Kiss Me, Tate (Love in Rustic Woods)

by Karen Cantwell

  Tate broke the lull. “I wonder if the kids are done running those lines?”

  Bunny wrinkled forehead. “What?”

  “Charlie and Willow. They’re running lines with some other kids from the cast.”

  “At the Java Hut?”

  “Yeah. You didn’t know?”

  “I guess I’m lucky he told me he was going there. He just said he was meeting friends. He’s not a real talker.” Sort of like you, she thought to herself. Although that was hardly fair. A donut shop was hardly a place to have deep conversations.

  “Most teenage boys aren’t, so I’d say he’s pretty normal.” Tate smiled at Bunny, and the lines around his eyes made her melt inside.

  “Yeah.” For a split second, Bunny considered doing something wild and crazy. Something she’d never done in her life—ask a man out on a date. As soon as she thought of the idea, she had a million reasons why it was crazy and far-fetched, not the least of which was that they worked together. Dating could make for awkward moments on the job if it didn’t go well or if he laughed in her face after she did the asking.

  Tate looked at his watch. “I uh...”

  “Oh,” interrupted Bunny, taking the cue to get moving. “I’m sure you have things to and so do I. Tomorrow is another work week and all.” What did that mean? She wanted to slap herself when she said stupid things. She stood. “Thank you for this. You’ve been great today.”

  “What’s an old high school buddy for, anyway?”

  She raised an eyebrow. They’d hardly been buddies, but she wished they had been. The sentiment was nice, though. She’d take it.

  Walking to the door, she panicked that they’d have nothing to say on the way back to Whispering Pines. She decided to feign a need to stop in at the drugstore for some items and told him to go on without her. “See you tomorrow,” she said.

  He waved, and she watched his back as he walked away. With one hand on the door to the drugstore, she thought about what Barb had told her. Had Tate asked Colt about her because he was interested?

  The man was hard to read. She’d certainly had men interested in her before, and usually they were very obvious. With each step he took, his hands in his pocket, staring at the sidewalk beneath his feet, she hoped. Hoped he would look back at her. If he did, she thought, that would be the sign.

  The farther he walked, the further her optimism plummeted. She pulled on the door. Heck, she thought. Might as well pick up some shampoo while I’m here.

  Then, just as she stepped through the doorway, she checked one more time and caught him looking over his shoulder at her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  TATE DECIDED ENTERING THE NATURE Center from the front was far more interesting than slipping in through the back door. In fact, he’d arrived a few minutes after nine for several mornings in a row now. With each passing day, he noticed that he wasn’t the only one who seemed happier around the place.

  On Thursday, Crabby Abby actually smiled at him. Her hair looked different—not so wild—and he wondered if a different hair style could actually put someone in a better mood.

  And this morning, after wondering why Bunny wasn’t at the reception desk, he heard voices in the conference room. He went to see if he’d forgotten a meeting. When he poked his nose in, Bunny turned and smiled. One of her hands hovered over Olga’s face.

  “Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

  “I’m giving Olga some pointers,” Bunny said.

  Tate recognized the items laid out on the long, wide table: makeup. He suppressed a snicker.

  Olga’s head was tipped backwards. One eye was closed, and the other attempted to focus on Tate. “She give me lesson on making face pretty. Thees face can use all the help it can get.”

  “Stop that,” Bunny told her. “You have a very pretty face. You just hide it with those glasses. You should get contact lenses.”

  “We see how you do with the mascara and blushes. Then we talk contacts lenses.”

  “I’ll, uh, leave you two to whatever it is you’re doing. I won’t tell Abigail you’re in here.”

  “It her idea!” Olga shouted. “Bunny do her hair, make big change for Abigail. She got hot date this weekend with George. But shh—that is secret.” She sat forward and shot Tate a wink.

  Tate hoped the wink wasn’t a hint for him to ask Olga out.

  Bunny shrugged at Tate. “I’m almost done,” she told him. “Olga, sit back. Let me finish.”

  “Okie dokie.” Olga obeyed and Tate stepped back to leave.

  “Tate!” Bunny called out, stopping him. “A man called for you last night after you left. He said it was important, but wouldn’t leave a message and said he didn’t need your voicemail. He did ask when you’d be in today.”

  “He didn’t say what it was about?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “Thanks. I guess if it’s important enough, he’ll call back.”

  “He said he’d stop by.”

  That was a little strange. He wasn’t in the middle of any important projects, and most people he did business with left messages. He wondered if it was personal in nature. Or maybe it was one of the dads he was working with on the set for Kiss Me, Kate. “Okay. Thanks.”

  He closed the door and let Bunny finish performing miracles on Olga.

  The rest of the day was ordinary. Tate met with his staff about pre-school and elementary school programs, bluebird nest box monitoring, and the upcoming spring stream cleanup effort.

  He then drove to the north side of town to meet with the arborists about some diseased trees bordering the nature paths. He offered them his view of what should be done. Ultimately, it was the arborists’ decision, but the town always consulted with him, since the natural makeup of Rustic Woods was what made Rustic Woods the model for nature-oriented planned communities around the country.

  By five, when he should have been going home, he still had emails to go through. If he didn’t, more would just pile on over the weekend.

  He handled several quickly, deleted a few spam emails, and was reading another when his phone buzzed from up front. “Tate?”

  He talked into the intercom. “You’re still here, Bunny? You should go home. I’ll lock up.”

  “There’s someone here to see you,” Bunny said.

  “Who is it?”

  “He says he’s your brother.”

  Tate froze. He stared at the phone’s orange intercom light.

  “Tate?” Bunny asked.

  “Yeah. Yeah.” He wiped his palms on his jeans. “Uh, tell him I’ll...I’ll be right there.”

  He stood. He sat. He stood. He closed his email and powered down his computer. After a minute, staring at the blank screen, he pulled open his top drawer, grabbed his keys and wallet, walked slowly out of his office, and headed directly away from the reception area.

  For the first time all week, he left out the back door.

  At home, Tate sat at his kitchen table pulling swigs from a long neck beer and reading the note Willow had left. Tater Pop—running lines at Nina’s house, then going for Pizza with some of cast after. Text if not okay. Be home by 9, promise. XXOO

  He had to re-read it several times because his mind kept shifting to images of Samuel being that close to him, and his own inability to face the man he’d contacted first. He slammed the bottle on the table, angry at himself. He was a coward. But he was angry at Samuel, too. He’d left a message with his cell phone number, yet the man had sought out his place of employment and chosen to show up unannounced. Tate wondered if Samuel was playing some kind of game. He was probably visit Morton next or maybe he’d already tried that.

  Thank goodness Tate had finally talked May into spending time with Mort. She’d picked him up the night before and they were traveling to Charlotte, North Carolina so Mort could visit their mother’s grave. Morton had complained often over the years that his wife, Alice, chose to be buried near her parents in Charlotte. Tate never understood her choice either, ho
w could he? She’d died when he was an infant. Hard to understand someone he’d never known didn’t know. And that went for his brother, as well.

  Hating to sit and dwell, Tate decided that a shower might make him feel better. He was in his room pulling his t-shirt over his head when the doorbell rang.

  It was either a drive-by tree guy wanting to give Tate an estimate to take down the big oak that leaned over the house, or it was Samuel. If Samuel had figured out where he worked, he probably had figured out where he lived.

  Tate yanked the t-shirt back down over his chest and walked from his room. What most people didn’t know when they stood at his front door, was that a thin glass window in the hallway from the kitchen to his bedroom offered a perfect view of the visitor’s back. If it was Samuel, he could decide whether or not to answer. If it was a tree guy, he’d take that shower and forget the door.

  With his head against the wall, he peeked through the pane. If that was a tree guy, he had a great ass.

  Tate stepped away from the wall. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

  The doorbell rang again. He hesitated, torn between the need for solitude and the desire for company. Okay, not just any company. Bunny Bergen.

  She had a way of making him want to talk about himself. He hadn’t met anyone with that effect on him in years.

  The third ring made his decision for him. Evidently she wasn’t giving up easily.

  Tate padded, barefoot, to the door and opened it. He couldn’t think of any sensible words to greet her. What did she know? Did Samuel tell her anything? Everything?

  She held up an envelope. “He left this for you.”

  Tate didn’t take it. Couldn’t take it. He looked into her green eyes and found comfort, but still, he didn’t say anything.

  “Do you want to talk?” she asked, taking a step closer.

  He shrugged. “It’s a long story. Silly plot. Not a lot of action.”

  She pulled his hand from its grip on the door, pressed the envelope into his palm, then closed her own fingers around his and squeezed. Her hands were soft and offered the same comfort as her eyes. “I have time.”

  There was no way he could say no to her. He opened the door wider. “Want a beer?”

  She stepped in, giving a quick glance around the interior. “Sure.” She smiled at him. “Charlie and Willow are at Nina’s house. They’re going for pizza after.” She closed the door behind her.

  Tate nodded, and hated that his hands were shaking. “Come on in,” he said. “The kitchen is back here.” He pointed the way, motioning for Bunny to precede him down the hallway. Mostly he was being a gentlemen, but he also wanted to take in her scent as she passed.

  He folded the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket.

  Bunny stood, looking a little awkward in the middle of his kitchen. “You have a nice house.”

  He pulled a chair out from the table. “Have a seat.” He opened the fridge and pulled out another long neck. His remained unfinished on the counter. “Thanks,” he continued. “The Nature Center provides decent living quarters, and Willow gives it the feminine touch it needs. The walls would be bare if she weren’t around.”

  Bunny nodded and sat, smiling. “Where does her mother live?”

  There it was. The question he always avoided. The inevitable question that never got easier to answer, no matter how many years ticked away.

  He had, however, grown used to spitting the answer out bluntly. Made the transition to the sorrowful and sympathetic reaction quicker and less painful. “She passed away when Willow was three.”

  Everyone asked how, so he’d learned to put it all out there. “Riding a bike—a truck plowed into her. They say she died instantly and probably didn’t feel any pain.” He took a long pull on his beer while handing Bunny hers, and then sat down himself.

  He usually avoided eye contact when he gave his spiel, but not this time. He held Bunny’s gaze. Her eyes were wide, and he knew what she was thinking. “Don’t feel bad. You didn’t know. I try to keep my personal life private.” He sat across from her, beer in front of him, hands encircling the bottle as if it might run away if he let go.

  She nodded. “I understand.” She allowed a whisper of a smile to show. “Sometimes I wish my life were more private.” She shrugged. “A lot of times. What was her name?”

  “Jill.”

  “Do you have a picture?”

  Most people didn’t ask to see a picture. They usually tried to change the subject or ask how Willow dealt with growing up without having a mother. “Uh, yeah.”

  He stood and walked to the living room, noticing, for the first time, the cold tile on his bare feet. In fact, the entire house was chilled. He’d turn the heat up in a minute.

  He unhooked a frame from the wall and returned, handing it to Bunny. The picture was one he had taken of Jill and Willow at Yosemite National Park. Willow was two and a half at the time. They had lived in California, and Tate and Jill worked long days, earning great money in their white collar computer jobs. That trip was the first they’d taken in over a year.

  “She was beautiful.” Bunny’s smile was genuine. “Willow looks just like her.”

  Tate scooted his chair closer, really looking at the photo for the first time in years. Before he knew it, he was telling Bunny about how he met Jill during his senior year in college. How he had followed her to San Jose, purposely taking a job in the same company. How he had proposed to her during a weekend getaway to San Francisco, kneeling as he clung to a bar on a trolley car and how the passengers had applauded when she said yes. How they agreed to name their daughter after Jill’s favorite tree and had planned to name their next child River if it was a girl, and Tristan if it was a boy. How her sudden death made him question what he was doing with his life.

  They’d had such a short time together, doing jobs that were unfulfilling. So with Willow still a toddler, he quit his job, spent time with his daughter, and reconsidered his choices. Eventually, he went back to school and trained in something more fulfilling and enriching that allowed him more flexibility as a single parent. He chose wildlife biology, knowing he wanted a career as a naturalist.

  He’d spoken nearly non-stop for twenty minutes. Bunny had asked questions here and there, but overall, he did the talking, and she did the listening.

  By the end of his story, he realized that his chair was touching hers and that he had his arm wrapped around the back of it, leaning the slightest bit against her shoulders. He hadn’t spilled that much of himself to anyone since Jill’s death. Not even May. The woman next to him was so open and genuine and kind that he felt almost completely at ease baring his soul to her.

  Bunny placed the framed photo on the table with gentle care. “You were lucky to have each other,” she said.

  He was surprised by the depth of her statement. He’d heard little more than well-meaning, empty platitudes over the years: I’m so sorry, for your loss and She’ll always be alive in your heart. But he couldn’t recall anyone ever saying You were lucky to have each other. Yes, he thought, they were. For the first time in fifteen years, he felt free of the burden of her memory. Not the burden of having loved her, but of the memory of that love. For the first time, someone else touched him deeply and profoundly. Someone he desired to kiss not just for the pleasure of it, but because every cell in his body yearned for her, every synapse in his brain fired a passion for her.

  “Bunny, I...”

  At the sound of her name, she looked up, their faces just inches apart.

  He studied the gold flecks against the green in her eyes, followed the slim contour of her nose, the sweet curves of her lips. “I...”

  He felt warmth through his beard as she wrapped her hands around his face. And then there was the soft, heavenly taste of her lips on his.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  TATE’S MOUTH PRESSED BUNNY’S LIGHTLY at first. Gently. She pulled his face closer to hers and parted her lips to accept his increasingly passionate explorati
on. His tongue tasted like beer. Feeling a tickle, she giggled.

  He pulled away, but kept his hand cradling the back of her head.

  “What?” He breathed heavily.

  “I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before. It tickles.”

  He smiled. “Is that okay?”

  Her own breathing was out of control. “It’s very okay.”

  His molten eyes grew more intent and he leaned back in, kissing her bottom lip and sliding his tongue across and in.

  She moaned with pleasure and ran a hand down his shoulder and gripped his bicep.

  In response, he ran a hand behind her back and pulled her to him. Awkward in the chairs and consumed by the moment, she flung her leg over him, straddling him in his chair.

  They kissed long and hard and deep, her fingers caressing his hair, his hardness pressing against her.

  Sweet mother of madness he was good. She ran a hand under his t-shirt and up his chest, stopping to enjoy the thrill of his hand on her thigh.

  Finally, when the intensity seemed nearly unbearable, he pulled his face from her just enough to whisper. Their noses were still touching. “Not here,” he said quietly.

  Then giving her lips another gentle kiss, he eased her off of him.

  They stood, pressed against each other, and Bunny felt like they were dancing again as they had so many years ago. Only this time, her dream would be fulfilled. He took her hand as she stared into those deep, endlessly dark eyes, and willingly followed him to his bed.

  Afterward, they lay entwined under the sheet and a blanket. The air was chilled, but Tate’s body kept her warm. They faced each other, his leg curled over both of hers, his arm around her, and his hand pressed pleasantly against the small of her back.

  She ran her hand along his upper arm. She loved the feel of it. The sky had turned dark since she arrived, and she thought about Charlie and Willow. “What time is it?” she asked.