallet on a whim?”

“People who pay cash for everything.” He takes Morgan back with a goofy grin permanently pinned to his face.

My lips twist to the side. “I can’t take your money. The look on your face was enough. Besides, you’re right, a dishwasher isn’t a necessity. And I don’t cook much on my own.”

“Thought you were renting. Shouldn’t that be something your landlord replaces?”

“Probably. I don’t want to ask.”

“Why not?” He sets Morgan back down, and she crawls straight to the sofa to stand up again.

“My landlords are my ex-fiancé’s parents.” I still don’t say Griffin’s name aloud.

“So? If you’re paying rent, they should fix or replace it.”

I nod, not really agreeing to anything, just acknowledging that I heard what he said. “Whatcha doing for dinner? Wanna order pineapple and jalapeño pizza?”

“Excuse me?” He chuckles. “You’re a cheese girl.”

“Maybe. I’ve never actually tried pineapple and jalapeño. It just sounds disgusting. But maybe it could be my jam. You once knew a girl who liked it. I might like it too.”

He does a crappy job of hiding his apprehension, but I keep my chin up and what I hope is an irresistible smile on my face.

“Order it. But you’re buying with your three hundred dollars.”

Grinning, I grab my phone from the counter. “I think there’s an online coupon I can use. You know … since I’m buying.”

And so it begins. My friendship with Nate Hunt. It doesn’t start on a school bus this time. It starts over a large pizza, a smiley baby girl, and lounging on the sofa watching hockey together after he puts Morgan to bed.

I make stupid comments like I don’t understand the sport—just to get a rise out of him—and he playfully nudges my leg, giving me a narrow-eyed look. Just before eleven, he walks me to my car after it’s been warmed up because … yeah … he started it for me fifteen minutes ago.

“Thanks for the pizza,” he says.

I laugh. “Anytime. I had fun watching those guys hit that disc thingie with those paddle thingies around the ice.”

“You are no good. Zip. Zero. One hundred percent trouble.”

“But you love me, right?”

Oh shit …

I said that. But I meant it in a playful banter kind of way. My gaze drops to my feet as I scuff my boots against the driveway dotted with a few patches of caked-on snow.

“Yes. I do.”

My head snaps up, jaw dropped.

Nate slips his hands into his pockets, shoulders lifting to his ears in an innocent shrug. “Always have. Always will.”

“Nate …” I say because all other words fail me.

Keeping his hands in his pockets, like they’re there to keep him out of trouble, he bends forward and kisses the top of my head. Staying there, he murmurs, “It’s not an expectant love. It’s not a romantic love. It’s not an inappropriate kiss. It’s not even my daughter saying my name.”

Turning his head, he rests his cheek on my head. I press my hands to his chest.

“It’s just what’s always been in my heart. You died, but I lived and so has my love for you.”

He straightens.