“‘Interesting’ is another polite way to say ‘crazy,’” Emma replied, resting her chin on her hand.
“Are you sure you want to do this? You can still back out and miss the chance to earn five dollars.”
“Never,” he said, eyes glinting. “Besides, I handle complicated families pretty well.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Nathan’s gaze dropped to his coffee.
“Personal experience,” he said after a moment.
“My family has its moments too.”
Emma could tell he wasn’t going to say more, so she changed the subject. “Okay,” she said.
“Let’s practice. Pretend you’re my dad.
Interrogate me.”
Nathan straightened in his chair, cleared his throat, and suddenly his voice dropped into a deeper, more serious register.
“So, young man,” he said, mimicking her father’s stern tone almost perfectly. “Where did you meet my daughter?”
Emma had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “At the café where she works, sir,” Nathan answered himself smoothly.
“She spilled coffee on my shirt.”
“And you found that attractive?” he continued, eyebrows lifted.
“I thought the way she got all flustered and apologizing was very cute, sir,” he said. Emma lost it, laughter bursting out of her.
“Stop,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “You sound exactly like my dad.
How do you do that?”
“Natural talent,” he said modestly.
“Now your turn. You’re your mother asking me embarrassing questions.”
Emma straightened, smoothed her hair back, and put on a worried, dramatic expression. “Nathan, dear,” she said in a breathy voice.
“Have you thought about when you’re going to get married?
Because, you know, Emma is already twenty‑seven and the clock is ticking, if you know what I mean.”
Nathan almost spit his coffee out from laughing. “Your mom actually says that?” he asked.
“Last year she gave me a book about freezing eggs for Secret Santa,” Emma said. “In front of everyone.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Emma said.
“Grandma laughed so hard she almost choked on the turkey.”
Nathan laughed so loudly that people at nearby tables turned to look.
“Your family is pure gold,” he said. “I can’t wait to meet all of them.”
“You’re saying that now,” Emma warned. “Wait until Aunt Diane asks why you haven’t proposed to me yet.
She did that to Amy’s boyfriend after three months of dating.
The poor guy got so nervous he spilled red wine all over her dress.”
Nathan leaned forward, eyes bright. “And what happened to him?”
“They broke up two weeks later,” Emma said.
“Amy said he didn’t know how to handle pressure.”
“Charming,” Nathan murmured. “Welcome to my family,” Emma replied.
They spent the next hour rehearsing possible scenarios.
Nathan turned out to be surprisingly good at improvising, coming up with quick, funny answers for every ridiculous question Emma threw at him. “Okay, last one,” she said at last. “You’re Catherine, my perfect sister.
Judge me.”
Nathan pushed imaginary hair behind his ear, lifted his chin, and spoke in a high‑pitched, condescending voice.
“Emma, dear, it’s so adorable that you finally found someone,” he said. “Brandon and I are already planning our wedding—cathedral, five hundred guests, honeymoon in France.
And you two? Have you thought about the future, or are you still in that phase?”
Emma clapped.
“Perfect,” she said.
“Scarily perfect.”
“I watch a lot of movies,” Nathan said modestly. Emma glanced at her phone and gasped. “Wow, it’s already five,” she said.
“I have to go.
I work at the restaurant at six.”
“Three jobs,” Nathan murmured under his breath. “You work too much.”
“Bills don’t pay themselves,” Emma replied, slipping her bag over her shoulder.
“But thank you for today. It was… fun.”
“It was,” he agreed, standing as well.
“So, Christmas Eve.
What time should I pick you up?”
“Seven,” she said. “Dinner is at eight, but we’re always late anyway.”
“Seven is perfect. I’ll pick you up at your place.
Text me the address.”
Emma hesitated.
“My apartment is kind of small and messy,” she warned. “And it’s in a neighborhood that’s a little—”
“Emma,” Nathan interrupted gently.
“I don’t mind. Send me the address.”
“Okay,” she said.
On her way out, she typed her location and sent it to him.
Done, she texted. Got it, he replied. Perfect.
Oh, and Emma.
Yes? What color is the dress you’re going to wear?
Emma blinked. Why?
she wrote.
So I can match my tie, he answered. Something warm spread through her chest. He was taking this seriously.
Really seriously.
Red, she typed. I’m wearing a red dress.
Red, he replied. Noted.
You’re going to look beautiful.
Emma left the mall with her cheeks burning and her heart doing ridiculous things in her chest. This was just an arrangement, she told herself. A five‑dollar deal.
Nothing more.
So why did it feel like more? Jessica was waiting outside the mall, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
“So?” she demanded before Emma could even say hello. “You in love with him yet?”
“I am not,” Emma said.
“Yes, you are,” Jessica shot back.
“I saw you through the window. You were laughing, blushing, doing that thing with your hair you always do when you’re nervous.”
Emma’s hand flew up to her hair automatically. “I don’t do anything,” she protested.
“You do,” Jessica insisted.
“And he was looking at you in a way.”
“In what way?” Emma asked. Jessica paused, studying her friend’s face.
“Like he already knew you,” she said quietly. “For years.”
A cold flutter went through Emma’s stomach.
“You think he looks familiar too?” she asked.
“I do,” Jessica admitted. “I can’t place it, but I swear I’ve seen that face somewhere. Then again, Boston isn’t that big.”
They started walking toward the parking lot.
“Jess, I’m making a huge mistake, aren’t I?” Emma asked.
“Probably,” Jessica said. She slung an arm around Emma’s shoulders.
“But at least it’s going to be an interesting mistake.”
Emma laughed, but underneath it, her uneasiness grew. There was something about Nathan—something she couldn’t name.
And the more time she spent with him, the stronger that feeling became.
The next morning, Emma woke up to a flood of messages from her mother. Emma, did you confirm you’re bringing someone? Is he handsome?
Does he have a good job?
Please tell me this isn’t another case of three dates and goodbye. Your sister already picked out her wedding dress.
Emma groaned and buried her face in the pillow. “One day left,” she muttered.
“Just one day.”
Her phone buzzed again.
This time the name on the screen made her chest tighten. Good morning, girlfriend. Nervous?
Nathan wrote.
Terrified, she answered. Calm down, he replied.
I’ve handled worse. Like what?
she asked.
There was a long pause before he answered. Long story, he wrote. I’ll tell you someday.
Emma frowned at the screen.
Nathan was very good at dodging personal questions. Whenever she tried to learn more about him, he changed the subject or gave vague answers.
Who was this man, really? And why, the more she thought about him, the more certain she was that their paths had crossed before?
Emma spent the entire day at the café completely distracted.
She spilled milk three times, forgot two orders, and almost put salt in someone’s coffee instead of sugar. “Okay, what is going on with you?” her boss, Mr. Williams, finally demanded.
He was a sixty‑year‑old Boston native who had been running the place longer than Emma had been alive.
“In twenty minutes you caused more confusion than in the whole year.”
“Sorry, Mr. Williams,” Emma said, cheeks hot.
“I’m just nervous.”
“Nervous about what?” he asked. “Somebody die?”
“No,” she said.
“It’s just… tomorrow’s Christmas.
Family dinner.”
“Ah,” he grunted knowingly. “Family dinner. My wife gets the same every year.
Spends three days cooking and another three complaining about the relatives.”
Emma laughed in spite of herself.
“That’s exactly it,” she said. “It’ll be fine, girl,” he said, patting the counter.
“It’s just dinner. What could go wrong?”
Emma thought of Nathan, of the insane lie she was about to drag her whole American family into.
“A lot of things, Mr.
Williams,” she murmured. “A lot of things.”
Her shift finally ended at five in the afternoon. Emma ran home through the freezing streets, letting herself into her tiny apartment and taking the fastest shower of her life.
Then she tore her closet apart.
“Where is it?” she muttered, tossing clothes on the bed. “I know it’s here.”
Fifteen minutes later, she found the red dress balled up at the bottom of the closet.
She shook it out and hung it on the door. It was simple, with thin straps and a hem that brushed her knees.
Not fancy like the dresses Catherine wore, but it was all she had.
“It’ll have to do,” she sighed. Her phone rang. Jessica.
“So,” Jessica said when Emma answered.
“Ready for the big day?”
“‘Ready’ is a strong word,” Emma said, collapsing backward onto the bed. “Terrified is more accurate.”
“You’ll be fine,” Jessica said.
“Nathan seemed nice.”
“Yeah, but…” Emma stared at the ceiling. “Jess, what if my family finds out?
What if someone asks a question we didn’t practice?
What if—”
“Emma,” Jessica cut in. “Breathe. You’re panicking.”
“I am,” Emma said.
“This was a horrible idea.
I should cancel everything. I should text him right now and—”
“You’re not canceling anything,” Jessica said firmly.
“You’re going to show up tomorrow with that handsome man, make your family die of envy, and finally have one peaceful Christmas dinner in the U.S. of A.
Is that clear?”
Emma bit her lip.
“What if I like him?” she blurted. There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line. “What?” Jessica asked.
“What if I already like him?” Emma repeated.
“We barely know each other, but every time he texts me, my heart races. Every time I think about him, I start smiling like an idiot.
It’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” Jessica said softly. “It’s human.”
“But he was hired for five dollars,” Emma said.
“That’s not exactly the foundation of a healthy relationship.”
“Who says it has to be one?” Jessica asked.
“Just enjoy the night. Have fun. Then see what happens.”
“Easy for you to say,” Emma muttered.
“Emma,” Jessica said.
“You deserve to be happy. Even if it’s just one Christmas night pretending to have a perfect boyfriend.”
After they hung up, Emma lay there in the dark for a long time.
Jessica was right. She did deserve at least one good night.
Whether Nathan was real or not, she was going to try to enjoy it.
Christmas Day arrived with Emma’s stomach in knots. “You can do this,” she told her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “It’s just dinner.
A few hours.
You’ve survived worse.”
Her phone vibrated. Nathan.
Merry Christmas, he’d written. Ready to meet the family?
As ready as someone jumping out of a plane with no training, she typed.
Such confidence. I like it, he replied. Seriously, if you want to back out—
I’m not backing out, she wrote.
I’ll be there at seven, he answered.
Relax. She let out a breath she’d been holding all morning.
At six‑thirty, Emma put on the red dress, added light makeup, and pinned half her hair back, leaving the rest in loose waves. Simple, but presentable.
Her phone buzzed again.
Her mother. What time are you arriving? Catherine and Brandon are already here.
They brought very expensive French wine.
“Of course they did,” Emma muttered. She replied that she’d be there in about an hour.
Her phone finally went silent. At exactly seven, the doorbell rang.
Emma took three deep breaths and opened the door.
Nathan stood in the hallway, and for a second, Emma forgot how to breathe. He wore black dress pants, a crisp white shirt, and a red tie that matched her dress perfectly. His dark hair was neatly brushed back, and he held a bouquet of white flowers in one hand.
“Hi,” he said, smiling.
“You look beautiful.”
Emma looked at the flowers, then at him. “You brought flowers,” she said.
“For your mom,” he said. “First impressions matter.”
Something melted inside her chest.
“You didn’t have to,” she said.
“I wanted to,” he replied, then held out his free hand. “Ready?”
Emma grabbed her bag, locked the door, and slipped her hand into his. His fingers were warm and steady around hers.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.
They walked down the stairs together. Outside, Emma expected to see a taxi or an Uber.
Instead, a sleek black car waited at the curb. Emma stopped.
“Is that your car?” she asked.
“It is,” Nathan said casually, opening the passenger door for her. “You’re a high school teacher,” she blurted. “How do you have a car like that?”
He paused for a heartbeat.
“Family inheritance,” he said.
“I got lucky.”
Emma wasn’t fully convinced, but this was not the time to interrogate him. She slid into the soft leather seat—the most comfortable seat she’d ever sat in—while Nathan walked around and got behind the wheel.
She gave him her parents’ address, and they pulled away from her neighborhood, driving through Boston’s decorated streets. Christmas lights twinkled in apartment windows.
Fresh snow blanketed the sidewalks.
Families walked bundled in coats and scarves. “Emma,” Nathan said after a few minutes of silence. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she said, bracing herself.
“Why are you so nervous?” he asked.
“It’s just your family.”
Emma laughed once, the sound flat. “You don’t understand,” she said.
“My family has expectations. My sister is a successful lawyer marrying another lawyer.
My brother works in tech and makes a fortune.
And I… I work in three different places to pay for a tiny apartment and can barely get by.”
“And that makes you less important to them?” Nathan asked. “Sometimes it feels like it does,” she admitted. Nathan’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
“Then let’s show them they’re wrong,” he said quietly.
Emma turned her head to look at him. “How?” she asked.
“By being yourself,” he said. “You’re funny.
You’re smart.
You work harder than anyone I know, and you haven’t let life knock you down. Any family should be proud to have someone like you.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “You barely know me,” she said.
“I know you better than you think,” he replied.
Before she could ask what he meant, they turned into a quiet suburban street lined with big American houses. Her parents’ house glowed with warm light, Christmas decorations wrapped around the porch railings.
“We’re here,” Nathan said, parking behind Catherine’s car. Emma stared at the house, then at him.
“Last chance to run,” she said.
“Not a chance,” he answered. He squeezed her hand and got out, circling the car to open her door. They walked up the shoveled path together, his hand still wrapped around hers.
Emma rang the doorbell.
A few seconds later, the door flew open. Linda Carter stood there in an apron dusted with flour, her face flushed from the heat of the kitchen and excitement.
“Emma, you’re here,” she cried, pulling her daughter into a hug. Then her eyes slid to Nathan, and her mouth fell open.
“And you must be Nathan.”
He held out the bouquet.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Carter,” he said smoothly. “Emma talks about you all the time.”
Emma’s mother practically melted.
“Oh, how polite,” she said.
“And you brought flowers. George!
Come meet Emma’s boyfriend!”
Nathan winked at Emma over her mother’s shoulder. Emma had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
“This is going to be an interesting night,” she whispered.
George Carter appeared in the hallway, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. Tall, broad‑shouldered, with gray hair and a naturally serious expression, he had intimidated Emma’s friends since middle school. “So you’re Nathan,” he said, crossing his arms.
Nathan stepped forward and extended his hand.
“Mr. Carter, it’s an honor to finally meet you,” he said.
George gripped his hand firmly, testing him. Nathan didn’t flinch.
“Strong handshake,” George said.
“That’s good. A man needs a firm grip.”
“Dad,” Emma groaned. “Stop.
You’re not interviewing anyone.”
“Of course I am,” George said.
“This young man is dating my daughter. I need to know if he’s any good.”
“George,” Linda scolded, smacking his arm.
“Let them come in before you start interrogating him.”
They stepped into the warm house. The smell of turkey, cinnamon, and something buttery wrapped around Emma like a blanket.
A big Christmas tree twinkled in the living room.
Gifts were stacked underneath, wrapped in shiny paper. “Your sister and Brandon are already here,” Linda said, hurrying toward the kitchen with the flowers. “Tyler and Melissa, too.
And your Aunt Diane is helping with the food.”
Emma’s stomach tightened at the mention of Diane.
“Let’s introduce everyone,” Nathan said softly, giving her hand another reassuring squeeze. They walked into the dining room.
Catherine—perfect Catherine—sat at the table in an emerald green dress, her blonde hair twisted into a sleek chignon. Beside her was Brandon, her fiancé, in a tailored suit.
Tyler sat across from them, laughing at something Melissa had just said.
Every head turned when Emma and Nathan stepped into the doorway. “Everyone, this is Nathan,” Emma said, trying to sound casual. “My boyfriend.”
Catherine choked on her wine.
Tyler’s eyes went wide.
Brandon nodded politely. “Boyfriend?” Catherine repeated once she’d recovered.
“Since when?”
“Six months,” Nathan said before Emma could open her mouth. He wrapped his arm around Emma’s shoulders like he’d been doing it forever.
“I met this amazing woman at the café where she works and couldn’t resist.”
“How adorable,” Linda called from the kitchen.
Catherine narrowed her eyes, clearly suspicious. “Funny,” she said. “Emma never mentioned you.”
“Because I wanted to be sure before introducing him to the family,” Emma cut in quickly.
“You know how it is.
I brought people here before and it didn’t work out.”
“That’s true,” Tyler said, getting up to shake Nathan’s hand. “Nice to meet you, man.
I’m Tyler, the brother.”
“Nathan,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
Melissa gave a shy little wave.
“Hi,” she said.
“I’m Melissa. It’s my first time here, too. So we’re in the same boat.”
Emma gave her a grateful smile.
At least someone else was new to this circus.
“Emma!” a sharp voice called from the kitchen. “Come help me!”
Emma made a face.
“Aunt Diane,” she muttered. “I’ll be right back,” she told Nathan.
“I’ll be fine,” he assured her.
In the kitchen, Aunt Diane was pulling a huge turkey from the oven. In her mid‑fifties with bleached‑blonde hair and a love of gossip that could fuel an entire city, she turned the moment Emma walked in. “So,” Diane said.
“That handsome young man in my dining room is your boyfriend?”
“Yes,” Emma said, grabbing a dish towel.
“Where did he come from?” Diane demanded. “Because I’ve never heard you mention anyone.”
“We met a few months ago,” Emma said.
“I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”
Diane put the roasting pan down and planted her hands on her hips. “Emma Carter,” she said.
“You are hiding something from me.
I’ve known you since the day you were born. I know when you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying,” Emma said quickly, heart racing. “Then tell me everything about him,” Diane ordered.
“Full name.
Job. Family.”
“Nathan Miller,” Emma said, improvising.
“High school teacher. His family lives outside Boston.”
Diane narrowed her eyes.
“A teacher with that car you two arrived in?” she asked.
Emma had forgotten about the car for exactly five minutes. “Family inheritance,” she said. “His parents have money.”
“Hm.”
Diane didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she turned back to the turkey.
“Well, he’s handsome and polite,” she said.
“That’s already more than that last boy you brought. What was his name again?
Daniel? The one who only talked about video games.”
“Derek,” Emma corrected.
“And it was one date.
He wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“Exactly,” Diane said. “This Nathan seems better. Don’t let him get away.”
When Emma returned to the dining room, she almost laughed.
Nathan was sitting between her father and Brandon, talking about football like he’d been doing it his whole life.
On the TV in the living room, an NFL game played on mute. “I’m telling you, the Patriots got lucky in that game,” Nathan was saying.
“Their defense fell apart in the second half.”
“Finally, someone who gets it,” George said, slapping the table. “I said the same thing.”
“Well, statistically speaking—” Brandon began.
“Brandon loves statistics,” Catherine cut in with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“He’s so smart.”
“That’s impressive,” Nathan said politely. “But I bet you don’t get the satisfaction of seeing a student finally understand algebra after weeks of trying. That’s priceless.”
George laughed.
“I like this boy,” he said.
“He has values.”
Catherine went a little pale. Brandon looked like he’d lost control of the conversation and didn’t know how to get it back.
Emma slid into the chair beside Nathan. Under the table, he found her hand and squeezed it.
“So, Nathan,” Catherine began in her sweetest, most dangerous tone.
“Being a high school teacher must be fulfilling. But what about the salary? It must be hard with today’s prices.”
Emma felt Nathan tense beside her.
“Teaching isn’t about money,” he said.
“It’s about making a difference in young people’s lives.”
“How noble,” Catherine said, her tone making it clear she thought the opposite. “Brandon is a corporate lawyer.
He just closed a five‑million‑dollar deal.”
“Six and a half,” Brandon corrected. “That’s impressive,” Nathan said again.
“But I bet you don’t get to see a kid who hated school finally light up because something finally made sense.
That’s worth more than any bonus in my book.”
George let out another approving grunt. “I really like this boy,” he said. Linda bustled in with trays of food.
“Dinner is served,” she called.
“Everyone to the table.”
The next few minutes were organized chaos. Dishes were passed around, glasses filled, people talking over each other.
Nathan fit in like he’d always been there. He complimented Linda’s cooking, laughed at Uncle Charles’s bad jokes when he finally arrived late, and managed to get Grandma Ruth to smile.
“Emma, dear,” Grandma Ruth called from the other end of the table.
In her late eighties with snow‑white hair and the sharpest eyes in the family, she fixed Nathan with a look. “This young man is a treasure. Are you going to marry him?”
Emma choked on her water.
“Grandma!” she spluttered.
“I’m old,” Ruth said. “I can ask these things.
Nathan, do you intend to marry my granddaughter?”
The entire table went quiet. Nathan didn’t flinch.
He looked at Emma, a gentle smile softening his features.
“If she ever accepts me,” he said calmly, “I’ll be the luckiest man in the world.”
Linda’s eyes filled with tears. “George, did you hear that?” she whispered. “He wants to marry our Emma.”
“Mom,” Emma protested.
“Nobody said anything about marriage.
We’ve only been together six months.”
“Your father proposed to me after three,” Linda said. “When you know, you know.”
Aunt Diane leaned forward, eyes shining.
“Nathan,” she said. “Tell me.
How did you ask Emma to be your girlfriend?
It must have been romantic.”
Nathan calmly cut a piece of turkey. “Actually,” he said, “she made the first move.”
Emma stared at him. “She did?” Diane asked, delighted.
“How?”
“She wrote her number on the coffee cup she handed me,” Nathan said.
“With a little heart drawn next to it.”
Total lie. The whole table sighed.
“Emma, how bold,” Linda said. “I had no idea you had it in you,” George added.
“That’s because she never does things like that,” Catherine muttered under her breath—loud enough for Emma to hear.
Nathan heard it too. He turned to Catherine with a polite, firm smile. “Emma is one of the bravest people I know,” he said.
“She works three jobs, pays all her bills on her own, and still finds time to be kind to everyone.
That’s more courage than most people have.”
Silence fell over the table. Catherine went pale.
Brandon stared down at his plate. George looked at Nathan with new respect.
And Emma felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Seen. Maybe that night wasn’t just about fooling her family. Maybe it was about discovering someone who actually saw her.
Dinner moved on with lighter conversation.
Linda kept piling food onto Nathan’s plate, insisting he needed to eat more. George told embarrassing stories from Emma’s childhood.
Tyler teased her relentlessly. “Remember when Emma was seven and decided she wanted to be a ballerina?” Tyler said, laughing.
“She fell off the stage at her first recital.”
“I didn’t fall,” Emma protested.
“I tripped on the tutu of the girl in front of me.”
“You flew three feet and landed on top of the music teacher,” Tyler said. Nathan laughed with everyone. “I’m sure it was graceful,” he said.
“It was ridiculous,” Emma said.
“My mom pulled me out of ballet and put me in soccer.”
“And she hated it,” Linda added. “She spent every game picking flowers in the field.”
Even Catherine laughed at that one.
After dinner, Linda and Diane shooed everyone out of the kitchen, insisting they didn’t need help. The rest of the family drifted into the living room.
George turned on the football game with the sound low while everyone talked.
“So, Nathan,” Uncle Charles said, settling into his armchair. “Emma said you’re a teacher. What subject do you teach?”
Emma froze.
They hadn’t settled on a specific subject.
“History,” Nathan said smoothly. “Mostly American history.
Students think it’s boring at first, but once you show them how the past connects to the present, they get interested.”
“Fascinating,” Charles said. “I always liked history.”
“Then you’re really going to love the real story of how Nathan and I met,” Emma said quickly, jumping in before the questions got harder.
Nathan glanced at her.
“Oh yeah?” he asked. “What’s the true version?”
“The version where I not only spilled coffee on you,” Emma said, “but also tripped and fell on top of you in front of all the customers. You had to catch me so I wouldn’t hit the floor.”
Nathan laughed and played along.
“True,” he said.
“It was the most dramatic fall I’ve ever seen. Lots of style, very little coordination.”
“Hey, I have coordination,” Emma protested.
“Of course you do, sweetheart,” he said in a tone that made everyone laugh harder. “That is so Emma,” Tyler said, nearly spilling his drink.
“Remember when she fell out of the tree trying to rescue the neighbor’s cat?”
“The cat climbed down by itself while I was stuck up there for two hours,” Emma admitted.
“And when she tried roller skates and broke Grandma’s vase,” Tyler added. “Tyler, stop,” Emma said, throwing a pillow at him. Nathan pulled her closer and put his arm around her shoulders.
“I think all of this is adorable,” he said.
“You all have so many stories together.”
Grandma Ruth, who’d been quiet, studied Nathan for a long moment. “Young man,” she said at last.
“You look familiar. Have we met before?”
Emma felt Nathan tense.
“I don’t think so, ma’am,” he said.
“But people say I have a common face.”
“No, that’s not it,” Ruth said, narrowing her eyes. “I never forget a face. You remind me of someone.”
“Maybe you’ve seen him at a school event, Grandma,” Emma said quickly.
“If he’s a teacher, that could be it.”
“Maybe,” Ruth muttered.
But she kept staring at him thoughtfully. Catherine, who had been quiet since Nathan’s little speech at dinner, finally spoke up.
“Nathan, where exactly do you live?” she asked. “Which part of Boston?”
“Back Bay,” he said calmly.
Emma’s stomach dropped.
Back Bay was one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the city. “Back Bay,” Catherine repeated. “On a teacher’s salary?”
“I share an apartment with two roommates,” Nathan said.
“Makes it more affordable.”
“It must still be expensive,” Catherine said, her tone sharp.
“Catherine,” George warned. “Stop interrogating the boy.”
“I’m just asking normal questions, Dad.”
“You’re being rude,” Emma snapped.
“Leave Nathan alone.”
Catherine shut her mouth, but Emma could tell she wasn’t done. “Anybody want dessert?” Brandon said suddenly, clearly sensing the tension.
“Didn’t your mom make apple pie?”
“She did,” Linda called.
“Everyone in the kitchen. I’ll serve.”
People started to stand. Emma used the movement to tug Nathan into the hallway.
“Sorry about Catherine,” she whispered.
“She’s always like that.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I expected worse, honestly.”
“She’s suspicious,” Emma said.
“And the Back Bay thing didn’t help.”
“Emma,” Nathan said, cupping her face gently in his hands. “Relax.
Everything is going fine.”
“Is it?” she asked.
“Because it feels like we’re two seconds away from someone figuring everything out.”
“No one is going to figure anything out,” he said. “Trust me.”
Before she could answer, footsteps echoed in the hallway. They stepped apart just as Aunt Diane appeared with a stack of napkins.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said with a mischievous smile.
“Just grabbing more napkins.”
She walked past them, then glanced back over her shoulder. “You two make a beautiful couple,” she said.
“Don’t let this one get away, Emma.”
When she disappeared around the corner, Emma leaned back against the wall. “This is getting way too real,” she muttered.
“Maybe it’s because it feels real,” Nathan said quietly.
Emma looked up at him. “What do you mean?” she asked. He opened his mouth to answer, but Tyler’s voice cut through the hallway.
“Hey, lovebirds,” he called.
“The pie is waiting.”
They went back to the living room, where Linda was serving generous slices of apple pie with ice cream. Emma ate without really tasting anything, still replaying Nathan’s last words in her head.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of conversation, laughter, and football commentary. Linda asked if they were spending New Year’s together.
George invited Nathan to come watch a game sometime.
Grandma Ruth cornered him to ask more questions. By ten, Emma was exhausted. “I think we need to head out,” she said.
“I work early tomorrow.”
“Working the day after Christmas is ridiculous,” Linda complained.
“Bills don’t take holidays, Mom,” Emma replied. Everyone stood to say goodbye.
Linda hugged Nathan for an embarrassingly long time. George shook his hand again.
Even Catherine muttered a grudging “Nice to meet you” that sounded almost sincere.
When they finally stepped out into the cold night, Emma exhaled, watching her breath cloud in the air. “We survived,” she said. “We survived,” Nathan agreed, unlocking the car.
“And it went really well, by the way.”
“You were perfect,” Emma said honestly.
“Better than I imagined.”
“You were pretty great yourself,” he replied. They drove in comfortable silence for a while, Boston’s streets quiet and glittering with leftover Christmas cheer.
“Nathan,” Emma said finally. “What you said earlier, in the hallway.
About it feeling real.”
“I said that?” he teased lightly.
“You did,” she insisted. “What did you mean?”
Nathan was quiet for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then they stopped at a red light.
He turned to look at her.
“Emma,” he said. “I need to tell you something.”
His tone made her stomach twist.
“What?” she asked. “We already knew each other,” he said.
“Before the park.
Before all of this.”
Emma blinked. “What?”
“Five years ago,” he said quietly. “You worked at the same café.
I used to go there every day.”
Emma’s mind raced backward.
Five years ago, she’d been twenty‑two, juggling classes and shifts at the café. Faces blurred together.
Regulars came and went. “I don’t remember you,” she said.
“I know,” he said.
“I was different then. Thinner. Glasses.
Longer hair.
And my name wasn’t Nathan back then.”
Her heart hammered. “So what’s your real name?” she asked.
He hesitated, fingers tightening on the wheel. “Ethan,” he said.
“Ethan Cole.”
Emma felt like all the air had been sucked out of the car.
The name cracked open an old door in her memory. Ethan Cole. The quiet guy who ordered the same cappuccino every day.
The one who always had a book, who tried to make small talk a few times.
The one who, one exhausted evening, had nervously asked her out and she’d turned him down because she was too busy trying to survive. “Ethan,” she whispered.
“You’re Ethan?”
“I am,” he said softly. “Five years changes a person.”
She really looked at him then.
The hair was different.
The jawline sharper. The body stronger. But the eyes—the eyes were the same.
The smile, when it was truly sincere, was the same.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Why pretend to be someone else?”
The light turned green.
Ethan—no, Nathan—started driving again, his jaw tight. “Because I wanted to see if you’d remember me,” he said.
“And when you didn’t, I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“So this whole thing was what?” Emma demanded.
“Revenge?”
“No, Emma,” he said immediately. “It wasn’t like that.”
He pulled up in front of her building and parked. “It’s complicated,” he said.
“I—”
“You lied to me,” she said.
“Emma, I—”
She unbuckled her seat belt and shoved the door open. “Goodnight,” she said, her throat burning.
“Emma, please,” he said, reaching for her. She pulled her hand back as if his touch burned.
Without looking at him, she slammed the door and ran up the steps to her building.
She could hear him calling her name, but she didn’t turn around. Inside her tiny apartment, she locked the door and slid down with her back against it, finally letting the tears fall. Ethan Cole—the boy she’d rejected five years earlier—had just turned her whole world upside down.
