Page 120 of One Wrong Move

“Maybe. But at this point… I don’t know.” He clears his throat. “How are things with you and the Aston Martin chap?”

A blush creeps over my cheeks. “We’ve gotten closer.”

“Ah. I suspected you would.”

“You did?”

“Of course. From what you told me last time, you two like each other.”

I swallow. The concept feels… scary. And right. “Yes. I think we do. But I’m not sure if it’s quite that simple.”

“It is,” Richard says. His voice is perfectly matter-of-fact. “I know it doesn’t seem simple when you’re in the midst of things. But when you look back at the important times, past them happening… The truth is always painfully clear. Hold on to that.”

I smile at him. “You always know what to say.”

He gives a surprised chuckle. “No, I most certainly do not. My daughter would laugh if she heard you say that.”

“Maybe there’s a chance for?—”

Footsteps sound close by, and then Nate is approaching over the green grass of his small garden. He’s in a suit, no jacket and no tie, and in a pair of sunglasses. Cast against the obvious luxury of his house, he appears like a stranger for a second. Handsome. Wealthy. An image in a glossy newspaper.

But then, he takes off his glasses and looks at me, and he’s Nate again. My Nate.

“You must be Richard,” he says and extends his hand to the sitting gentleman. “No, please don’t get up, don’t trouble yourself. Heard you had quite a tumble.”

“The damn staircase,” Richard says. “Thank you for letting my dogs stay here.”

“No trouble at all. I think Harper would even enjoy one of her own.” Nate takes a seat across from us. “I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to meet before.”

Richard shrugs again. “I saw you once in a while, but I don’t think you were home as often. Up until a month ago, that is.”

I look at Nate. But he continues to look at Richard, a smile spreading on his face. “Yes. It wasn’t a very fun place to be before Harper moved in,” he says easily. “I hear you’re a fan of my vintage Aston Martin.”

“Vintage?” Richard says. “The model you have, I recall when it was brand new.”

“Ever had one?”

“Lord, no,” he says. “The prices were outrageous then, now they’re positively criminal. No offense.”

“None taken,” Nate says. “Would you like to take a spin in it? When your leg is all healed.”

For a long second, Richard doesn’t respond at all. Did he hear? Has Nate’s offer offended him somehow? I know his leg must be hurting, and Quincy is a small but significant weight on his lap.

“I would like that very much.” Richard finally says, and his voice trembles just slightly with emotion.

“What’s this?” Nate asks a few hours later, after we’d helped Richard and the dogs home, and I promised to come over tomorrow evening to walk them. Nate is holding up a giant parsnip.

I roll my eyes at him. “God, you’re so uncultured.”

“And you’re a Michelin-star chef.”

“I am not. I just have some very basic but useful skills.”

He eyes the large wok pan I have going on the stove. “That is not basic. It is most definitely useful, though. Can you live here forever?”

I chuckle. “Maybe. If you’re okay with learning some of this.”

“I’ll learn anything you want,” he says.

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