Page 93 of If This Was a Movie

“I…I’m not actually sure what’s next. He was fixing a water leak and redoing insulation.”

“I approved that to residency this week,” he says, confusion clear on his face.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“That was approved last week. All of it. Insulated installment, drywall, structural. He did a great job and did it quickly, too. Your building is completely ready to live in again.”

“Oh, I…” My mind drifts off to when we were there the other day. Now that I think about it, most of the work seemed to have been done, just needing a bit of paint and for the tools and materials to be cleaned out.

Has Nate been done all this time?

I wait for the irritation to hit at that potential truth, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I fight the urge to laugh at the hoops I’m realizing he was jumping through to convince me to stay longer.

“Excuse me, I think I just spotted Shauna’s thumbprint cookies on that platter, and I’ve been listening to Tom brag about them for years.” He walks off to a cookie platter, and I look around the room for Nate.

He spots me, a bit of nerves on his face, and I give him a look that makes him smile. I make my way to him, but Sutton grabs my arms, tugging me in the opposite direction.

“Oh my god, please do not leave my side right now. My ex from high school is here, and I want to die,” she says, eyes wide.

“Where?” I ask, looking around.

“My god, you’re terrible at this. Not a sneaky bone in your body, is there? Come on, I’m taking you into the other room to show something.”

“What are you showing me?” I ask, increasingly confused.

“Literally anything that isn’t in this room,” she grumbles. “And you’re not allowed to leave my side.” Her head is tipped down like she’s some starlet trying to avoid the paparazzi.

“Sutton, I—” I start, but she’s already tugging me out of the dining room into the family room, Nate watching with a slightly amused shake of his head. As we leave, a man with bright greeneyes and dark brown hair watches us leave, not even glancing at me, eyes locked on the middle Donovan sister.

“Can I help?” I ask, stepping into the kitchen where Mrs. Donovan is washing dishes in red-and-green striped gloves. She gives me a warm smile and shakes her head.

“Oh, no, sweetheart, go on and enjoy the party!”

I step in further and give her a shaky smile. I came into the kitchen hoping for some vague semblance of peace, on account that I had spent the last hour and a half having Sutton drag me to meet every single Donovan family member in order to avoid her ex. I met aunts, uncles, and long lost cousins, all of them telling me how many wonderful things they have heard about me from one of Nate’s sisters, Sophie, Mr. and Mrs. Donovan, or Nate himself.

To say I’m overwhelmed would be an understatement.

I bit my lip before confessing, “I’m not going to lie; it’s so fun out there, but it’s overwhelming. I’d love some quiet if you don’t mind the company.”

She looks at me with an understanding smile.

“Why do you think I’m in here? Tom loves this, all the people in our house, and don’t get me wrong, I do too, but dang, it gets loud.” I laugh and nod before she tips her head to the drying rack. “Grab a towel, you can dry.”

I give a relieved smile before I move over to her, grab a holly-covered dishrag, and start to wipe off the dishes, stacking up the clean plates. We move in silence, Mrs. Donovan washing and me drying, my occasionally asking a few questions to know where to put some of them away before she finally speaks.

“You know, we’re so grateful Nathan found you, and you’ve been spending so much time together. Sophie also just adores you, you know.” I give her a genuine smile.

“I’m just incredibly grateful he was willing to help out with my place,” I say, grabbing a platter that held the mini meatballs I absolutely need the recipe for. “And that he needed help with Sophie.”

“Oh, yes, the girls told me all about her little wish to Santa. My goodness, she really does have quite the imagination. I’m sure Nate was so relieved to have a way to make her wish come true. He’s so terrible at telling her no. But you know, you really do look like her doll.”

I smile and shake my head.

“No, I meant with the babysitting since Claire left.”

Mrs. Donovan pauses, staring at me. “What?”

“Well, that’s why I’m staying in the cottage. You know, to help get Sophie off the bus and…” My words trail off when Mrs. Donovan rolls her lips between her teeth, trying to stave off a laugh. “I feel like I missed something.”

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