Except, I don’t want it to be like old times. Old times included staring at her longingly over a fried turkey the Thanksgiving she didn’t have time to go home. I spent the whole day dodging pointed questions about the status of our relationship from my mom. The old times were watching her get hit on by half my teammates any time she came to a football after party. Her dancing in the disgusting living room, floor sticky with beer. Me leaning against the counter in the open kitchen where I could see her, but not be too close. I want this to be a new time. I want her to sit on my lap when we have a campfire by the lake to ward off the chill that blows off Lake Michigan even in the summer. I want to slow dance with her after my brother’s nuptials. I want to be the recipient of her overly touchy drunk affection.
She starts to pull away, but I hold her in place by catching her chin. “I can’t wait to show you off to my family.” We should get on the road, but I want so badly to kiss her. It’s like I have to have that token of her affection on Wisconsin soil to make sure this really happened, and that I didn’t just imagine it in Texas.
“Yeah, your fake girlfriend.Veryimpressive.” Her tone is bone dry.
Welp. That certainly kills the moment. I take a step back, into my own space again.
When I look back, there’s something in her eyes, a hollowness. She blinks, and in a flash it’s gone. “We’d better get going; your mom is probably already out on the front steps waiting for us.”
We cram ourselves into the little Kia, pull out of the airport and onto the highway headed north.
Everything is going to be fine. I just have to be in a wedding, not upset my family by telling them why I left Green Bay even though everyone is going to want to talk about the Butcher’s drafting Jason Amara and what that means—oh, and also avoid falling any more in love with Nash to ensure I don’t break her heart.
Easy-peasy.
Chapter Forty-Eight
NASH
Sure enough.
Wyatt’s mom, Barbara, is sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch waiting for us. She quickly covers the confusion on her face when she spots our lime green ride and jumps up to wave excitedly as we pull up to the farmhouse.
It’s been so long since I laid eyes on this house. While the building screams ‘farm’ with its giant wraparound porch, it has tons of clean-cut lines and cozy colors. Unlike the many yellow and red farmhouses we passed by on the highway, his childhood home is painted a creamy white.
Barbara comes down the steps, arms wide open, and for a split second it does feel a little bit like coming home. There are great things about Wisconsin, like the beautiful nature in Door County, and the great summer weather. If Wyatt is so dead set on living here, could I see myself here with him? But he didn’t say ‘I’m going back to Wisconsin, do you want to come with me’, he saidhe’sgoing. And that’s not really up to him when it’s all said and done.
I’m surprised when she walks right past Wyatt and wraps her arms around me.
“Congratulations on your championship! One of many more, I’m sure.” Her smile is bright and filled with genuine joy. I thought she was going to immediately start with me and Wyatt finally dating, but I’m secretly happy she didn’t.
She pats me on the shoulder. “And for coming to your senses about my Wyatt.” A little bead of sweat forms on the back of my neck as I continue to smile back at her.
There it is.
Together, the three of us get all the luggage out of the minuscule trunk and head up the steps to the front door. It’s wooden and heavy, with one huge window, and black metal hardware. It squeaks when we open it, announcing our arrival to Henry, who seems like he was just about to come outside. He steps back to let us in, looking over our shoulders as we all pile through. “What the hell is that?” he says, eyeing the lime green catastrophe in the drive.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Wyatt grumbles. Barb and I can’t help but laugh. It’ll be parked in that same spot all weekend, waiting for us to get in it Sunday to head back to Houston.
We stand at the base of the staircase as Barbara directs us. “Nash, you’ll be staying in Wyatt’s room.” She turns to her youngest son. “Wyatt, you’ll be sleeping in Henry’s old room.”
“That room doesn’t even have a bed,” Wyatt says incredulously.
“I know. That’s why I put a blow-up mattress in it.”
I laugh under my breath and Wyatt shoots me a look. To his mom, he says, “You know we’re living together in Texas, right?”
I watch as Barbara pulls herself up to a seemingly equalheight as her son, sucking in that motherly strength as she grows. I can see how she kept these two in line all these years. I know she isn’t really eye-to-eye with Wyatt, but it seems like she is with the stern way she says, “I don’t care what you do when you’re not here, but when you’re under my roof, you’ll follow my rules.”
“Or we can stay with Henry.”
She scoffs. “You will not. It’s his wedding weekend.”
Wyatt pouts and I get another peek inside what he must have been like in his youth. “Yes, Ma.”
“Now, go get cleaned up. Your dad is grilling brats for supper, and he’ll be starting shortly.”
The promise of a grilled, beer-boiled Wisconsin brat piled high with sauerkraut and drizzled with mustard seems to put Wyatt in a better mood immediately. Hm, I’ll have to try that at home sometime. Wyatt leads me up the stairs by the hand. He gestures to the room on the left. “This one is mine…well, yours.”