Page 49 of No Greater Love
"A statement," Grandma corrected. "Everything with you was a statement."
Nate's eyes met mine, warm with amusement and something deeper. "Still is," he said softly.
The moment was broken by my father's arrival. Thomas Williams, distinguished in his golf shirt and khakis, approached with the confidence of a man who'd never doubted his place in the world.
"There's my girl," he boomed, enfolding me in a cologne-scented hug. "Finally decided to grace us with your presence."
"Hi, Dad," I said, extricating myself. "This is Nate Crawford and his daughter Paige."
My father's handshake was a challenge, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he assessed Nate. "Thomas Williams. Tasha's father. I understand you're a nurse at Metro."
"Yes, sir," Nate replied, unfazed by the subtle emphasis on 'nurse.' "Emergency department."
"Noble profession. Though with your military background, I'd have thought you'd aim higher. Officer track, perhaps, or medical school."
I tensed, but Nate's expression remained pleasant, almost thoughtful. "Well, sir, I considered it," he said with that same respectful tone, "but I enjoy working for a living."
The comment landed with such casual, good-natured delivery that it took my father a beat to process it. Nate's smile never wavered, his posture still respectful, as if he'd just made pleasant small talk about the weather.
"Emergency nursing suits me," Nate continued seamlessly. "The challenge, the pace. And it allowed me to be present for Paige while she was growing up. Single parenting requires certain sacrifices."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. Nate had delivered that repartee with such perfect, polite timing that my father couldn't tell if he'd just been zinged or complimented. He’d managed to defend his career choice, acknowledge his military service, and subtly remind my father about the value of being present for one's children, all while maintaining perfect respectful demeanor.
The pointed reference to parenting wasn't lost on my father, whose own career had kept him absent for much of my childhood. But neither was the "work for a living" comment, judging by the slight tightening around his eyes.
"Indeed," he said stiffly. "Well, you must try the barbecue. Carl's been smoking it since dawn."
As he retreated, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"That went well," Nate murmured.
I turned to face him fully, unable to suppress my grin any longer. "Did you just tell my father you work for a living?"
His eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter. "I have no idea what you mean."
"You absolute menace," I said, and before I could second-guess myself, I rose on my toes and kissed him as a reward for handling my father with such perfect, respectful sass.
When I pulled back, his expression had shifted to something warmer, more surprised.
"What was that for?"
"For being you," I said simply. "Better than expected doesn't even cover it. Although I’m surprised he didn't mention your age.”
"Oh, he did," Nate said with a slight smile. "When you were getting drinks. Right before he asked about my 401k and whether I had life insurance."
"Dad!" I was mortified.
"It's fine. I'd ask the same things if a man my age was dating Paige in fifteen years."
The casual reference to a future so distant startled me. Nate rarely spoke in those terms, his life with Paige carefully contained in present tense.
The afternoon progressed in a blur of food, music, and constant conversation. I watched as Nate navigated my family with unexpected grace—discussing military history with my uncle, gardening with my stepmother, sports with my cousins. He was a chameleon, adapting to each new interaction with the same quiet competence he showed in the ER.
Paige, meanwhile, had been fully absorbed into the pack of children, her initial shyness dissolving as she joined in their games. I caught glimpses of her laughing, running, completely at ease in a way I rarely saw at school functions or the hospital.
It was nearing sunset when I finally escaped to the kitchen, seeking a moment of quiet. I stood at the sink, running my wrists under cool water, a nurse's trick for regulating body temperature.
"Hiding?"
