It’s a complicated question that’s impossible to answer without explaining everything. Nate doesn’t want to hear everything.
“Just those three words.” I shrug. It’s true. That’s all Michael said. It’s what he did just seconds before saying those words that said everything.
Nate shakes his head and leans back in the chair, lacing his hands behind his head. It does nice things to his arms and chest. “Morgan wants me to find someone. I think she’s worried I’ll be lonely when she goes to college. It’s not that simple. And I think I can keep myself busy without finding someone to keep me company. When my wife died, I knew Morgan would be the last woman I would ever love. Then …” His gaze falls to the table as his brow furrows.
“Then what?”
With a tiny head shake, he murmurs, “Nothing.”
“I think it’s a misconception that every human needs to have a significant other to be happy.”
His blue eyes lift to meet my gaze. After a few seconds, he nods. “Absolutely.”
“It’s a big world. Lots to do.”
Nothing. I have nothing to do except raise Gabe and die with a houseful of cats.
“How old are you? Can I ask that?” He grins.
“Yes.” I chuckle. “You can ask. I’m forty-one. Can I ask your age?”
“How old do you think I am?”
“What?” My head rears back. “No. You can’t ask my age and then make me guess your age.”
“You could have asked me to guess your age.” That smirk of his is … dangerous.
“And what would you have guessed?”
“Forty-one.”
“Liar.” I squint at him.
Something delightful dances in his eyes. It’s been a long time since a man has looked at me the way Nate’s looking at me. My body reacts in ways it knows it shouldn’t react to any man—warm and tingly in regions far south, and even the hillier areas of my body have decided to perk up a bit. I tug on my tight T-shirt because my thin bra feels insufficient at handling those blue eyes on me.
“Fifty.” I grin.
Nate’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Fifty?” After a few slow blinks, he strokes his scruffy jaw and chin. “Is it the gray in my beard?”
“It’s the expression on your face. I don’t think you’re fifty, but after putting me on the spot to guess your age, fifty is me being nice.”
He laughs. It vibrates down into the bottom of my belly, settling like a warm piece of pie with vanilla ice cream.
“Forty-six.”
“Morgan’s right. You need someone.”
“Oh, but you don’t? You can quit the game, declare three strikes, and ban men from your life, but I should keep playing?”
“How many strikes do you have?” I drum my fingers on the table.
His lips corkscrew for a few seconds. “Two.”
“See.” I point a finger at him. “You have one more chance. Don’t let it go to waste.”
“Mmm … if that’s the case, I think I’ll save my third chance for the nursing home.”
I giggle. “Really? The nursing home?”
He lifts one shoulder and drops it just as quickly. “Why not? A younger woman of course. Some hottie in her late eighties with her own teeth and who still wears red lipstick.”
My smile threatens to crack my face. “Not me. If I had my last chance to use in the nursing home, I’d seduce a male nurse. We’d be the topic of all the gossip, and the other old biddies would hate me, always scowling at me from behind their pussies.”
“What?” Nate coughs on a laugh, eyes wide, lips parted.
I giggle to the point of tears, hiding my face behind my hands as I shake with laughter and memories. “My …” I try to catch my breath while wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes. “God … it’s been so long since I’ve thought about that. My grandma had a walker, the kind with the tennis balls on the back legs. After Christmas dinner, she asked my brother Kyle to be a dear and grab her pussy.” I snort, falling into a fit of laughter again as Nate’s expression deepens with shock.
“Kyle was fifteen at the time. Sh-she got so frustrated with him because he just sat there with his mouth agape, eyeing our mom and dad. Grandma just kept yelling at Kyle. ‘Kyle! Shake a leg. Grab my pussy. I need to use the restroom.’ Finally, my aunt Jean translated for Grandma. Apparently, Grandma called her walker her pushy, but she also lacked good word enunciation, so pushy sounded exactly like pussy.”
Nate barks out a laugh and presses his fisted hand to his mouth as his face turns red from laughter.
“So now I can’t see one of those walkers without thinking about Grandma yelling at Kyle to grab her pussy.”
“He must have been scarred for life.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “We never forgot it. Kyle broke his leg in his early twenties before he met Emily. When I first saw him hobbling around on crutches, we made eye contact and he frowned. Then he said, ‘You know what I could use right now?’ I squinted at him for a few seconds, but as soon as he grinned, I knew what he was going to say. We said, ‘a pussy,’ at the same time. I miss those days of laughing at the craziest things. I miss …”