Page 51 of Fight Or Flight

Natalie took off running—literally running—down the hall. “Gayle!”

His mother threw her arms open wide, and the two of them hugged each other tight, swaying back and forth, saying how much they missed each other. When they finally released each other, Ethan’s father, Mark, came in from the basement, and Natalie ran into his arms for a hug, and the entire exchange began again.

Ethan watched in . . . awe? Horror? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that the unease in his chest was growing, taking on a life of its own, clouding his brain and causing him to doubt every decision he’d made regarding her until that point.

“Come in, come in, dear,” his mother said, looping Natalie’s arm with hers. “Dinner is ready. I made chicken pot pie.”

Natalie smiled. “You remembered my favourite meal?”

“How could I forget? I think of you every time I make it. It was so nice to have two kids to feed after Ethan left for school.”

Natalie smiled at his mom, then released her and walked to the back door on the other side of the dining table. Ethan wrenched his gaze and focused on the wine bottle still gripped in his hand. He went to the counter, pulled out the bottle openerand four glasses, then set about pouring. It was good to have a task to concentrate on, to stop his mind from spiralling into visions of her being there as his date, not his mother’s, and what it would be like to kiss her without worrying about protecting his heart.

His hand shook as he reached for a glass, knocking it over.

“Careful, Eth,” his father said. He took the wine bottle from Ethan’s hand and finished the job. He handed him two of the glasses and tilted his head toward Natalie.

Ethan walked to Natalie and handed her a glass. She gave him a polite smile and went back to staring out into the backyard. “The gardens look beautiful in summer,” she said. “I only saw them in the winter.”

“Oh yes,” his father chimed in. “Ethan did a great job with them. He still tends them now.”

“Really?” she said, giving him a quick glance. “I didn’t know you did this.”

Ethan nodded silently, then took a swig of his wine.

“Remember how crazy he used to make me with the gardens, Gayle?” his father said. “It’s all he would ever talk about. Every damn weekend I was out there with him digging.”

His mom laughed. “Remember when he made you reroute all the eavestroughs so they’d empty into the rain gardens?”

His dad shuddered and took a drink.

“Rain gardens?” Natalie asked.

No one responded, so Ethan piped up. “Yeah,” he said, pointing through the window. “Those two gardens collect and filter the runoff, kind of like the wetlands.”

Natalie continued staring out the window. “I can just imagine what the gardens look like at your place,” she said.

“Uh . . .”

Images of Natalie in his home flashed through his mind— laughing in the kitchen, cuddled on the couch, falling back onto his bed with her hair fanned out over his pillow. . .

He shook his head and worked to clear them.

“Actually, I don’t have any gardens.”

She turned to finally look at him. Two tiny lines formed between her eyebrows. “Why?”

“The real estate agent said most people shy away from overly landscaped yards. Too much work.”

“Oh. Are you planning on selling?”

“I don’t have any immediate plans to sell, no.”

Natalie gave a humourless laugh and shook her head. “Always so practical.”

Ethan was about to protest when his dad clapped his back with a laugh. “You hit the nail right on the head, Natalie. Ethan won’t blow his nose without knowing the consequences and having a Plan B. He’s always been that way, even as a toddler.”

Ethan slowly turned his head toward his father, then narrowed his eyes at him. He’d never told his dad to shut up before, but he was seriously considering it now.

---