Love Is Like Water Spilled Chapter 2

Nathaniel and I went way back—back to sharing a playpen and wearing matching onesies.

Our families were next-door neighbors, and our moms had joked about arranging our marriage while they were still pregnant.

When I started middle school, a group of girls decided to make my life hell. They’d hide my homework, splash ink on my skirts, and "accidentally" hit me with the ball during gym class.

The worst of them was the class president, Liz.

She once threw a meticulously crafted art project of mine into the trash, then smirked and said, "It was so ugly, the teacher wouldn't have looked at it anyway."

I went to our homeroom teacher, my eyes red with tears. She just patted my head. "Liz is the class president, Summer. She's just trying to motivate you to do better."

That night at dinner, I silently pushed rice around my bowl, trying not to cry. My dad noticed something was wrong, and was about to slam his chopsticks down and march to the school.

Just then, Nathaniel's dad stopped by to ask my dad to go fishing. He heard the story and turned, yelling into his living room:

"Nathaniel! Starting tomorrow, you walk your sister to and from school!"

The next day after school, Nathaniel kicked open the back door of our classroom.

He grabbed Liz by the collar, dragged her to the front of the class, and said in a low, dangerous voice, "You're the one who's been bullying my sister?"

At fourteen, he was already taller than most of the teachers, with a glare that could make a high school thug run for the hills.

Liz was shaking like a leaf. Her little gang of followers shrank in their seats, silent.

Before he left, Nathaniel tapped the chalkboard with an eraser, sending a cloud of chalk dust into the afternoon sun.

"Let's get this straight. Summer Lane is with me. You got a problem with her, you got a problem with me. Got it?"

After that, no one ever bothered me again. And I, in turn, stuck to Nathaniel like glue.

When he played basketball, I held his jacket on the sidelines. When he went to the internet cafe with his friends, I sat on a stool beside him, doing my homework.

Nathaniel would always scowl at me. "Summer, can you please stop following me everywhere? My friends are making fun of me because of you."

But I didn't care.

Day after day, year after year, his gruff dismissals softened into resigned sighs.

At the university freshman orientation party, I performed a dance in a white dress. When I came off stage, I saw him clutching my jacket, his eyes darting away, a suspicious blush creeping up his neck.

"Seen enough?" I teased, poking his chest.

He was so flustered he dropped his phone, fumbling three times before he could pick it up. "Who—who was looking at you? I was watching the host..."

Later, at a family New Year's dinner, our parents started teasing us. "So, when are we making this childhood engagement official?"

Nathaniel didn't say anything. He just quietly peeled a shrimp and dropped it into my bowl.

I ducked my head to hide my smile.

The idiot's ears were so red they looked like they were about to bleed.