Page 95 of Romancing the Grump
“It sounds like you’re doing everything right. I’m sure he’ll be okay in a day or two.”
“Thanks for helping.”
“Of course. Should we talk about your heart now? Has anything new happened since the Yellow Jackets game?”
I drop onto the top step of Nathan’s porch. The night air is cool, but less biting than it was a few weeks ago. It’s aspringcool instead of a winter one, and my hoodie is keeping me plenty warm. “I mean, little things,” I say, answering Lucy’s question. “He brought me coffee every morning this week. And we’ve texted a lot. And then tonight—I don’t know. I just feel like it has to mean something that he calledmewhen he needed help.”
“That’s all really sweet,” Lucy says. “And is all the more reason for you to talk to him about how you’re feeling.”
I breathe out a sigh. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to push him away.”
“Have you talked any more about his dad?”
“Not really.”
“So you’re just pretending. Not asking for anything real?” Her tone is gentle, but there’s an edge to her voice that hints at her underlying concern. “Summer, you’re falling in love with a man based on a relationship that’s entirely fake.”
“It isn’t,” I say. “That’s the point. Nothing about this feels fake.”
“Yourfriendshipisn’t fake. I don’t have any doubts about that. I also don’t doubt howyoufeel about him. But how doeshefeel?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Of course Lucy is right. Idon’t know how he feels. But only because I keep chickening out whenever I think about asking him.
“I think he feels something,” I say. “Tonight, when I first showed up, he kept telling me to leave, saying he didn’t want my help. Finally, he admitted that it was only because of how much he wanted me to stay.”
Lucy groans. “Summer! That doesn’t make me feel better about this.”
“Why? I thought it was really sweet.”
“Sure,” Lucy says. “It’s alsoconflicted.Does this man have any idea what he actually wants?” Through the phone, I hear the familiar sounds of her climbing into her car, the click of her seatbelt, the wind chime tone her car makes whenever it connects with her phone. “Just take your own feelings out of the equation for a second, okay? So far, Nathan has told you that he isn’t interested in a relationship, that he doesn’t think he’s capable of dating while he’s playing hockey, and that he wants you to leave becauseof how much hewantsyou to stay.”
“But if all of this goes back to his dad, then Nathan is wrong. He isn't his father, and hedoesdeserve to fall in love.”
“But what if you can’t convince him of that?” she argues. “Are you supposed to just break your own heart in the process?”
“There’s so much more to it,” I say. “So many looks and touches andfeelings.”
“Yourfeelings,” she says. “Notanythat he has admitted. I’m not saying he doesn’t feel something. I’d like to think you’re a good enough judge of character that you’d be able to tell if he were just playing you. But I don’t want you to get hurt. And I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself about that potential.”
I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my armsaround them. I may hate what my sister is saying, but I recognize the truth in her words. “You sound like me.”
She lets out a little laugh. “Well, someone has to, because you sound likeme.”
“But that’s a good thing, right? You’re always telling me to trust my heart.”
“And you’re always tellingmenot to abandon all reason,” she says. “I’m not telling you not to love him. I’m telling you to talk to him. You can’t live in this middle ground for long, Summer. If he doesn’t want a real relationship, you have to stop seeing him.You have to protect your heart.”
The thought of not seeing Nathan makes my insides twist into painful knots. But Lucy is right. I do have to talk to him. And I have to do it sooner than later.
“Okay. You’re right,” I finally concede. “I promise I’ll talk to him as soon as he’s healthy enough to think clearly.”
“Good,” Lucy says. “I could use a dose of grounded, logical Summer. Find her quick, please.”
I sit up, not loving the sudden uncertainty in Lucy’s voice. “Lucy. What did you do?”
“Oh, nothing,” she says. “Except, maybe agree to have dinner with the new attending.”
“The Dr. McDreamy one? I thought you said he was married with twelve kids.”
