Page 84 of Coming Home

“That’s great, baby.”

Baby.The endearment ignited a sensation of being wrapped up in a fluffy warm blanket. Any lingering tension dissolved with Noah’s proximity.

“Did you also talk to your mom?”

“No. I’d need more than this cider afterthatconversation.” She tipped her almost empty bottle to him. “We’re going to strategize that convo. Dad suggested Clayton, he, and I figure it out together.”

He stepped closer, halted, and looked toward the farmhouse.

“You want to kiss mesobad right now, don’t you?” she teased.

“So bad.” His throat bobbed.

“Oh, my dad knows about us.” The cider and exhaustion loosened her lips. Tipsiness dripped through her from the emotional talk with Dad, along with the bottle of cider. Goddess, she was a lightweight.

“You told him?” Bewilderment twisted his expression.

“No. You know how he fancies himself an amateur sleuth with all those detective novels he reads? He figured it out and confronted me at lunch with a joke about us giving him human grandbabies. Well, giving Mom grandbabies, but I guess they’d be his too.”

A cautious huff of laughter slipped past Noah’s lopsided grin.

“He approves, by the way.” She drained her cider. “He says you’re a good man and he suspected we were into each other for a while.”

Noah shook his head. “Your dad never ceases to surprise me. So, how do you feel about him knowing?”

Placing the empty bottle on the dock, she decided she was too cold. Grabbing her sweatshirt, she tugged it over her head. “I’m okay with it. Dad was never my concern.”

Noah nodded.

Nat adjusted in the chair, sitting cross-legged, her short legs exposed to the chilled air. “How was boys’ night with Clayton?”

“Good. We got Daryl’s and watched a baseball game.” Noah stepped to the chair, placing his firm hand on her shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, my brave girl.”

She moved her hand to his and leaned her head against the warmth of his arm. She had been brave. Noah didn’t make her brave but reminded her she already was. It bolstered her for having the conversation with her dad today.

“Thank you for reminding me who I am when I forget.” She closed her eyes, letting his soothing presence fold around her.

“I thought you were leaving.” Clayton’s voice called in the distance.

Nat’s head jolted up, and she released Noah’s hand. Noah stepped away from the chair, turning toward the sound of shuffling feet.

“I am. I saw Nat and was just saying hi,” Noah offered.

Nat adjusted in the chair, crossing her legs in front of her. “Hey, Clay Pigeon, how was boys’ night?”

“Ugh,” he grumbled at the nickname. “Good. How was your night?” Clayton reached the dock, stepping to its center.

“Good. I had dinner with Summer, and now I’m just decompressing with the stars and cider.” She waved to the sky and then to the empty bottle sitting next to the leg of the chair.

Clayton’s eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t you have pants on?”

Nat looked at her bare legs. “I’m wearing shorts. They’re pants-lite.”

Clayton took off the Cornell hoodie he wore and draped it over her legs.

“Seriously? I’m not a little girl!” she muttered.

Noah’s eyes flashed with an apology as he looked at Nat. She wasn’t sure if the apology was for him not wearing a sweatshirt to offer her or if it was for Clayton’s protective yet Victorian instincts. It could be for both.

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