Page 166 of Small Town Firsts

Natalie

Alden, I’m worried. Are you okay?

Natalie

What a stupid question, of course you’re not. Please give me a chance to explain. Please?

The last messagecontains a picture of Tatum smiling and stirring a pot of what appears to be alfredo sauce. The text attached fucking guts me.

Natalie

She may not know you as her father, but she is so much like you. Can we please talk soon?

I might cometo regret this, but I pick up my phone and dial Natalie. The quicker I sort shit with her, the quicker I get to know my little girl. I’ve already missed out on enough. I’m not going to miss any more.

With every ring, my heart feels like it’s going to crack my ribs and beat right out of my chest. Finally, on the fourth ring, she answers.

“H-hello? Alden?”

“Yeah.” My voice comes out gruff. “We need to talk, Nat.”

I hear her exhale softly. “Yeah, we do.”

“Come by the café tomorrow for lunch—eleven-thirty. We’ll talk then.”

“Sure. S-sounds good. I really am sor—” I hang up before she can apologize…again.

CHAPTER 21

NATALIE

I hardly sleptafter my very brief but nerve-wracking phone call with Alden last night. Instead of getting much-needed sleep, I lay in bed and picked apart every last little detail of our conversation.

He didn’t sound as mad as he had the night before. Not happy, by any means, but less like he wanted to snap my neck. So, that’s a plus, I suppose. And he actually wants to talk. That has to be a good sign, right? Either way, that’s what I’m telling myself, because the alternative is downright unbearable.

It’s been less than an hour since I dropped Tatum off, and I’m already on my fourth cup of coffee. Usually I would be getting ready to head into work, but since Aldengave me the day off, I have a bit of free time.

Mind you, every bit of that said free time will be spent obsessing over our lunch meeting. It really could go either way, but I am determined to think positively. I mean, it’s not like I expect all to be forgiven and forgotten in two seconds flat, and I certainly don’t expect him to ever want to pursue something romantically with me, but…I do expect him to want to get to know Tatum, and to do that, we at least have to be civil. Baby steps and whatnot.

I decide to make the best of my free time and do a little laundry—Lord knows it is easier to do while Tatum isn’t here. She likes to help fold, only we haveverydifferent definitions of the word.

With two loads down, and one in the dryer, I hop in the shower. I take my time, washing and scrubbing and shaving. I’m hoping the wholelook good, feel good thingcan somehow extend to my meeting with Alden. If I look good and feel good, maybe things will go…good.

After drying off, I wrap my hair in my towel and slather on some lotion. I start on my makeup immediately after, opting for subtle and soft. I decide to toss my still-damp hair into a braid so it can air dry into waves. A few squirts of my sea salt spray and I’m good to go.

I check the time when I step back out into my bedroom. It’s only half past ten; that gives me plenty of time. I dress in a pair of black skinnies that are slightly distressed in the knee, pairing them with a simple slub knit gray top and gold sandals.

I still have about fifteen minutes to kill after getting dressed, but I’m too antsy to wait around. I grab my purse and head out to my car. The drive seems shorter than usual, but I’m not sure if its nerves or an actual lack of traffic—either way, I find myself rolling into the Bayside employee lot at 11:15 a.m. I guess in some circles, fifteen minutes early is considered on time.

So, with that in mind, I take down my braid, finger comb my hair, and head on in.

Giselle is at the hostess stand, and she greets me with a plastic smile. I used to think it was fake, but eventually learned it’s just her smile. “Hey Natalie, I thought you were off today? Lord knows Carlos called us all looking for someone to cover you. Is everything okay? Is Tatum okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Um…”Jesus, this is awkward.“Yeah, Nat’s fine. Um…”

Jenny walks up and saves me from answering. “Girlfriend. We need to talk.”

“We do?”

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