“No,” Nathaniel and I say at the same time.
My eyebrows slide together. I know. I said it too, but only because I don’t want him to feel pressured. What’s his excuse for such a knee-jerk reaction?
He scratches his scruffy jaw and twists his lips. “We don’t have any food, Morgan. Not a slice of bread or a grain of salt. Tonight we’ll get groceries, and you can have Gabe over for dinner another night.”
Gabe.
I see how this is going to play out. Fine … I’m fine with it. Men are on my banned list, along with cheese puffs and caramels. Besides, I have a new season of Outlander to watch.
“And Gracelyn, so you have a friend. Really, Dad, you could use a friend.” The awkwardness meter maxes out with her comment.
Nate glares at Morgan, but she’s too focused on her toes, curling them in the sand. When he glances at me, I bite my lips together and avert my gaze to the water. My hands won’t fit into my pockets in any sort of casual way, so I let them hang at my sides.
So awkward.
“I’m sure Gracelyn has lots of friends,” he replies on a soft chuckle.
“She doesn’t know anyone because she’s from Ohio,” Gabe mumbles, chin tipped toward his phone.
It’s funny—only not really—how much attention he pays to what’s going on when I’d rather he not say anything.
“Idaho.” I correct him, giving Nathaniel a tight smile.
His gaze is too preoccupied with my hair to notice my facial expression. Blue eyes flit in tiny increments, and when he finally meets my eyes, he clears his throat and does this weird head shake thing like he’s snapping out of a dream.
Judging my hair?
It’s hair. It used to be long and all dark auburn like the flowing mane of Black Beauty … if Black Beauty had auburn hair. I cut it off at my chin, colored it black, and added some blond highlights because … well, it’s hair. Okay, it’s not that simple. There was a wedding and someone leaving someone else at the altar. Whatever …
Things changed, so I changed.
“We should go. Gabe and I have some packing to do.”
“Can you come to dinner tomorrow night?” Morgan asks, head cocked at Gabe like this is their decision.
Nathaniel rests his hand on her shoulder. Before he can state another objection, I interject.
“We’re moving in Friday afternoon, so tomorrow won’t work.”
“Yes! Friday night is pizza night. My dad will order pizza, and we’ll help you unpack your stuff.”
“Morgan …” Nathaniel moves his other hand to her other shoulder and gives her a tight squeeze. “Let them get settled. They don’t need our help unpacking. There will be plenty of time for you and Gabe to have pizza another night.”
Morgan and Gabe.
He’s definitely excluding me. Again … that’s fine. Hello! Man ban, I remind myself.
“And Gracelyn.” Morgan rolls her eyes. “Geesh, Dad, stop being so rude.”
“We really have to go.” I grab Gabe’s wrist, giving it a tug, while Nathaniel’s face contorts into a slight cringe.
“Very nice meeting both of you,” he says in spite of the embarrassment on his face.
“You too.” I pivot in the sand to make a quick exit, but my left foot doesn’t cooperate. The sand holds my foot in place as the weight of my body falls to the side, rolling my ankle.
“Shit—shoot.” I reach for my ankle. “Sorry. I meant—”
Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!
“Whoa! Are you okay?” Gabe slides his phone into his pocket and kneels beside me with his hand on my arm.
“My dad’s a doctor!” Morgan kneels beside Gabe.
“I’m not a doctor.” Nathaniel squats next to my foot.
“You are. You have a PhD. And you said that makes you Doctor Hunt.”
I hiss while sitting up.
Nate eases my leg into a better position, bracing my ankle with his large, calloused hand. “It’s swelling. I fear you may have sprained it.”
“It’s fine. If I can get out of the sand, I can just walk it off.”
His other hand rests on my calf as he grins. “I don’t think walking off a sprain is a good idea. But ice is a great idea. Here. Let’s see if you can put weight on it.”
“Come on, Gabe, we’ll get her other side.” Morgan jumps right in to help me as her dad guides my arm around his neck and his arm around my waist.
“Let’s get you out of the sand.” He bears most of my weight as Morgan and Gabe fail to do much because I don’t want to hurt them with my bloated self.
“Sorry. It’s hard to hop on one foot in the sand.”
“Just carry her, Dad.”
“No! I’m heavy. Just … let me crawl out of the sand.”
“Dad! Carry her.” Morgan’s incessant “helpfulness” makes my cheeks flame ten shades of embarrassment.
“You’ll hurt your back. I’m heavier than I—No! Your back!” I protest when he scoops me up.