by Kelsey King
“Why did you come here, Tanner?” I ask, cutting to the chase.
“Well, I’m spending the summer in Aspen, and I wanted to visit my baby brother. What’s wrong with that?” He leans against his car.
“Kind of strange you came unannounced.”
“I like a good surprise,” he admits. “But it looks like you don’t.” Seriously, bro,” Tanner says, crossing his arms over his chest. “How much longer are you going to do this?”
“Do what?” I ask.
“Pretend like your Paul Bunyan.”
“Very funny,” I reply. “This is my new life. I’m not asking you to accept it.”
“Mom’s upset. She thinks that you’re wasting away up here. Don’t let that shit with Eden make you throw your life away. You don’t have to keep running from it.”
“I’m not wasting away, and I don’t give two shits about Eden, and I’m not running from anything. For the first time I’m happy,” I reply.
“It looks like you’ve been hitting the gym,” Tanner says with a laugh. “I’ll tell mom you’re becoming a big boy.” Tanner’s tone is condescending, and I stifle the urge to throw him into his BMW and send him on his way.
“You can also tell mom that I’m happy with where I’m at.”
“Why don’t you tell her yourself?” Tanner replies, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’re coming to the anniversary, right?”
“Yes, and I’m bringing my fiancée.”
There again, something flies out of my mouth before I have time to consider it. I still didn’t get a definitive answer from Brianna, but at this point, I’d offer her a million dollars to come.
“I’m impressed. I can’t wait to meet the mountain woman.”
I don’t even dignify his statement with a response, and I begin to walk toward my cabin, turning my back to him.
“I’m glad that we had this delightful encounter,” Tanner calls toward me. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”
I lift a hand in the air to wave goodbye, without turning toward him again. Once I’m inside, I hear the wheels of the BMW skidding down the dirt road. He’ll definitely be getting that car detailed as soon as he reaches fucking Aspen. The Williams’ must have everything immaculate.
Once he’s gone, I go to the truck to get the groceries. I bring them inside, place them on the counter, and let out a huge sigh.
There’s no room for error and Brianna has to say yes to my proposal.
8
Brianna
I’m nervous as hell. It ends up being a large dinner crowd, and it doesn’t even matter. After Tate’s generous tips, and the considerable sum of money he wants to give me to go to Chicago with him, my mind is less focused on my finances. Oh God, if he only knew how much money doesn’t mean anything to me. I’m starting to think I would pay to have his company.
But I have to admit that I need it. Dad was really ill this morning, and I had to take him to the doctor. That’s why I was really late to work, and I just didn’t want to have to explain that to Tate, not yet at least. I’m never late to work, and it makes me feel terrible when I am because I know how much the café depends on me and I rely on them the same way. During my break, I called to check on Dad, and it seems like he’s feeling better. The bill was close to five hundred dollars after insurance with the blood work testing they had to do. Not going to Chicago isn’t an option.
But I’m nervous. There’s an unspoken attraction between Tate and I. The tension is almost unbearable. So, I suppose it’s a good kind of nervousness, but it’s still there, nonetheless. Thinking about him at work scatters my thoughts, and that’s when a woman is pissed about getting a chicken sandwich instead of a hamburger, I realize I need to pay attention.
Ever since Tate stepped into my life, screwing up at work has been my new routine. I’ve come unglued by him and in a short amount of time. I feel undone when he’s around.
I look up at the clock inside the café, and I see it’s nearing the end of my shift. We’re serving food for fifteen more minutes, and then it’s time to go. Once I’m finished with tables and side work, I’ll be out of here and if I’m lucky it’ll be close to nine. I suppose I’ll just leave my car in the parking lot. Then he can drive me back here after dinner.
Just my luck, a party of eight strolls in five minutes before I can lock the door, and there’s no way I can turn them down. Josh, the manager, would be pissed. So, I accept the party and know getting out of here at nine is just a pipe dream.
“Look alive. They’re drinking wine,” Josh says. He always gets excited when guests order alcohol because it makes the café a lot of money.
“I am,” I reply with a smile, though my mind is a hundred miles away.
As I suspected, the table ends up being a total handful, and I’m running back and forth to the kitchen for every little thing. Once nine pm rolls around, I look out to the parking lot to see Tate, leaning against his truck with a smile. He’s watching me intently. I nervously laugh and wave and he waves back. I can’t wait for this shift to be over so I can get out of here.
“So you have a date or something?” Josh asks.
“Well, kind of,” I say, looking back toward the parking lot. Tate brought Shark who’s happily sticking his head out of the truck. Tate pets him and gives him attention, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“You can get outta here,” Josh says with a smile. His eyes are soft, and I’m almost shocked.
“What?” I ask in amazement.
“Go on. I’ll finish this table up. It’s not a problem. You’ve been working really hard lately, and I appreciate that.”
“Seriously?”
“You better go now before I change my mind,” he warns with a smirk, and I don’t waste another minute. I hurry and take all the empty dishes from the table and explain to them that I’m leaving for the night. The smile on my face is permanent as I take my apron off and wash my hands. Josh has never said or done anything nice for me since I’ve been working at the Whitefish Cafe, so I almost pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
“You’re the best,” I say, walking toward the door.
“Just don’t be late tomorrow,” he says with a grin before walking out on the patio.
“I promise.”
I’m almost running to Tate’s truck, and force myself to slow down, realizing I’m being way too enthusiastic. When I approach, he gives me a gentle smile again, and I smile as well.
“You’re not going to believe what just happened,” I tell him, happy to be leaving.
“Tell me about it in the truck.” He gives me a wink and opens my door. I hop in, and Shark goes to the back of the truck and makes room for me. Shark tries to lick me, but Tate tells him to stop.
Once we’re buckled, Tate starts the truck, and the engine roars ferociously. He pulls out of the parking lot and before I know it we’re humming down Main Street. Most all the businesses are closed for the night, which is normal for Whitefish.
“How’d it go tonight?” Tate asks. I can tell he’s trying to make conversation though he’s genuinely interested. He glances over at me, and I practically melt when our eyes meet. God, this is going to be hard.
“Actually really great and my manager even let me off early.”
“You deserved to leave.” He glances over at me again then puts his attention back on the road.
I watch the road too. “I know, I can’t imagine why. He’s never done anything like that for me before. Usually, he’s an asshole about me staying my shift.”
Tate clears his throat. “You have to promise not to be upset.”
I glare at him. “Oh no. What did you do?”
He chuckles. “I didn’t rough him up or anything. Just slipped him a few hundreds.”
My eyes practically bulge out of my hand. “You hand hundreds out like you’re printing them in your house.”
He bursts out into hearty laughter. “I’m just kidding. I didn’t pay him shit.”
&nb
sp; My heart is thumping hard in my chest, and I feel like an idiot. “I believed you! Not fair.”
“I can be very convincing,” he adds with a light laugh.
Slowing, Tate turns onto a rocky road, and I know we’re traveling up the mountainside. In the darkness of night, I can still see the dust enveloping the truck on all sides. The headlights are our only guides. The forest is thick and mysterious, and I beat its peaceful living up here in the middle of nowhere.
“Here we are,” he says turning onto a gravel path, and at the end sits a cozy cabin that’s lit from within. I swear, it looks like a painting, and even in the darkness of night, it looks like utter perfection.
“Wow, this is wonderful,” I say.
“Thanks. I put a lot of work into it.”
The truck comes to a stop, and I open my door, excited to be here finally. Shark hops out after me, and the three of us walk toward the cabin.
“Are you cold?” Tate asks.
“You know, you don’t have to be the world’s most perfect gentleman,” I say, feeling slightly guilty about all his generosity.
“Great, finally permission to be a prick,” he says with a grin.
I let out a laugh, knowing he’s not going to change the way he’s acting.
He opens the door to the cabin, and it’s warm and inviting. I have to admit, not only is it clean and well-appointed, but it feels almost like home—a home I wish I had. Clearly, Tate has put a lot of care into it, and it’s got a lovely lived-in feel.
“I can see why you never leave,” I say, looking around admiring what he’s done with the place.
“Yeah, sometimes it takes all the energy I have just to drive into town,” he says, throwing his keys onto a side table and taking off his jacket. Even though it was a hot summer day, it’s still cool enough for a light jacket at night because of the altitude.
Tate walks over to the fireplace and throws some logs in.
“It smells wonderful in here,” I say, smelling something delicious. My stomach growls and I didn’t realize how hungry I really was until that moment.
“I hope that you like pasta,” he says, starting the fire with a match.
“Paste is actually my favorite,” I tell him and he tilts his head.
“You’re not just saying that to boost my ego, right?”
Holding my hands up, I shake my head. “I swear. Pasta is my absolute favorite dish in the world. I like all kinds too. Marinara, Alfredo, even like it in my salads.”
Silence surrounds us, and it isn’t the first time this night where loaded silence envelops us. It’s not tense, really, just ripe with unspoken thoughts and feelings.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks congenially.
“Oh, sure. That’d be great.” I follow Tate to the kitchen.
“I’ve got beer, wine, and the hard stuff,” he says, opening the fridge.
“A glass of wine would be lovely.” I’m so used to drinking beer with Callie that wine is a nice change and a great pairing with pasta.
“Coming right up.” He places the corkscrew in a bottle of red wine, and I can’t help but watch his muscles flex as he pops the cork out. I sit at the barstool and watch him. When he looks over his shoulder and catches me admiring him, a blush hits my cheeks.
After pouring two glasses of wine, he hands one to me.
“How about a toast?” Tate holds his glass up, and I do the same.
“What are we toasting?” I ask with a smile.
“You,” he adds. “And a damn delicious dinner.”
I laugh. “I’ll happily toast to both of those things.”
God, he looks amazing wearing a pair of torn jeans and a white V-neck shirt that clings to his muscular chest. I know I look like a hot mess and probably smell like the café, but he’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. I nervously fiddle with my hair, trying to put it in place.
The wine is delicious, and I can’t help but let out a sigh of happiness. Right now I have zero worries in the world. Just being in Tate’s presence has melted it all away.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he adds. “After that kale wrap this afternoon, I’m starving. It’s like I ate air for lunch.”
I start laughing. “But it was good, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, I mean, it was good. Even Shark liked it.” Tate glances over at Shark.
“You shared it with the dog?”
“Guilty!” He chuckles. “Dinner will be ready in like 20 minutes,” Tate says, looking in the oven.
“Perfect,” I say, glancing at my phone to check the time.
“Don’t worry about the time,” Tate says, clearly noting my glance down. “You can stay here tonight.”
“Oh?” I ask, feeling that familiar heat rush to my cheeks. Noticing me shift, Tate hurries and adds to his sentence. “Yes, I have a guest room. I already put clean sheets on the bed.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” I don’t want to sleep in the guest room though, that’s the only problem with this situation.
“Sure I did. I invited you to a late dinner. There’s no sense in sending you home at midnight.”
“I’ve been known to lose a slipper or two during that time,” I say, making a Cinderella joke that he gets. Honestly, it would suck to leave at midnight, but I didn’t expect that I’d be staying overnight and didn’t bring any clothes with me.
“I have an extra toothbrush too,” Tate adds. Damn, he’s perfect.
“Perfect.” I get up from my chair, taking my glass of wine with me, and walk toward him.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask, our bodies in close proximity, and I watch as he swallows hard.
“Are you any good at chopping vegetables?”
“A pro,” I say with a lifted eyebrow. “I chop veggies at the café all the time.”
“Well, in that case.” Tate sets out some vegetables to chop for the salad, and when I fully step into the kitchen, I see a table off in the corner, set for two and a candle burning on it. The table is surrounded by bay windows, and I’m pretty sure with the lights low we’d be able to see stars. It’s intimate and perfect, and I wonder what I’ve done to deserve to be treated like a princess.
“So, have you thought things over?” Tate randomly asks, but he’s smiling, and I bet he already knows the answer.
“I have.”
“And?” he asks, trying to appease me.
While chopping the carrots, I’m feeling playful. Maybe it’s the wine.
“I’m afraid I’m too hungry to answer. Maybe after a few bites of pasta.” I wink.
“This might help,” Tate says, coming close to me and holding a piece of perfectly sautéed shrimp in the air. He’s testing me. I smile, and he brings the shrimp to my lips and places it into my mouth.
“Oh my God. That’s amazing.” I moan, placing a hand to cover my mouth while I chew. It’s hot and buttery.
“I love shrimp.” Tate pops a piece into his own mouth.
The salad is expertly composed in no time, and the pasta is ready. Tate pulls out a chair for me at the table, and I seat myself, placing a napkin on my lap. He carries over the bowl of salad, and the pasta and shrimp. The garlic bread is served in a basket. He’s gone all out to make this as intimate and special as possible.
“This is perfect.” I look around the table at what he’s done.
“May I?” Tate says, adding pasta onto my plate.
“Yes, thank you.”
He puts a huge mound of pasta in front of me, and I stifle a laugh. Clearly, nothing about that portion seems strange to him. I pick up my fork and twirl the pasta around it and stab a piece of shrimp. Tate watches me.
“Are you going to stare at me while I eat?” I playfully ask.
“I’m just waiting for you to take the first bite to make sure I didn’t mess anything up.”
I bring the fork to my mouth, taking a large bite of pasta. There’s something sexy about pasta. Tate watches me intently with a pre
datory gaze.
“Well?” he asks.
“Wow.” I savor the flavor on my tongue. “It’s delicious,” I say, honestly. “It’s very flavorful.”
“I had some expert advice this afternoon from an older lady in the grocery store. I was wandering around like a lost puppy, and she basically placed everything in my basket. You can thank Google for the recipe.” He chuckles, taking a bite.
“It’s seriously so good.” I moan again, and I’m certain I hear a growl forming in his throat. I take another bite with a louder moan just to watch his reaction. “I could eat this every single day and never get sick of it,” I add, thinking I might actually finish this entire plate full though it’s way too much food.
“I think I could make that happen.” He smirks, finally take a bite of his own food.
“So about your offer,” I finally say, knowing he’s on edge waiting to hear my answer.
Tate puts down his fork and brings his napkin to his perfect, smiling lips.
“Yeah?” He’s intrigued and watches me intently.
“I’d be honored to go with you to Chicago, but there’s a catch,” I say.
“There usually is.” He’s grinning, and I get the vibe that he doesn’t care what it is.
I put down my fork and choose my words carefully. “I want to get to know you better. I mean, how can I go to Chicago and pretend to be your fiancée when I don’t know anything about you?”
“Fair enough.” Tate nods in agreement.
“I can’t pretend to be your fiancée if I don’t even know your last name,” I explain.
For a moment Tate looks tense. He stares down at his food and contemplates telling me.
“Is there something wrong?” I ask.
“No, it’s just…hard to talk about.”
“Okay. Well, take your time.” I don’t understand what he has to hide but don’t push him.
He’s deep in contemplation, and now I’m the one staring.
“If you want to get to know me, you’ll need to live here until we leaving then,” he finally says. “I guess I have a catch too.”
“What?” I didn’t expect him to say that at all.
