Page 23 of Nashville Lights

What a gift Nate’s given them. A life that revolves around the one thing they’ve always wanted to do. And now they can.

Dakota, Daisy and I walk along a manicured gravel trail through a grove of trees, shrubs and more rambling roses. I get the grand tour of all six bungalows, which are as luxurious as the main building and all have their own unique charm. “I’m wildly impressed, Dee. Can I move in?” I joke.

“You can live with me and Uncle Nate!” Daisy exclaims. “We have three guest rooms.”

“Well, thank you, Daisy.” For some reason, the thought of Nate Boone’s guest rooms makes my stomach do a funny little flip.

“We should probably head back there soon, Daze,” Dakota suggests. “It’s getting late.”

“I don’t like going to bed,” Daisy tells us, her blue eyes earnest. “I have bad dreams. Sometimes Uncle Nate has to read me stories in the middle of the night because I can’t go back to sleep.”

Dakota and I exchange a brief glance.

Daisy’s matter-of-fact sadness makes my eyes unexpectedly sting. For what she’s had to go through, and from my own tragic memories of the worst night of my life. And now Daisy’s got one of those too. “Uncle Nate got me three nightlights and I get to keep all of them on if I want to. They’re Elsa, Tinker Bell and Ariel. Uncle Nate tells themto use their magic to me help get back to sleep. So that’s what they do.”

No wonder he looks so worn out.

I squeeze her hand. I can relate to the nightmares and the many sleepless nights that go along with loss of that magnitude.

Dee picks Daisy up. “You’ve got your princesses and you’ve got all of us, right, Daze? You never have to feel alone or scared of anything, okay? And now you’ve got Roxie too.”

“You sure do, sweetie.” And even though I’ll only be here for the weekend and shouldn’t be making promises like that, I find myself wanting it—reallywanting it—to be true.

“Come on, Rox,” Dee starts carrying Daisy toward the truck. “Uncle Nate will be wondering wherethislittle princess is.”

We climb into Tobias’s truck and head back up the road toward the farmhouse, driving past it and further down toward the river. Dakota turns into a driveway that winds through the trees along the ridge. I don’t remember this road being here.

And then we’re pulling up in front of the most to-die-for house I’ve ever seen in my life.

It’s made of rough-hewn natural-looking wood, the same black steel as the lodge, and glass. Huge windows take full advantage of the stunning river view. It’s ultra-modern but with a traditional farmhouse twist. You can tell immediately that it was designed by a major talent, taking fulladvantage of the nature around it, blending into its surroundings seamlessly. And it’sbig. Three stories are stacked into levels that angle in places in different directions. Along the entire front of it is a two-level covered deck with seating areas, an outdoor kitchen and a hot tub. All of it looks over the ribbon of glittery water and the rolling hills of Tennessee.

“This is Nate’shouse?” I don’t know why my question comes out as breathless. I always knew Nate Boone would be a success story, I just never imagined he’d create his own wonderland.

I see him then, sitting in a chair at the far end of the deck, talking on his phone with a laptop open on the table in front of him. He hears our truck and ends his call, getting up to walk over to us.

“Uncle Nate!” Daisy runs across the deck and jumps into his arms.

“There’s my girl.” He’s talking to Daisy, of course.

But he’s looking at me.

Wow.

Nate’s dressed in faded jeans and an old, soft-looking flannel shirt that strains against his muscles.

Here’s the Nate Boone I remember, except that now he’s all grown up, allbeefedup and holding an adorable child in his burly arms. The combination is enough to make every feminine urge I own suddenly wake up, like someone just plugged me in to an invisible charging station that’s now pumping cravings into me like a very potent drug.

I’ve honestly never in my life thought about myovariesbefore. But right now they’re humming. Electricity pulses through my veins with a slow, warm awareness. Of myself. Of how I’ve never, ever had a love life besides the memory of him.Becauseof the memory of him.

All my cravings were always for him.

And now those cravings are on overdrive because here he is in all his low-slung-jeans-that-fit-like-they-should-be-illegal glory.

I don’t know if Dakota is picking up on the sparks I can feel but she takes Daisy from Nate’s arms. “It’s been weeks since I got to read Daisy her bedtime story. Are we doing a bath first?”

“You sure, Dee?” Nate asks her.

“Of course I’m sure. Besides, you and Roxie haven’t had a chance to catch up properly. She and I have all weekend together. Come on, Daze.”

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