“Hey, there’s no rush. You two want another s’more or anything for the road?” Tate asked, helping Foster up and using that as an excuse to thread his fingers with hers and hold her hand.
“We live ten minutes from here. We’re fine. And we’re not rushing. We’re just clearing out so that you two can figure out your sleeping arrangements.” Sabine shot Foster a mischievous look. “Which I want to hear all about tomorrow when I stop by for scones before class.”
Tate and Foster walked them to the door and waved good-bye. After Finn’s truck finished bumping down the road and disappeared into the night, they stood out on the porch staring up at the big, starry sky while they held hands.
“Um, so, about our sleeping arrangements?” Foster spoke hesitantly.
Tate looked from the sky to her. Foster was still holding his hand, but she was obviously uncomfortable—nervous even. He gave a little tug on her hand so that she had to turn to face him.
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with our sleeping arrangements. I like my room. Do you like yours?” he asked gently, trying to be careful not to spook her.
He saw surprise flash through her eyes, and heard the relief in her voice. “Yes! I love my room. Cora made sure everything from our brownstone was moved here.”
Tate already knew that—knew that Cora had made sure Foster’s room would feel like a sanctuary, and there was no way he was going to trespass there until or unless Foster was more than ready to invite him in—and he didn’t think Foster was the “one date and we jump into bed” type of girl. “Well, good. Then I have no clue what Sabine was talking about, but I’m really tired.” He paused to yawn widely. “You, too?”
“Yeah, I guess I didn’t realize it until you mentioned it.”
“I’m gonna go to bed. Finn and Sabine are always here super early.” He dropped her hand and rested his gently on her shoulders. “Thank you for an amazing date. And thank you for not letting me disappear or crash to the ground.”
“You helped,” she said.
“That’s because we make a great team.” Slowly, Tate bent and kissed Foster—softly, gently, with only a little bit of heat. When he pulled away from her, Tate was pleased to see that she leaned toward him and seemed reluctant to let him go. “Good night, Foster. See you in the morning.” Tate grinned at her and kissed the end of her cute, freckled nose before he retreated into the house, with his mother’s advice echoing from his memory.
The most important thing a woman can give you is her trust. Earn that first and then you’ll earn a love that will last. Trust is based on respect. And if you don’t treat her with respect, you have no business being with her.
“Mom, I think you’d be proud of me,” Tate whispered to the wind as he climbed the stairs up to his room on the second floor of the farmhouse. Somewhere between the porch and his bedroom Tate realized that he felt good—really good—for the first time since that awful night just a couple of weeks ago when his world was torn apart, and the reason for his good feeling wasn’t the memory of Foster’s lips against his or the tantalizing thought that there was a chance that someday in the future he might be doing a lot more than just kissing Foster. The really good feeling came from the way she’d smiled at him when she’d realized he wasn’t going to try to pressure her into something—that she could actually relax around him and trust him to treat her with the respect and common courtesy she deserved.
And for a moment, Tate was sure he heard his mother’s voice whisper back, Oh, I am proud of you, Son … I am …
20
EVE
Eve tried to calm her excitement as she rushed into her brothers’ cottage. “I got your text. What did you find?”
Matthew looked up from the computer screen and grinned at her. “I found Tate’s grandfather.”
Eve almost collapsed with relief into the chair beside her brother while Mark and Luke emerged from the kitchen, cracking open bottles of IPA and handing one to her as they pulled up dining room chairs, sat, and studied Matthew’s computer screen with him.
“There!” Matthew pointed at a grainy digital newspaper image from The Daily News. “That old guy in the middle. That’s the boy’s grandfather.”
Eve read aloud. “Linus Bowen, retired high school coach and biology teacher, led the charge to save Galveston’s Corner Café from demolition and have it declared a National Historic Landmark. But don’t call Coach Bowen a hero. He’d be quick to correct you. ‘Nope, nope—I’m no hero. I’m just an old dog who doesn’t want to learn a new breakfast spot. Been coming here Monday through Friday for decades. I have no intention of stopping until you plant me in the ground.’” Eve glanced up at her brothers, a relieved smile shimmering in her dark eyes. “This is good work, guys! Really good work. So, Tate’s grandfather lives in Galveston. Nice coincidence that we have to be there in a few days anyway. How about we go early and pay Mr. Bowen a little visit?”
“We’ll have to visit him at this café. The old guy is like a ghost. It’s why it took forever to find him, and it was really just a lucky Google accident that I did. He’s retired, but I can’t find property listed under his name—or any name even vaguely like his. As far as I can tell old man Bowen doesn’t own a computer or a cell phone or a home—or even a damn car. He does have a driver’s license, but it’s expired and the address on it is the same as the café’s.”
“I wonder what this old man’s hiding,” Mark said. “It’s strange that he’s so tough to find.”
“Or he’s just a grumpy old hermit. Guys, let’s not start making up conspiracy theories,” Eve said.
“Yeah, you’re right. We should leave that crazy bullshit to Father,” Mark grumbled.