Chapter 13 - THE MAN WHO DIDN'T ASK ABOUT THE MONEY
I met Nathan Brooks on a rainy Thursday in November.
He owned a small architectural restoration firm.
He'd been hired to assess an old warehouse at Whitcomb Harbor.
When I arrived, he was standing on a ladder examining a damaged beam.
“Emily Whitcomb?” he called.
“Yes.”
He climbed down.
Wiped his hands.
Smiled.
“Nathan Brooks.”
He was thirty-seven.
Dark-haired.
Quiet.
With the kind of face that looked more comfortable outdoors than in boardrooms.
He showed me the building.
Explained the repairs.
Pointed out structural concerns.
Then he asked:
“What do you want this place to become?”
I stared.
Most consultants asked about budgets.
Timelines.
Return on investment.
Nathan asked about the future.
I smiled.
“A community arts center.”
He nodded.
“Then we should preserve the original windows.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because the light is beautiful.”
I laughed.
He smiled.
Over the next several months, we worked together.
Nathan never asked about my inheritance.
Never tried to impress me.
Never treated my opinions as obstacles.
One afternoon, he brought coffee.
We sat on the warehouse steps.
He looked at me.
“Can I ask you something?”
I smiled.
“Sure.”
“Would you like to have dinner sometime?”
I stared.
Then laughed softly.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
He grinned.
“Yes.”
I thought about Daniel.
About the wedding.
About the years I'd spent believing love required compromise.
Then I looked at Nathan.
“Okay.”
He smiled.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
Our first date was simple.
A small Italian restaurant.
No photographers.
No expensive gifts.
No dramatic promises.
We talked for three hours.
About books.
Travel.
Family.
Work.
At the end of the evening, Nathan walked me to my car.
He smiled.
“I had a good time.”
“So did I.”
He hesitated.
“Can I see you again?”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
Then he kissed my cheek.
And left.
May you like
I stood beside my car smiling like an idiot.
For the first time in a long time, dating felt exciting instead of exhausting.
