Chapter 13

Who knew the surprise interview wasn’t going to be the most stressful part of Eloise’s day? She stopped outside Nate’s log cabin and paused. Light spilled out through the windows and smoke from the chimney curled into the starry sky.

The last time she’d been here, she’d … ahem. That was never happening again.

Steeling herself against the night-time chill that greeted her when she opened her car door, Eloise stepped out. She took her time retrieving her laptop bag and the sketchbook she used for jotting down ideas.

A shadow crossed the big window next to the door, and Echo came barrelling down the three front steps.

“Hey, girl.” Eloise scratched the dog’s head before locking her car even though there was no one else around. The closest people would be at the James’ farmhouse, its lights nothing more than a few specks in the distance.

It was criminal how good Nate looked in an apron, a streak of flour across his cheek, his slouchy grey beanie back on his head. Once she was closer, she could read what was embroidered onto the navy fabric. Underneath an arrow that pointed upwards were the words: I Get It From My Mama.

“Nice apron,” she murmured.

“Mum gets a perverse amount of enjoyment from giving us stuff like this.”

“It’s why she gets along so well with Joanie.” Eloise clutched her laptop bag and sketchpad to her chest.

“Come in.” Nate pulled the screen door open and gestured for her to go first.

It was much warmer inside thanks to the wood burning in the hot box. Eloise toed off her shoes and placed her backpack next to the turquoise key bowl on the elm sideboard. She’d made it as a welcome-home gift for Nate. She flushed, remembering how she’d explained that the unfinished edges signified his best work was still to come. While everyone had been lamenting what a shame it was that his NFL career was over, she’d wanted to gently remind him that there would still be plenty of adventures ahead for him to look forward to.

Eloise let her gaze coast over his kitchen and living room properly. The last time she’d been here, she’d been too hungover and mortified to notice all the little touches that made it clear this was Nate’s home. She edged closer to the collection of framed black-and-white photographs on the wall behind the dark tan leather couch. There was an empty NFL stadium, a tower of lights covered in rain and a locker with JAMES printed in bold across the top, football boots, a gym bag and a stack of paperbacks tucked neatly inside it. The shots Nate chose to display confirmed how humble he was. Framed jerseys or images of him with the Lombardi Trophy wouldn’t have been out of place here, but all he had were subtle reminders of what had once been his life. The two large bookcases that were nestled amongst the navy curtains matched the sideboard underneath the long window next to his front door. A row of shoes were kicked underneath it. Three big boxes stamped with pictures of books were stacked next to them, wrapped in orange and black ‘heavy’ tape.

“Is this what I think it is?” She trailed her fingers over the top of the nearest box.

“Depends. What do you think it is?”

“Your new book.”

“Those are my author copies. My agent always thinks I have more friends and family than I do.”

“So, sitting right here is the book I’ve been dying to read ever since I finished book three?”

The smallest smile appeared on Nate’s face, stealing Eloise’s breath.

“Do you want one?”

Her mouth dropped open. Uh, yeah, even if things were still off kilter between them. Romance was usually more her speed, but Nate could rewrite the phone book and she’d read it. The way he managed to inject an almost lyrical quality to his books made it easy to devour them, even if they were about heavier topics than she usually went for. “But it doesn’t come out for like three months.”

“I know the author.” Nate winked. A traitorously fluttery feeling spread throughout Eloise’s body.

He just wants to be friends.

This is him being friendly.

“Would you sign it for me?”

Oh, Jesus. Embarrassed Nate was even more attractive than Pizza Making Nate, his eyes brightening, tongue peeking out just the tiniest bit before disappearing. “Of course,” he whispered. “Let’s make dinner first and figure out what Joan and Mum have got us into. I’ll get you a book in a bit. You can have the very first one.”

“I’d like that,” Eloise said.

* * *

Nate tossedhis crust back onto his plate.

“Scared your hair will go curly?” Eloise teased and thank God she did. Over the course of two homemade pizzas, they’d found their way back to a place that was more like their old friendship than Nate had dared hope for.

“Isn’t that just bread crusts?”

Eloise placed her plate on the coffee table and leant back, tucking her socked feet underneath her knees as she crossed her legs. She looked good on his couch in her comfy clothes, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Nate was inordinately jealous of the sketchpad on her lap. He’d have liked to rest his head there, have her fingers in his hair.

“I was thinking about this on the drive home,” Nate started. “KPs basically offers this program already. It’s just not presented cohesively and badged as mindfulness. If you were to add something physical to your art classes—just a few minutes at the start, that sort of thing—and then we do the reverse in my training sessions, we could have this up and running in no time.”

“We could open each session with a bit of Tai Chi or a few stretches focusing on posture and relaxation.”

“Exactly. And I add a bit of breathwork and meditation into the warm-up and cool down before training, too. Really focus on getting into the right mindset and being grateful for everything our bodies can do. Journaling is something that I’ve found helpful too. We could make a book that included space for that, the training schedule and some positive mantras and affirmations.”

Eloise’s pen scratched against the thick paper. “I like this a lot. It won’t be that much extra work either.”

“I can help with this stuff. I know you’re busy.”

“Says the guy on deadline for the book thousands of people are waiting for. Maybe we could use one of your paintings or sketches as the cover, though?”

“Can you keep another secret?”

Eloise nodded, her brown eyes sparkling with interest.

“The final book’s done. I’m waiting for Garrett’s revisions.” Knowing the draft was complete was the biggest weight off Nate’s shoulders, especially considering Jemima Jenkins’ team still hadn’t sent through the contract.

“Wow. Are you happy with it?”

Nate relaxed back against the couch, noticing how their feet were almost touching. “I am. Once I figured out what I wanted to say, it was easy.”

“I can’t wait to read it. What are you working on now? A new story? Or are you taking a break?”

There was no way he could admit what he was doing now. Especially not to Eloise. Besides, this was just for him. Nate hesitated, searching for the right way to describe his secret project. “I’m free writing, which isn’t something I’ve done a lot of before.”

The cutest little furrow appeared between her eyebrows, and Nate desperately wanted to reach over and smooth it out with his thumb.

“Excuse my ignorance”—Eloise shifted so she was facing him—“but what does that mean?”

Talking about his writing wasn’t something that came naturally to Nate. He’d always shied away from it at first, unsure what people would think about an ex-professional NFL player who was suddenly writing books about a small-town police station. He’d seriously considered using a pen name before Garrett had talked him out of it, arguing that his name would get him the exposure he needed to become established.

But with Eloise? The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, ready to flow right out of him. He held back the ones that would cause problems for their friendship but allowed himself to share a little slice of his life with her.

“I’m less structured in my approach and learning about the characters as I go. It’s less about trying to fit them into the plot and more like a choose-your-own-adventure story.”

He paused, the realisation crystalising at such a startling rate that it stole his breath. “I’m writing for fun. Not that SMK?—”

“Always with the acronyms,” Eloise teased.

“—wasn’t fun because it was, but once it became successful, which I will always be grateful for, there was a lot of pressure. From my agent. The publisher. And myself. But this thing I’m working on now? It won’t ever be published. It’s just for me. A way to reset. Kind of like what we’re hoping to achieve by merging these two programs.”

Eloise toyed with the sleeves of her jumper. “I’m going to suggest something, but you can say no. Honestly. I don’t mind if you do.”

That sounded ominous.

“Would you be interested in giving a talk at KPs?—”

“Always with the acronyms,” Nate interjected just to earn himself one of her sweet, soft laughs.

“—about how balancing being active and creative has helped you? We could use it to launch the new program.”

The idea of being back in the spotlight, no matter how small, made Nate pause, his mind whirring away about what everyone would say, but the hope in Eloise’s eyes pushed away all his worry.

“I might be able to do something even better.”

Bianca was still pestering him about doing a profile on life after the NFL. This would be the perfect way to get her off his back while controlling the narrative and getting some free publicity for KPs.

Eloise raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, her bun listing to one side.

“But you’re not going to like who it involves working with …”