Chapter 4 - Earning the Title of 'Dad'Nathan didn't leave the next morning. Instead, he extended his stay indefinitely. He sent his corporate team back to Chicago and moved out of the executive suite into a small, standard room at the back of the inn. He traded his custom suits for thick flannel shirts, jeans, and work boots.
At first, I watched him like a hawk. I expected him to lose his patience, to get bored of small-town life, or to try and buy the boys' affection with expensive toys. But he didn't.
Instead, he started by just being around. When Noah got a toy truck stuck in the snowbank, Nathan didn't order a new one; he spent twenty minutes digging in the freezing snow with his bare hands to fish it out, handing it back with a gentle smile. When Eli was too shy to join the local kids building a snow fort, Nathan sat on the porch with him, quietly teaching him how to carve little wooden figures out of kindling.
One afternoon, a week into his new routine, the heating system in the east wing broke down. Before I could call a repairman, I found Nathan in the basement, covered in grease, wrestling with the boiler valve.
"What are you doing?" I asked, stunned. "You're a billionaire, Nathan. You don't know how to fix a boiler."
"My dad was a mechanic before I got my MBA, remember?" he grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead, leaving a streak of black grease across his nose. "I know my way around a wrench. Besides, you need the heat back on for the guests, and the repair guy is two hours away."
I leaned against the doorframe, watching the muscles in his back shift as he worked. For the first time in years, I saw the man I had fallen in love with in college—the scrappy, determined guy who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, not the polished corporate shark he had become.
Later that week, the breakthrough happened. Noah had climbed too high in the old oak tree behind the inn and got stuck. He started crying, terrified to climb down. I panicked, running toward the tree, but Nathan was faster.
He didn't shout. He climbed up the lower branches with ease, reaching a strong arm out. "Hey, buddy," Nathan said calmly. "It's okay. I've got you. Just step on my hand."
Noah, usually so stubborn, looked at Nathan's steady gaze and trusted him. He stepped down, and Nathan scooped the boy into his chest, holding him tight as he climbed down to the ground. When they landed, Noah buried his face in Nathan's shoulder, wrapping his little arms around his neck.
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"Thank you, Nate," Noah mumbled.
Nathan closed his eyes, holding his son tight, a look of pure, agonizing joy on his face. He looked at me over Noah's head, and I knew then that the walls I had built around my heart were crumbling. He wasn't just trying to win me back. He was trying to be a father.
