Chapter 8

I've only beenin my room ten minutes—barely long enough to pee, check my teeth, and change into leggings—when a knock sounds on my door. The main door, not the one connecting my room to Nathan's.

I still can't get over how he literally fell into my room earlier. I thought my heart might stop. I couldn't see his face—he was just this giant blur of a man—and I panicked.

Then I realized it was him, and my heart started pounding for an entirely different reason.

I look through the peephole and recognize Nathan, then give myself a tiny mental pep talk.

I can do this. I can control my feelings. I can squelch a teeny tiny crush and move on.

I open the door and smile. "Hi," I say, gesturing for him to come in.

"Hey." He steps inside, and I close the door and move into the room.

He follows behind me, almost bumping into me when I stop at the foot of the bed. It's possible we didn't really think this through. There's nowhere to sit in here, not unless we want to sprawl out on the duvet, which doesn't exactly feel conducive to a serious conversation about his brother's legal trouble, especially when I'm also trying to quell my growing feelings.

The only chair is all the way in the corner, facing the built-in desk. At least he can sit in that one. I'll just have to make perching on the edge of my bed not seem awkward.

"Do you want to take the chair?" I ask, gesturing toward it.

"Sure."

I'm standing at the foot of the bed when he moves past, and he lifts a hand to my arm, his fingers grazing over my elbow as he steps around me.

The warmth from his fingertips lingers, and I lift my opposite hand to cover the spot he touched.

It's silly that I'm responding like this, though it's possible it only feels silly because now I know he's not interested. Before the friend zone conversation, I would have found that little bit of physical touch thrilling. Even promising.

But nope, nothing promising happening here. Nathan just needs some legal advice. Whoop-de-freaking-doo.

I sit on the side of the bed while Nathan picks up the chair and moves it closer. Then he pulls a bag of Peanut MMs out of his back pocket, holding them up.

"I thought since you said you weren't above bribery…"

Oh. my. gosh.

Nathan brought me MMs. Is he trying to kill me here? Making himself irresistible while simultaneously telling me he's completely off-limits?

"That's what you had to do downstairs?" I say, reaching for the bag. "You had to buy MMs for me?"

"Let's call it a thank you," he says as he lowers himself into the chair.

"Don't thank me yet. I'm not even sure I can help." I grab a couple of shrink-wrapped plastic cups from the bathroom counter, then return to my spot and open the MMs. Without even thinking, I immediately start sorting them into the cups by color.

"Seems like you've done this before," Nathan says, nodding toward the cups.

"Only about a million times," I say. "My twin is a weirdo who doesn't like to eat blue food, so we've been dividing MMs since we were kids. I get yellow, orange, and blue, she gets red, brown, and green."

"Why blue?"

"A traumatic incident when we were six involving a stomach virus and a blue raspberry iCEE."

"Sounds…painful?" Nathan says.

"And gross." I hold out one of the cups. "Do you have any problems with red, brown, or green?"

He takes it and immediately pops a green MM into his mouth. "Not even a little bit."

I don't know why it makes me so happy that he's willing to eat an MM. Maybe because he's a professional athlete who only ate salad while his teammates scarfed down two enormous pizzas, and this makes him seem a little more normal? Granted, it was the second time we ate tonight, and I have no idea what he ate when we were at Chipotle. He could have had two burritos for all I know.

"After you ate mostly salad at dinner—second dinner—I wasn't sure you'd want an MM."

"Peanuts are full of protein," he says. "They're allowed."

I smile. "I tell my sister all the time that peanut MMs don't count as dessert because of the protein. It's also the reason I can eat oatmeal cookies for breakfast. Because oatmeal."

He chuckles, giving me a small glimpse of his smile and making me wish for so much more. "You wouldn't believe some of the stuff we eat on the road. We can't always be picky, so we opt for getting any kind of calories over getting the right kind."

"I guess fuel is fuel?" I say as I eat another MM.

"So, what's it like having an identical twin? Hearing her voice earlier—you guys sound exactly alike."

"Hearing her voice…oh, you mean when you eavesdropped on my private conversation," I tease.

Nathan keeps his eyes down while he eats another MM, then looks up, his expression sheepish and utterly adorable.

It really, really isn't fair for him to be so gorgeous. Especially not when he's here, in my hotel room, and we're alone.

"When I accidentally fell through a door that wasn't locked and wasn't closed all the way," he says.

"Uh-huh. Whatever you have to tell yourself."

"Were we talking about Lucy? I'd love to hear more," he says, and I roll my eyes.

"Lucy is my favorite person on the planet. We talk every day. Usually more than once. And we pretty much tell each other everything." Which is why I was telling her about you.

"Do people get you mixed up?" he asks. It's not lost on me that right now, Nathan is the one asking the questions. He's the one trying to get to know me, which feels strange and exhilarating at the same time.

"You know, for being a guy who doesn't like to talk, you sure ask thoughtful questions."

He holds my gaze as he pops another MM in his mouth. "I can communicate well…when I want to."

A blush creeps up my cheeks, but that wasn't really a compliment, was it? If he's about to ask me a legal question, of course he's communicating well. It's in his best interest.

It is interesting to hear this though. I'm guessing people often assume Nathan's reticence is due to a lack of ability. But that's clearly not the case.

"Her hair is shorter now," I say, "so unless our hair is up like it is in the wedding photo I showed you, it's easier to tell us apart. But yeah. When we were really young, we could even trick our parents."

"Are your personalities the same?" Nathan tosses the last few MMs into his mouth and leans forward to set the cup on the nightstand. The first time I ran into Nathan outside the Summit, his eyes were light, bright blue. But here, in my lamplit hotel room, they look more like the deepest part of the ocean, a dark, fathomless navy framed by those thick lashes that make me ache with envy.

My eyes inadvertently drop to his lips, and for a split second, I let myself think about what it would feel like to kiss him. To run my hand across his beard and…no. Nope.

We're killing the crush, not feeding it thoughts like that.

I shove three MMs into my mouth at once, finishing them off. "In some ways," I say through a mouthful of chocolate. This can't be attractive, but if I feel repulsive, maybe I'll stop thinking so many not repulsive thoughts. "We like a lot of the same things, but Lucy's a little gentler than I am. I'm older by seven minutes, and I've always been slightly bossier, a little more willing to be confrontational. She's great with people, though. Her emotional intelligence is really high, which is usually amazing but sometimes annoying because she tends to recognize how I feel about stuff before I do."

"She's not in Harvest Hollow, right? Is she close?"

A twinge of sadness fills my chest as I shake my head. "She's down in Silver Creek. Which isn't that far. I can be at her front door in less than two hours. But it feels far. What about you? Do you have siblings?"

He nods. "Two. A younger sister, Cassie. She's married and has two daughters. And a little brother—Blake."

"Are you close?"

"As close as we can be. Cassie lives in Portland where we grew up and Blake is in Boston, so I don't see them as much as I'd like. But we do all right."

"Do you like being an uncle?"

Nathan's expression shifts in a way that makes warmth surge through my body. "It's great," he says. "Her girls are hilarious." He pulls out his phone and scrolls to a picture, handing it over like only a doting uncle can. "Allie and Caroline. Allie is the oldest, and she just turned four. She has cerebral palsy, but she doesn't let it slow her down. I can't get enough of that kid. For being so little, she has this weirdly spot-on comedic timing that I love. Then there's Caroline. She's almost two and is just as sweet as she looks."

I hand the phone back, my heart feeling a little too big for my chest. "They seem really great."

"They are. And Cassie too. Our mom lives with her and her husband. I'm glad about that. Since I can't be closer."

I breathe out a sigh. "I hate living away from my family. Especially Lucy. The only other time we've ever lived apart was in college."

"Which is where you met Gracie, right?"

"Yes! Love her. She was my roommate freshman year."

"She seems good for Felix," Nathan says, almost begrudgingly, and I immediately think of our conversation at dinner.

"She is good for Felix," I say. "Is that hard for you to admit, Mr. No-Relationships?"

He meets my gaze, his expression serious. "No. I'm happy he's happy. He can do whatever he wants. I just…don't want to take the same risk."

The same disappointment from earlier pings around in my chest, but confusion is close on its heels because I have a very hard time understanding why anyone would be against relationships. Maybe I'm too optimistic because my parents are still in love—that, and I grew up on a steady diet of romantic comedies in both book and movie format. Not to mention the insanely epic love story I just saw play out in my sister Audrey's life. The way she fell in love with Flint Hawthorne really could be turned into a movie—and Flint could star as himself.

Even though my own dating life has been less than stellar—I've had a long string of first dates that ended up being last dates over the past few years—I've never given up hope.

I will meet someone. And when I do, we will fall in love and make each other happy, and life will be better because of it.

It's totally fine if other people feel differently. Happiness doesn't have to look the same for everyone.

But I do wish Nathan's idea of happiness looked a little more like mine.

I clear my throat. "So!" I say a little too brightly. "You wanted to ask me something about your brother?"

Nathan's expression immediately sobers, and he runs a hand across his beard, his whole body tensing.

"You worked for the DA, right?" he says.

When I nod, Nathan launches into a somewhat disjointed story about his younger brother. With a few clarifying questions, I'm able to piece things together. Basically, his brother Blake is on scholarship at a fancy prep school in Boston and was out, on a Friday night, with some older guys from the team. They broke into someone's house to steal booze and cash, but Blake was tasked with staying in the car. The getaway car, apparently, but Blake didn't know what was happening until it was too late.

"I guess these other kids," Nathan says, "their parents have a lot of money and there's some big attorney working for them. But—Blake's the scholarship kid. No one's really trying to stand up for him."

"What about Blake's attorney?"

"His name is Justin Wilkes. I've been trying to reach him the past couple of weeks, but he keeps dodging my calls. The one time we actually spoke, he didn't seem all that interested in helping Blake."

I pull my feet up onto the bed and tuck them under me. "Is he someone you hired? Or a public defender?"

"The court appointed him," Nathan says. "I thought about trying to find him someone else, but short of just picking a random name off the internet, I didn't really know where to start."

I nod, easily imagining how frustrating this whole experience probably has been for Nathan and his family. "Even a random name could be better than a public defender. They're usually overworked and underpaid and they never have enough help."

Nathan nods. "Sounds about right. But I'm worried about this plea deal. The last time I talked to Blake, he made it seem like the other guys are trying to pin everything on him. And now his attorney is saying he got Blake a deal, but why would he plead guilty if he didn't even know why they were at the house? He was just driving the car."

"Do you know what the deal was?" I ask.

"I haven't talked to the attorney, but my mom said something about juvenile detention and community service. If that happens, he'll stop playing hockey, and that's the last thing he needs."

I've never heard Nathan say so many words at one time. On the one hand, I love the deep rumble of his voice. On the other, it makes my heart hurt to know it's his distress over his brother that's making him say anything at all.

There are so many questions I could ask, questions I would ask if this were my case, if Blake were sitting in front of me. As it stands, it won't do Nathan any good for me to give him hope based on conjecture and conclusions I'm in no position to reach. But I do think I can help him.

Even more than that, I really want to help him. And not just because I want to see justice done or because Nathan's a good guy and it sounds like Blake is a good kid. There's definitely something else happening here too.

I want to help because I want Nathan to like me. I want him to change his mind.

"Nathan, could your mother afford to hire another attorney for Blake?"

His eyebrows lift. "How much are we talking?"

"A lot. Tens of thousands of dollars, minimum."

He frowns. "She definitely couldn't. But…" His eyes glaze over for a moment, like he's calculating numbers in his brain, then he nods, his expression resolute. "I could. I could make it work."

I still hesitate. I don't know what Nathan's personal financial situation looks like, but I do know what he makes as an Appie. The players do significantly better than your typical minor league team, but they aren't making NHL-level salaries. With the endorsement and branding deals they're getting, they might be coming close, but how many of those deals does Nathan have? I know what Flex is offering him, and he'd probably need most of it to pay for a top-tier attorney.

But we can worry about that part later. Assuming I can even make this work.

I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find the name I'm looking for.

Franklin Mercer.

"So, I don't want to overstep here," I say to Nathan, "but I have a friend from law school who lives in Boston. I don't know if he'll be in a position to help, but I do know he's practicing criminal law, so if he can't take this on personally, he'll know someone who can. Can I call him for you? I trust him completely, or I wouldn't even ask."

Nathan sits up, his hands gripping the tops of his knees, his expression completely disbelieving. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. I'd be happy to help." I notice the time on my phone and grimace. "I shouldn't call this late. But I can text him and see if he has time to talk tomorrow." I start typing up the message, then look up at Nathan. "Can you text me your brother's name and any information you have about the case? His current attorney's name, the date the crime happened, where he's in school, that sort of thing."

Nathan nods and reaches for his phone. "I can, but I don't have your number." He moves to the bed and sits down beside me, close enough to hand me his phone. "Can you give it to me?"

A tiny thrill shoots through me as I take his phone and program my number into his contacts, then send myself a quick text so I'll have his number too. I shouldn't care if I have his number—this is basically a business transaction—but the more time I spend with Nathan, the more my brain seems to blatantly disregard what it knows to be true. Nathan isn't interested in a relationship. Not with me. Not with anyone.

So why am I still so excited about this?

"Done," I say as I hand his phone back. His fingers brush against mine as he takes it, and goosebumps race up my arm.

Stupid goosebumps. Stupid arm. Stupid man with his stupid opinions about relationships.

"I'm sure I'll hear back from Franklin soon. I'll let you know as soon as I do."

Nathan nods before pulling his hair out of the ponytail it's been in all evening and running his fingers across his scalp. It's a mesmerizing thing to watch; Nathan is giving off strong Chris-Hemsworth-as-Thor vibes, and it's all I can do not to reach up and touch his hair.

When my phone vibrates with an incoming FaceTime call, I almost sigh with relief at the distraction. I have got to spend less time thinking about what it would feel like to touch Nathan.

"Oh my gosh," I say, looking at my phone. "That's Franklin now. Give me a sec?"

Nathan nods, and I move to the opposite side of the hotel room, next to the window, to answer the call.

"Well, if it isn't Summer Callahan," Franklin says as soon as his face pops into the screen. His hair is shorter than it was the last time we had a video call, and he's wearing new glasses, the light blue frames a contrast to his deep brown skin. But he's just as handsome and perfect as ever, and it makes my heart happy to see him.

"Franklin Mercer," I say through a huge smile. "It is so good to hear your voice."

"Same. How long has it been? You look great."

"Thanks. You too. How's Boston?"

"Freezing. How's your jerk of a boss? You need me to come down there and beat him up?"

"Um, not my boss anymore, actually," I say. "I started a new job a couple of weeks ago."

"Please tell me you got him fired in the process," Franklin says, his expression stern.

I glance over at Nathan, who is sitting on the bed staring at his phone, likely trying to look preoccupied, but his body is perfectly still, so I'm sure he's listening.

It's a little weird to have this conversation in front of him, but at this point, it would feel more weird to just leave, so what choice do I have? And honestly, if Nathan asked me about my former boss, I'd tell him.

"Not fired, unfortunately. I filed a complaint with HR, and they said they would look into it, but if anything happened, it wasn't public. I got the sense no one was particularly interested in ruining the reputation of a well-respected member of the community."

Franklin frowns. "I'm sorry, Summer. That's truly awful."

I shrug. "It was only ever his words. You know that's harder to prove."

"Yeah, especially when you're a part of the good old boys' club."

"Oh, he's definitely a part of that club. But good riddance, and now I'm working somewhere much better."

"Anywhere is lucky to have you," Franklin says. "Where did you end up?"

"Nowhere you would ever guess," I say, glancing at Nathan. "I'm working for the Appies hockey team."

Franklin smiles wide. "For real? I watch their stuff on TikTok all the time."

"For real. I started a few weeks ago."

"You know what?" Franklin's voice takes on a teasing lilt. "This feels like a better fit. I always thought you were too soft for criminal law."

Across the room, Nathan shifts and grunts.

"Franklin Mercer, you stop it right now. You're just bitter I beat you in mock trial."

His smile turns genuine. "I'd have been bitter had I lost to anyone but you. Now, what can I do for you? You said you needed a favor?"

I give Franklin a quick rundown of Blake's situation and his family's frustration with the court-appointed attorney, filling in the details as best I can from what Nathan told me.

"So, who is this kid again?" Franklin asks. "His last name is Sanders?"

I nod. "He's the little brother of one of the Appies. Nathan Sanders."

Franklin looks up from the notes he's been scribbling for the last few minutes. "The defender? Crazy tall. Man bun? Permanent frown?"

I press my lips together to keep from smiling at Franklin's astute description of Nathan. "I didn't know you were such a fan."

"Are you kidding? I love the Appies. I can't believe you actually know Nathan Sanders. Is he as hot and broody in real life?"

I look past the phone to Nathan, who is frozen in place, looking incredibly uncomfortable. I debate whether I should flip my camera around and let Franklin say hello himself, but then he'd see that we're very obviously in a hotel room together, which would trigger a round of questions I'm not prepared to answer. Especially not with Nathan listening.

"I plead the fifth on hotness," I say, glancing over to see his reaction, "but he's pretty broody. And he has this weird thing about parking spaces."

Nathan looks up and rolls his eyes, his mouth lifting in an almost-grin.

"So, what do you think?" I ask Franklin. "Can you ask around? See if Blake's attorney is doing things right?"

"You got it. Anything for you. I'll make some calls first thing tomorrow."

We say goodbye, and I slip my phone into the side pocket of my leggings before making my way back to Nathan.

He's leaning forward, his elbows propped on his knees. His phone is beside him on the bed.

"Well, I think that went well," I say, sitting down beside him. "If anyone can sort this out, it's Franklin. He's so good and so smart, and I really think he'll be able to help."

Nathan slowly nods. "Yeah. That's…thank you. I appreciate you doing that."

There's something slightly off about Nathan's tone, but I can't quite put my finger on what. It could just be that he's feeling emotional about Blake finally getting some help. Or maybe he's tired of my company?

He clears his throat. "So, Franklin, huh? Sounds like you know this guy pretty well."

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. We went through all three years of law school together."

"So, you two were…close."

I pause, letting his words replay in my brain.

Could the weirdness I'm sensing actually be that Nathan is jealous?

Franklin has always been generous with his compliments, and he delivered more than one in our short conversation, a conversation Nathan heard in full.

I feel a sudden need to push, to see just how much Nathan will react. Not because I normally make a game out of pushing Nathan's buttons, but because I get the sense that despite saying he doesn't want a relationship, there's something happening between us. I don't think I'm imagining it, and now, I really need to know.

"Oh, yeah," I say. "We were super close. He was my favorite study partner." As was his girlfriend, now wife, Andi, who was also in law school with us. But I'm not about to admit that to Nathan. Not yet, anyway. "He used to bring me donuts from this little bakery right next to campus. Man, I loved those donuts."

I don't think I've ever made donuts sound so sultry, and my efforts absolutely pay off.

Nathan clears his throat again, loudly, then stifles a cough.

I shift, changing positions so I'm sitting directly beside him, our thighs touching.

"Nathan?" I ask, and he looks over at me, the skin above his beard revealing a touch of pink. "Why do you care how well I know Franklin?"

"I don't," he says quickly. Too quickly. "I just…want to make sure he's someone we can trust."

"I already told you I trust him," I say.

"Right. You did. So…we're good then. Thank you for reaching out to him."

"I was happy to do it." I lift a hand and tap my chin. "I do have one regret, though. We didn't talk enough about Andi or the twins."

"Andi?"

"Mmhmm. Franklin's wife."

Nathan's head swivels to face me. "Franklin is married?"

"And he was married the entire time we were in law school," I say.

"So you guys never dated?"

"Honestly, I would have dated him. He's gorgeous and sweet and so fun to be around. But the man fell in love with Andi when he was fourteen, and they've been together ever since. They got married the summer after they finished undergrad."

Nathan huffs and stands up. "You did that on purpose."

I lift my eyebrows, standing up right beside him. "Did what?"

"You made it seem like you dated him."

"Because you sounded jealous," I say, propping my hands on my hips. "Which makes zero sense, since we aren't dating and you said you don't do relationships."

"I was not jealous," Nathan grumbles, but the deepening color in his cheeks says something different.

"Look me right in the eye and say it again," I challenge.

Nathan looks down at me—the man really is so tall—fire blazing in his deep blue eyes. We're standing close, only inches separating us, and the air is sharp with attraction and want.

He licks his lips, leaning forward the slightest bit, and for the second time tonight, I think about kissing him.

I've never dated anyone quite so tall or quite so muscular. Never even met a professional athlete until taking this job. But I have a very active imagination, and it isn't hard to conjure up exactly how it might feel to wrap my arms around his waist and lean into his solid body, to revel in the warmth of him, the weight of him as he hugs me back.

But jealousy is a fickle emotion. It isn't reliable or logical or sensible.

I have to trust what Nathan tells me with his words before I trust anything else. And those words made it perfectly clear he isn't interested in pursuing any kind of anything with me.

Letting myself fantasize about things that are never going to happen is a punishment I don't deserve. Which means I should be the one to end whatever this moment is. To send him back to his own hotel room and put myself to bed.

I clear my throat and take a giant step backward. "You know what? Forget I asked. You weren't jealous. I'll totally take your word for it." I press my hands into my lower back and take a deep, clarifying breath. "I think I'm ready to call it a night."

He nods. "Yeah. Of course. I'm feeling pretty tired."

"Same. So tired," I repeat, ushering him toward the door.

Everything about the last thirty seconds has been strained and awkward and weird, but I don't even care. I just need him gone. So I can breathe. So I can think. So I can figure out how I'm ever going to keep myself from falling for him.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" I say, hand on the doorknob.

Nathan is in the hallway now, his own room key already in his hand. It's not like he has to go far. He's literally going to be one wall away all night long. I can't even think about the distraction that's going to be. The thought of Nathan lounging on his bed. Nathan changing into pajamas. Nathan taking a shower, then walking around his room in a towel.

That very active imagination I mentioned is going to be torturing me all night long, but it has to at least be better than having him in my room.

"Yeah. Tomorrow," he finally says. He holds my gaze for an extra-long moment. "Thanks again for tonight. For calling Franklin. I'm sorry for making things weird."

It was more like he lit my entire body on fire just by looking at me, but sure! Let's go with weird.

"It's fine," I say. "I'm happy to help. And I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything back from Franklin."

We say goodnight, and I collapse onto my bed like a starfish, staring up at the hotel ceiling, and take several slow, deliberate breaths.

I can do this. I can get over whatever this is. I can stop thinking about the intensity behind Nathan's blue eyes whenever he looks at me. I can stop myself from planning the next time I'll see him. From thinking about the next time I'll have a reason to text him or talk to him. I can not obsess about how close he is on the other side of my hotel room wall.

I pull a pillow onto my face and groan. But even that makes me think of Nathan, because he's freaking right next door, and now I'm stressed about whether he heard me.

I toss the pillow at the headboard and sigh.

Operation Kill-My-Crush is off to a woefully dismal start.