Small Town Pretender by Brighton Walsh
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Nat asked, glancing at Asher, the fading light of the setting sun glinting off the natural lighter brown streaks in his hair.
As he’d driven them to her parents’ house for Sunday supper, he’d had one elbow resting on the center console between them while he balanced his left wrist on top of the steering wheel and sang along to the radio. As if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if they were just out for a Sunday drive with no destination in mind. As if they weren’t on their way to her very large, very opinionated family’s home to drop the bomb about their upcoming nuptials. The ones that’d be taking place tomorrow.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He lifted his gaze to meet hers over the top of the car as they tag-teamed grabbing the kids.
Nat shrugged as she helped June climb out. “Oh, you know, just my family,” she said, as if that would explain everything. And…it did. Without a doubt.
She loved them…most of the time, but there was no denying they were a handful. There was also no denying her momma, daddy, and gran were about to lose their collective shit when they found out what was happening. For the past several days, Nat had been dodging her momma’s calls, but she’d left plenty of messages so Nat knew exactly what she wanted to talk about—namely who this fiancée of Asher’s was that everyone had been talking about and why she hadn’t heard a word about it.
Obviously, Nat had known it was too much to hope that what had transpired in the courtroom had stayed in the courtroom. Too much to hope to have a tiny bit of privacy during her time in Havenbrook. Nope, Nat was certain the detail of Asher’s betrothed had spread like wildfire before the judge had even slammed down his gavel.
“Are Ava and Ella gonna be here?” June asked, tugging Nat as she skipped up the front walk lined with freshly planted flowers.
“I’m not sure, Junie B. They might be at their daddy’s this weekend.”
June puffed out her bottom lip in a pout and slumped her shoulders. “But I like playin’ with them,” she said, her voice the closest to a whine Nat had ever heard.
“Well, if they’re not here, I can promise you my momma’ll entertain you. Sometimes the girls help her bake a pie—maybe you can be her helper tonight.”
June beamed up at her before turning back toward Asher. “I might bake a pie, Uncle Asher!”
He caught up with them and ruffled June’s hair as they climbed the front porch steps—also lined with freshly planted flowers—the empty swing swaying in the warm breeze. “I heard, Junebug. Just don’t put any worms in mine.”
The little girl tossed her head back and giggled. “Worms don’t go in pies, silly!”
“They don’t?” Asher asked, feigning confusion. “Then don’t eat the pie that’s in the fridge at home, okay? I need to throw it out.”
That only made June laugh harder, the sound urging a smile to Nat’s lips as she watched the interaction between those two. While she’d known Asher for two decades, seeing this side of him was something altogether new, and she’d been completely immersed in it since she’d arrived. She couldn’t deny how much she loved it.
“That’s so gross, Uncle Asher!”
“Your uncle is pretty gross, isn’t he?” Nat said, pulling even more giggles from June.
Once they made it to the front entrance, Asher reached over Nat’s head and grabbed the screen door, holding it open for them as he leaned down toward her ear. “A gross man you agreed to marry. Who’s the sucker now?”
As she’d become used to over the past several days, two different emotions warred inside her whenever Asher mentioned exactly what she’d agreed to—dread over intentionally and purposely trapping herself in this town, and then there was the very real exhilaration over tying herself to him, specifically.
Before Nat could respond, the front door whipped open, and there stood her momma. Caroline Haven might’ve had four grown daughters and two granddaughters, but she was still a knockout. She’d been Miss Mississippi back in the day—a title Rory could claim as well—and she still looked the part in her pristine pale-pink skirt and ivory blouse, her gray-streaked dark hair pulled back in a twist. Meanwhile, Nat wore flip-flops, a pair of ripped jeans, and a white tank top that would no doubt be food-stained by the end of the night. She usually let her hair air-dry after her shower, which meant it was a not-quite-straight, not-quite-curly, completely unruly mass. She and her momma were as different as night and day, but Nat loved her all the same.
“Thought I heard a bunch of commotion out here. Why didn’t y’all come in?” her momma asked, a bright smile on her face even as her gaze pinged to each of them, as well as somewhere over Nat’s shoulder—probably looking for the elusive, soon-to-be Mrs. McCoy.
“Asher was nervous,” Nat said, stepping inside without a backward glance toward him.
He huffed out a laugh. “I promise I wasn’t nervous, Miss Caroline.”
“Well, of course not! What on earth would you have to be nervous about?” She tsked and swatted Nat’s shoulder. “She’s just messin’ with you, like she loves to do.”
Nat nodded. “It’s one of my favorite pastimes, it’s true.”
“Now, let me see these babies!” She plucked Owen straight from Asher’s arms without asking, cooing at him before she squatted in front of June, a soft smile on her face. “I’m so glad you’re both here! And the girls are especially thrilled you’re here, June. If your uncle says it’s okay, you can go on into the backyard and play.”
June bounced on her tiptoes, tugging on the hem of Asher’s T-shirt, the move jostling it just enough to give Nat a tiny peek of toned stomach and a glimpse of the trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. She’d seen him without a shirt on countless times, so there was no good reason for her lips parting just from catching this glimpse.
“Can I? Can I?” June asked.
He chuckled low under his breath. “Yeah, but be careful. And no cupcakes!” he yelled after her retreating form.
“Can someone please show Miss June into the backyard with the girls?” her momma called toward the murmur of voices coming from the back of the house where the rest of the family no doubt was.
She turned her attention back on Asher, her eyes laser focused even as she entertained a squirmy Owen in her arms. “Now, how’re you holdin’ up, sweetheart?”
Asher nodded and swallowed. “I’m okay,” he said, though Nat heard enough in his tone to know his words weren’t entirely true.
While they hadn’t specifically talked about it since her arrival, she knew he was still bearing the weight of everything—not just his sister’s and brother-in-law’s deaths, but suddenly being thrust into the role of guardian…Dad, for all intents and purposes.
So, no, he wasn’t actually okay. But she was doing her damnedest to help him get there.
“Well, we’re here if you need anything. Don’t you hesitate to ask. And remind me before y’all leave, I’ve got a couple casseroles I’m gonna send y’all home with, too,” her momma said, walking down the hallway, no doubt assuming they’d follow. That was Caroline Haven for you—quietly commanding and sweet as pie so you didn’t even realize you were being bossed around.
Amused, Nat glanced at Asher with raised brows, and he slung an arm around her neck, tugging her into his side. Though, like usual, he tugged too hard, and she had to catch herself with one hand on his back and the other on his stomach. It was a move they’d made a hundred times before—one she’d never thought twice about. But now, she couldn’t help but notice how warm and solid his abs felt beneath her hand or how close her other one was to brushing the curve of his ass.
Sleeping in the same bed as him, waking up to find their limbs—at the very least—tangled together had completely fucked with her mind.
“Quit manhandlin’ me,” she murmured, using it as an excuse to pull away slightly.
He snorted softly and whispered, “As if anyone could unless you allowed them to.”
Unaware of their convo, her mom glanced back at them over her shoulder as they strolled into the great room where the voices only grew louder. “Now, what’s this about cupcakes? I didn’t bake any—was I supposed to?”
As Nat suspected, everyone was there—Will and Finn, Rory and Nash, Mac and Hudson, as well as her ornery daddy and feisty Gran. The French doors leading to the back patio and the play set just beyond it were open, and the laughter of her nieces and June floated in.
“No, not at all,” Asher said. “June had a few too many cupcakes and got sick the other night.”
“Oh no! Poor little thing.”
“Yeah. And, if you want the truth of it, it was all Nash’s fault,” Asher said, completely straight-faced.
“Hey!” Nash said from where he lounged on the sectional in the family room, Rory tucked into his side.
“What, you’re denyin’ it?” Asher tugged Nat along with him, as comfortable in her childhood home as she was. He’d spent nearly as much time there as she had while they’d grown up—when they’d spent time indoors, anyhow. Usually, it was their preference to be out running around and causing all sorts of trouble instead of under the extremely watchful, extremely suffocating eye of the—at one time—town mayor.
“Hell yes, I’m denyin’ it,” Nash said, sounded affronted.
Asher shrugged. “All I’m sayin’ is Nat and I had to clean up puke after you left, and it was all thanks to those cupcakes you brought over from The Sweet Spot.”
With one eyebrow raised, Hudson asked, “Are you sayin’ my sister’s cupcakes are that bad?”
“God, no. They’re a favorite.” Asher sat at one corner of the couch and pulled Nat down next to him. “What I’m sayin’ is, Einstein over here didn’t need to bring over a dozen cupcakes for three sugar-crazy girls.”
“Four,” Nat corrected with a thumb pointed at herself.
“I’m only takin’ the blame for bringin’ ’em,” Nash said. “It’s your fault she ate so damn many.”
“You talkin’ about me or June?” Nat asked.
“Wait—go back to the part where you said you and Nat cleaned it up,” Mac said, her eyes wide and lips parted in shock.
Rory nodded. “Yeah, are you sure you weren’t delirious and imagined it all?”
Will—the gentlest Haven—still razzed her. “Maybe you meant she laughed and pointed while you cleaned it up?”
“Shut up, brats,” Nat said on a laugh. “I pulled that vomit-laden shirt off June before gettin’ her scrubbed clean in a bath.”
“And what’d you do with the shirt?” Finn asked from where he lounged in a chair, his arm around Will’s hips as she sat on the arm.
Nat shrugged, unrepentant. “I threw it at Asher.”
A heaping dose of laughter erupted around the room, along with a chorus of responses.
Her momma said, “Now why would you go and do a thing like that?” at the same time Gran said, “That’s my Nat,” with a twinkle in her eye.
“Sounds about right,” Daddy said. Then, under his breath, he continued, “Girl’s never done an honest day’s work in her life. She certainly wouldn’t start with vomit.”
In all her twenty-six years, Nat had never been able to hold her tongue when it came to her daddy, which was why the words were tumbling out before she could even think twice. “You’re right—I should probably start with solitaire. Maybe pull in a paycheck from the town while I’m at it. Can you give me some pointers at that, Daddy?”
Mac pressed her lips together though her shoulders shook with silent laughter. Will bit her bottom lip in what appeared to be an effort to stop her smile, though Finn didn’t have any qualms and beamed a full-toothed grin. Even Rory seemed to be struggling at holding it together, considering she was currently turned toward Nash, who met Nat’s eyes, his filled with laughter. Gran smirked behind her usual predinner cocktail as Daddy’s face grew redder with each passing second.
“Now, just a minute, young lady. I did a lot more than that in my time servin’ as mayor.”
“Of course,” Nat said with a definitive nod. “There was also the golf, which took up many an afternoon. ’Fraid I’m not much for that particular pastime, though. Now that you’re no longer the mayor, have you had business cards printed up for bein’ a professional pain in the ass?”
She knew she shouldn’t goad him, especially considering his heart attack and subsequent open heart surgery several months back, but the truth was, she lost every bit of her brain when she was around her daddy. She’d avoided Havenbrook as much because of him as the town.
“Well,” her momma said, handing off Owen to Nat. “I think that’s the cue for dinner. Y’all wash up and call the girls in. Rory, Will, Mac—will y’all set the table, please?”
Mac huffed and rolled her eyes. “What, Nat gets off scot-free? Figures.”
“I believe your sister has her hands full with a baby, does she not?” her momma shot back, one eyebrow raised.
“Yes, ma’am,” Mac mumbled, shooting a halfhearted glare Nat’s way, to which Nat only responded with a smug smile.
“Finn, Nash, and Hudson, would y’all mind carryin’ in the serving platters, please?”
A chorus of “Yes, ma’ams” went up, and Nat grinned at how all five foot two inches of her mom could command grown men a foot or more taller than her without batting an eye.
“Asher, there’s a high chair in the laundry room, if you wanna grab that for Owen.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He stood, and there was no good reason Nat had for immediately missing the heat of his body where it had been pressed against hers.
“Am I gonna be able to actually eat this meal, or did you prepare me a salad, Caroline?” Her daddy pushed to stand from his recliner, and Nat couldn’t help but notice it took him longer than usual to do so.
She felt a pang of guilt for ragging on him like she usually did instead of taking it easy. True, she’d been home more in the past few months post-surgery than she had in the previous few years combined, but she still wasn’t here day in and day out to monitor his progress—or his decline.
“You’ll eat what I feed you without complaint, Richard,” her momma called from the kitchen, not even bothering to spare her dad a glance.
“Wouldn’t count on that, honey,” Gran said, just loud enough for Nat to hear.
The two of them shared a smile. While Nat had missed her sisters and momma since she’d been gone—and, okay, sometimes her daddy—she’d ached to be near Gran most of all. Her grandma had always been the one to encourage her…all of the Haven girls, really. Whether it was photography or travel or simply climbing trees, Gran had encouraged her to do what she loved without caring what anyone else thought of it. Truthfully, Nat owed her grandma for every ounce of the stubborn, strong, independent woman she’d become.
“Well, don’t just sit there,” Gran said. “Come over here and help an old lady up. Your daddy’s about to whine again to your momma, and I don’t wanna miss hearin’ her put him in his place.”
Nat laughed and set down Owen, who immediately took off in a crawl. In a panic, she realized she hadn’t checked to make sure the area was safe and quickly scanned the room to ensure there weren’t any knives or hot pokers lying around.
Once that was confirmed, she walked over to Gran and offered her a hand. It was an excuse, of course, because Gran was probably in even better shape than Nat was. She walked every day with her friends, usually cruising the Square with their ankle and wrist weights before the sun started beating down and baking everything to a crisp. Now that they’d just tiptoed into May and were coming up on Satan’s ballsac season, they’d no doubt be finding somewhere else to get in their daily gab—err, exercise—session. Though, knowing Gran, Edna, and the rest of the old lady posse, they’d probably buy a gym membership for the eye candy alone.
“You didn’t need me for this.” Nat helped Gran up while keeping one eye on a cruising Owen.
“You’re right. I just wanted to get my hands on that baby, and then you went and put him down anyway.”
“Just usin’ me, huh? That’s brutal, Gran.”
“Eh,” she said, unbothered. “Come and visit me more often if you want me to be nicer to you. And get me that baby.”
Nat laughed and scooped up Owen as he attempted to zoom past. Gran held out her arms for him, and he leaned into her without pause, babbling and drooling away.
“Well, aren’t you just a sweet one?” Gran said, leading them toward the dining room.
“Yeah, he is. But he’s gonna be a challenge. He’s already tryin’ to escape his crib, and he’s not even nine months.”
“That so?” Gran asked. “Sounds like trouble. Speakin’ of, when’re you gonna give me another great-grandbaby?”
“What?” Momma said, her voice quick as a whip as her eyes darted to Nat’s before dropping to her stomach.
Her daddy wasn’t nearly as chill, and his sharp, “What?” could’ve killed a man if words were weapons.
“See what you did now, old woman?” Nat said to Gran before facing the room and rolling her eyes. “I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” Rory said with a heavy exhale, sinking back into her seat at the dining room table. “I don’t think the world’s ready for another one of you just yet.”
Daddy rubbed his chest. “Don’t go spoutin’ off nonsense like that, Momma. You’ll give me another heart attack.”
“That’s not funny, Daddy!” Will and Mac snapped simultaneously.
“Who said I was jokin’?”
“Everyone can relax,” Nat said. But since she did have some news to drop, now was probably a good time. She met Asher’s gaze from across the room where he was striding to his spot after getting June set up at the kiddie table. “Actually, while everyone is all worked up, I might as well spill the news.”
“Don’t tell me Will is pregnant.” Daddy stabbed a finger toward Finn, his eyes nothing more than narrowed slits. “If you knocked up my daughter mere weeks before the weddin’, I’ll—”
Finn held up his hands. “Don’t worry, Dick, we’re usin’ protection.”
“Oh my word.” Will groaned and dropped her head into her hands, no doubt covering her beet-red face.
“Now’s probably a good time. Distract ’em and all,” Mac said in Nat’s ear as she strode to her place at the table next to Hudson.
Asher took a seat to the left of Nat’s usual spot, his attention fixed on her. Ava, Ella, and June were all chatting animatedly at their side table, and Owen babbled happily in the high chair Momma had placed between her and Gran, but everyone else stared silently at Nat, waiting for her big proclamation.
She took her time, even with all eyes on her, and sat down, unfolding the cloth napkin before placing it in her lap. “Asher and I are gettin’ married tomorrow. Could someone pass the mashed potatoes, please?”