Protect Me(66)
“A friend you slept with from time to time?” I ask with a knowing smile. Let’s face it: Nate is hot. Any woman in Rivers Edge, St. Charles, and, well, the entire Midwest can see that. Case in point: the slutty hostess.
“Yeah,” Nate says and holds firmly onto my hand like he’s afraid I’m going to pull away and fly out of the restaurant.
“It’s okay, Nate. You don’t have to explain anything to me,” I tell him. And it’s true. Whoever Nate slept with in the past isn’t really any of my business. I know that Nate wasn’t a virgin when I met him. Hell, the man has moves that are legendary. However, it still doesn’t settle that uneasy fluttering in my chest.
“Yes, I do. I haven’t really told you too much about my past, Lia. I want you to know everything. I have nothing to hide from you,” Nate says.
Nate takes a big drink from his beer bottle before he begins. “When I was in high school, I fell hard for a girl named Jill. She was my first everything. I was completely shocked that she even liked me, let alone loved me. When we graduated high school, I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I was heading off to the fire academy within a few weeks, and I knew that I wanted her waiting for me when I returned, even though she was heading off to college. I proposed to her and she said no,” Nate says.
My heart is beating at an unhealthy level and my breathing is coming out in quick pants. How could anyone tell Nate Stevens no? He’s the kind of man any woman would love to marry. Smart. Funny. Loyal. Sexy as sin.
“She told me no because she was afraid I would make her a widow because of my job. She also wanted to go out and live life, not be saddled down at eighteen and expected to start popping out kids.”
Nate’s hands have a slight tremor in them as he tells me about Jill. His eyes are dark and stormy as he continues. “So, I decided right then and there that I would never put a woman in that position. My job could take me on any given day, and it’s not fair to her to sit back and deal with the aftermath. If I don’t get married, then there’s no chance of her getting hurt. That’s why I’ve dated casually, but not seriously. I can’t take that chance.”
I sit there, absorbing everything he’s confessed to me. I knew that Nate didn’t intend to marry, but I didn’t realize the extent of his hurt. Fourteen? Fifteen years? That’s a long time to hold on to hurt and pain of a lost love.
“Nate, there are dangerous jobs everywhere. You could be driving to the grocery store or crossing the street and be involved in an accident. Yes, your job is dangerous, but you save lives. That’s what you do. It’s who you are. The right woman won’t care about your job or the fact that you may not come home one night. The right woman will only care about the fact that she had you at all; for whatever amount of time that would be. The right woman would want to be with you for however long you both have together because she loves you so much, she can’t imagine not having you in her life. The pain of losing you would be more bearable than the lifetime of regret. The right woman will be worth the risk.”
A woman like me, my brain practically screams at me.
Nate stares deeply into my eyes. I’m lost in the sea of color and intense feelings that are swirling around within them. It’s at this exact moment that I want to tell him that I’m that woman. That I love him for who he is and that I would be honored to have him for a day, a year, or a lifetime. I’d take whatever amount of time I was given.
But, I know that our time is limited.
“What if I already found her?” Nate asks in a soft, yet husky voice. My insides practically explode with joy and sadness.
How do you answer that when you know you will eventually leave? How do you tell the man you love that you, in fact, do love him but you can’t stay? How do you tell the man that you see spending the rest of your life with that you’re going to break his heart, just like the woman before you did?
Our food arrives at that exact moment which saves me from having to answer. I’m not sure I could get the words out anyway. Nate and I both silently dig into our food. I’m devouring my steak and butterfly shrimp like I haven’t eaten in a week. In all honesty, I know that as long as I have food in my mouth, there’s a better chance I won’t say something stupid.
Nate continues to watch me over his fork as he eats his dinner. His steak is medium and juicy. Mine is more medium-well since I don’t like to look down and see blood on my plate. Nate chose the honey-glazed shrimp while I chose battered and fried. Without even saying a word, we both exchange a few of the shrimp on each other’s plates. We just click like that.