Page 18 of That Time I Kissed The Groomsman Grump
You just have to get through the wedding without letting Nat get to you. Then let her go.
Just let her go. Right.
Once we’re over the bridge, I continue past Griffin’s Five and Dime. It’s on the corner of Bridge and Main, and one of the oldest of its kind in the country. Next to The Dime is a Wrinkle in Time. They sell a rotating collection of antiques. The rest of the block is mostly taken up by my mom’s favorite general store, The Shop.
Opposite The Shop is Murphy’s Jewelers. Then Secondhand Rose. That’s a thrift store, in case it wasn’t obvious. Across town, we’ve got an auto shop, a gym, and a two-screen movie theater. Sadie’s Salon has a pretty good reputation. And our town’s barbershop has an actual pole out front. I know every inch of this town by heart. Everything a man—or a woman—needs is right here in our backyard. WhywouldI want to live anywhere else?
I don’t. That’s the answer. I just want more while I’m here.
For the next few blocks, my truck might as well be on autopilot. I could probably make this drive fully blindfolded. Two more turns, and we reach the Slaters’. A flag outside says Home Sweet Home.
Parking at the curb, I hop out, then run around to help Natalie. But she’s already out of the truck, dragging her carry-on over the sidewalk. The house is all green shutters and white wood siding. Red petunias fill the flower boxes. No wonder Natalie’s a smiler.
The Slaters are human sunshine.
“You should probably come in and say hi,” she calls out. I’m still on the sidewalk, shuffling my feet, but she’s climbing the stairs to the porch.
The porch.
In a flash, it’s December again, and I’m holding Natalie in my arms, tasting the cinnamon on her lips, feeling the warmth of her mouth. In my memory, her breath accelerates, and her eyes flash a welcome. She’s on the same mat now. I gulp.
“Yeah, maybe not.”
“Come on.” She waves me up. “My mom will be sad if she finds out I let you leave after you drove me around all day. She’s probably making soup.”
“Soup?” I run a hand over my hair. “It’s July.”
She tips her chin. “What’s your point?”
“Fine,” I say through my teeth. Trudging up the stairs, I cross the porch while Natalie opens the front door. The scent of something delicious fills the air, and my mouth waters. Maybe it’s soup. Maybe I’m just remembering our kiss.
Before I can decide, an enormous crash comes from inside the house. My instincts kick in, and I push past Natalie, charging through the doorway.
And in the middle of the room, right above me, Mrs. Slater is dangling from a hole in the ceiling.
ChapterEight
NATALIE
“Mom!” I shriek. I’m in the doorway frozen with shock, but Brady springs into action, dashing toward the stairs and taking them two at a time. Hopefully he’s going to help her from the top floor. Meanwhile, I stay downstairs to deal with my mother’s … bottom.
“Natalie!” she calls out. “Is that you?” At least that’s what I think she says, but her body is clogging the ceiling hole, so it’s hard to hear her exact words. Of course I canseeher well enough, but only the half that looks like she’s riding an invisible bicycle.
As my mom flails between the two floors, her mint-green sweats start to slip down. At the same time, her matching green sweatshirt rides up. I sent her the set after she admired the pair I wore last time I was home. When she got the package, she texted me “WE’RE TWINS—LOL.” She probably put these sweats on because I was coming home. As freaked out as I am, my heart still swells at the gesture.
“Don’t move!” I yell up to her. Then I park my carry-on in the entryway and rush to the spot below her. Grabbing her sneakers, I try to stop her frantic kicking before she loses her sweats completely. When I look up, pieces of ceiling rain down from the hole, littering me with chalky debris.
“Hold still, Mom!” I shout. “Brady’s coming to get you.”
“Brady’s here?” The question is a muffled squeak. She wiggles her legs again trying to haul her body up, but instead of gaining traction, she only showers me with more dust. I sputter and spit just as Brady reaches her. The rumble of his voice comes through the ceiling. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but my mom’s body finally stops jerking. Then, out of nowhere, she’s swallowed backward through the hole, flying up like a circus acrobat.
Whoa. Brady’s been making use of the Abieville gym.
“I’ve got you, Mrs. Slater.” His voice is deep with concern. “Are you all right?” She sways above the hole, but he reaches out to steady her, his large hands splayed over her shoulders.
“I’m just a little dizzy.” Her usually neat blonde bob is frazzled, but she doesn’t appear to be injured. “Nothing’s hurt but my pride,” she says. “And I always avoid being prideful. Sometimes I even succeed.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Brady says, towering over her small frame. Picturing our floor plan, I figure they’re in the walk-in closet in my parents’ bedroom.
