Chapter 29

ChapterTwenty-Nine

Nick

It gets dark really early in winter in Cottonwood Hollow. By early, I mean dusk is painting the sky by four or four-thirty in the afternoon. By five-thirty, it’s pitch black. So right now, at six, the sky is lit up by the night. The moon is out and the stars are shining against the brilliant backdrop of an ebony sky. The snow beyond the windshield of Nick’s truck glows a haunting shade of blue so light, so faint, it almost seems as though magic has been spilled over the land. Glitter dust shimmers over the sharp cuts of a mountain valley that twinkles under the white light of a bright moon, and the arms of spruce trees are weighted down by heavy drops of white as though painted on like gobs of shimmery icing. This place is so beautiful, there isn’t a time of day that’s more beautiful than another.

Everything feels magical here. Everything feels possible.

I feel like I can finally let myself dream.

Nick’s deep rumble breaks into my thoughts. “What do you do back home?”

“What do I do? As in for work?”

“Yeah.”

I pull in a deep breath. “I waitress. It’s nothing fancy, but I like it. It works for me. It pays the bills, you know?”

He nods. “Did you always want to waitress?”

“No.”

“What do you want to do?”

“That’s the problem,” I admit, laughing softly. “I never wanted to do anything, really. Still don’t.”

“You don’t want to go to school for anything?”

“Nope.” I shrug. He’s asking, and I’m going to be honest. I’ve never had a dream job.

“Really?” He sounds surprised, and I wonder if he’s also a little disappointed.

“I don’t lack ambition,” I tell him, determined to defend myself. “I just don’t want that life. You know, the one that’s all about work, all about a career. I want a simple life, and I don’t need a lot to live. I’m okay with a small pay check and time to just be.”

“You’ve never dreamed about anything? Never wanted anything for yourself?”

“I didn’t say that.” My tone comes out sharper than I intend, and I soften it. “You didn’t ask that.”

I look at him, and really look at him. He’s frowning, but his face is contemplative. I’ve got a view of his right side, there’s no scars on his right side. He’s unblemished and beautiful, but he looks a little disappointed.

I continue, “You asked if I had a dream job, not if I have a dream.”

I hate how people dump all wants into a career, like we’re nothing but worker bees. Like there’s nothing more to life than the title we slap on our capabilities. It drives me mad.

“All right,” he relents. “Do you have a dream?”

“I do,” I say but I offer nothing more.

He chuckles. “Are you going to leave me in suspense all night?”

“Maybe.” I shove my hands between my thighs because even though the heat is blasting, it’s still cold. Cottonwood Hollow, and the snow that falls on it, is cold. I’m used to warm.

“Come on, Sadie. Give it to me.”

Well, when he asks like that…

“My mom and dad were great parents. Mom was always there for me. Always. And Dad—he was too. He worked and Mom dabbled in the workforce when I got older. She waitressed some, did some time at a car wash, a greenhouse, and finally found her joy working part time in a crafting store.” I smile at the memory, even though it makes my eyes shine with emotion. “Mom loved the craft store. She loved to craft, and knit, and crochet. I hate crafts. I don’t have the patience for it like Mom did. But she loved it. So, while I was in school, she worked. She brought in a small pay check. And mostly, it covered her habit of crafting, but she was happy. They were happy. And I was happy.”

“All right.” He looks confused, but he’s listening.

I continue, “I’ve always wanted what they had. A marriage that’s strong, and healthy, and good. I don’t need fancy things. I don’t care about a fancy car. And I don’t need the nicest house on the block. I need safe and secure and happy and reliable. That’s all I want. That’s my dream.”

“I’m confused,” he says, his voice a little rough. I love when his voice gets rough. It makes me feel things deep inside of me. Sexy things. Intense things. Hot, weighted, deep things.

“I want to be a mom, Nick.” I swallow hard at the emotion I feel swelling in my throat. “I want to be a mom for my babies like my mom was for me. Because she was the best.” My voice cracks on the last part and I can feel his dark gaze on me, but I can’t look at him as I press on. “I want a man who’s going to be a good father. I don’t want a man who’s so obsessed with his job that he can’t make it to his kid’s soccer game or Christmas concert or holiday dinner. That doesn’t appeal to me. The things that come with the big fancy pay check don’t appeal to me.”

When I stop, he seems to sense there’s more because he urges, “Go on.”

“If I have to give up time with my family to have all those fancy things and the big career, then that’s not what I want. That’s not what I want for my kids. And I won’t settle for anything less than a beautiful family for my kids—for myself. So, I don’t want to go to school for a big fancy job. I just want to meet a good man that’s going to work with me to give our family all that.”

“I see.”

“Maybe that’s old fashioned. And you can judge,” I put my hand up between us. “If you need to, you can judge, that’s on you. But it won’t change what I want.”

He’s silent for a minute, processing, I think. I wonder if I’ve just become unattractive to him, because I don’t yearn for a career. I yearn for a family. I yearn for old-fashioned beauty. And I don’t care if that is so far away from the feminist view of the world today, because it’s what I want deep in my heart.

I don’t want to be powerful. I want to be peaceful.

I already know what he does for work, so I ask, “Have you always wanted to be in marketing?”

“Yeah,” he answers simply.

He never gives me much. Sometimes conversations with Nick feel like I’m pulling teeth. It’s not fair. I give him so much and he gives me so little in return.

“Nick,” I call, frustrated. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

His eyes slide to me, his brows knitting. “We are talking, Sadie.”

“No, I’m talking. You’re giving me a few words.”

“You want more?” He grins, like he knows he’s ticking me off.

I huff, “Of course.”

“I’ve always wanted to go into marketing. I’m good at reading people. Good at judging what they’re into—what they want.” That’s a lot of words for Nick, so I’m surprised when he continues. “I’m good at what I do. But I also work a lot right now.”

I can’t help the crushing disappointment that slams down on my heart. He seems to see it because he reaches over to drop a large hand on my thigh, squeezing gently.

Gently, he tells me, “I work a lot because I don’t have anything else in my life, Sadie. If I had someone in my life—if I had a family, I probably wouldn’t work so much.” My eyes jump to his and my breath snags in my chest. “I definitely wouldn’t miss soccer games and Christmas concerts.” His voice lowers to a pitch that nearly melts me from the inside out. “I would never miss Holiday dinners.”

He holds my eyes for a beat, and I know they are filled with hope.

This is so insane that I can feel this kind of hope for a man I’ve known for less than two weeks.

I’m insane.

Anybody looking in on my life right now would commit me to the nearest psychiatric hospital, and they would have every right. Seriously, I would get it.

I would think the same way if I were the one standing on the outside looking in.

But I’m the one in this. I’m the one feeling this, and this doesn’t feel fake. It feels real. It feels like fate.

I feel like this man was made for me, and I was made for him.

Just like I believe Mom was made for Dad.

I want this. I want Nick, and this life I have painted in my mind of a dream so beautiful I never want to let it go.

“Does it bother you that I don’t want to have a career?” I ask hesitantly.

“No.”

“Really?” I push.

“No, baby, it doesn’t. If you don’t want a career, don’t have one. If you want to raise babies, raise babies. You want to be a wife? Be a wife. You don’t have to have a career to have worth. Allie doesn’t work, and she’s one of the most worthy women I know.” On an afterthought, he adds, “Probably one of the most busy I know as well.”

I smile big, and a grin hitches his mouth in return.

Breathlessly, but needing to know, I ask, “What do you want?”

He peers sideways at me. “Are you asking me if I want babies, Sadie?”

“I guess I am.”

“Yeah, I do.” My heart feels fluttery and light, slippery and buttery in my chest. I take a quick, hitched inhale that gets caught in my throat when he continues, “You’ll make a beautiful mother.”

“I think you will make a great father too.”

His voice is husky and filled with emotion so hot, the flames of it burn me. “What about a husband?”

The air between us grows thick as I whisper, “The best.”