Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 15998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
“Park in the back.” I directed Tate to the spot next to my small compact. The carousel and skating rink were close enough to my place that I’d opted for a chilly stroll downtown rather than trying to find parking for my date with Gunter.
I waited for Tate to unclip Mouse and place her on a hot-pink harness before I led the way to my apartment. The stately late-Victorian-era home had a single entrance. Once inside, the grand staircase led to the two smaller upper units while my apartment occupied the whole lower floor.
“This is a nice place.” Tate looked around my spacious living room, which featured a non-working brick fireplace, numerous built-ins, and hardwood floors. Beyond, a short hallway led to the bathroom and bedroom while the nearby dining room flowed into a remodeled version of the original kitchen. “Wow. You almost never see actual dining rooms in apartments.” He whistled low, continuing to glance around. I’d positioned my gray fabric couch near the bay window with the TV and my Swedish-style recliner opposite. My too-small table and chair set occupied the large dining room. I didn’t own much stuff, but what I did have was neatly arranged. “You’ve already unpacked?”
“Boxes make me nervous,” I admitted. Not only did I have issues with clutter and mess after living with my parents, but boxes meant moving and instability. “I never sleep well until I’m fully unpacked.”
“I can see that.” Tate set Mouse on the floor right as Clifford ambled into the room, yawning and stretching like he’d left a prime napping spot on my bed.
“And here’s Clifford.” As I’d predicted, the large orange cat wasn’t in the least bit intimidated. He went right up to Mouse and gave her behind a generous sniff, which made the dog jump and Tate burst out laughing.
“Okay, you were right. He does think he’s a dog.” He kept chuckling as Clifford circled Mouse, who attempted to retreat behind Tate’s muscular leg. Finding the dog less than amenable to his overtures, Clifford stalked to the couch and flopped onto the cushions. Tate turned back toward me. “Food for the cat or food for the humans first?”
“Not sure what I have in the way of human dinner food. I need a big grocery run to stock my new kitchen here.”
“I can help with that,” Mr. Confident bragged. “I know a dude with a truck. And I’m on dinner as well. You still eat meat?” As soon as I nodded, Tate clicked around on his phone. “Tacos will be here in twenty minutes.”
“How is it possible you’ve become even bossier?” My tone was more awestruck than complaining, and Tate simply grinned wider.
“Maybe I’m simply that awesome.”
Not sure what to do in the face of all Tate’s sunny energy, I went to sit next to Clifford on the couch and bent to untie my shoelaces, only to wince as I tried to use my right fingers. The black cast further restricted my range of motion, and I made a frustrated noise.
“Here, let me help.” Tate knelt in front of me, far more agile with his cast, and before I could protest, he’d removed both my shoes.
“Thanks,” I whispered. I had no idea why I’d lowered my voice, only that the moment suddenly seemed big and important. Our gazes met. Held. I inhaled sharply. Tate on his knees on the rug in front of me was pure fantasy material, but it was his expression, joyous and sentimental at once, that made my heart tug with longing.
“There.” He set my shoes aside before removing his own and hefting himself beside me on the couch. “Together again. TNT. What sort of trouble do you want to get into first?”
I gulped. Was he flirting, or was he simply being Tate? I hated that I couldn’t tell, but as in the past, I was more than ready to follow him into whatever adventures he dreamed up.
Chapter Four
Tate
The winter sun shone bright as Mouse and I waited on Tennessee’s front porch on Sunday morning. My wrist still throbbed, but my step was light and my heart hopeful. Having Tennessee around again gave me a new purpose.
“Good morning!” I chirped as Tennessee swung open the door. He wore flannel pants and an inside-out T-shirt, and his long hair flowed around his shoulders. Oops. I might have forgotten that not everyone was used to working my crazy hours. I was blessed with being able to be alert on night, day, or swing shifts, but Tennessee had rather clearly been sleeping in and still looked groggy.
“Uh.” He rubbed his fuzzy beard. Adult Tennessee had this whole hippy Jesus look going on that I surprisingly dug. “Good morning to you.”
“Donut?” I handed him the white bakery box from House of Donuts downtown.
“Um. Sure.” He awkwardly accepted my offering with his left hand and set the box on the nearby entryway table. “You came over at eight on a Sunday to bring me donuts?”