He didn’t speak or nod, he just waited.
So I spoke. “I would have come back to me, eventually. It’s just that, it so happens I found myself with you leading the way.”
“Laurie –”
I moved my hand and replaced it with my lips.
“Thank you,” I whispered and then I kissed him, doing it hard and putting feeling into it, a lot of it, as much as I felt for him and what he’d given me. And what he’d given me was huge.
He’d given me me.
I pushed him to his back, slid on top and kept kissing him with Tate kissing me back.
Eventually, I lifted my head to look at him and Tate’s hands slid into my hair, pulling it away from my face and holding it behind my head.
His eyes were on the fall of hair that escaped his hands and curtained my left eye then they came to mine.
“You got great hair, babe,” he muttered.
I lifted a hand so my finger could slide along his hairline then all of them glided in.
“You do too,” I replied.
One of his hands left my hair and became an arm wrapped around my upper back, his other hand cupping my head and both brought me back down to him.
“I have to frost the cake,” I whispered.
“In a little while,” he whispered back.
“And make dinner,” I continued.
“Later.”
“Captain –”
He cut me off with, “Ace.”
I studied his beautiful face.
“She’s mine,” he’d said to Wood.
I was his. And he was mine.
I smiled and my mouth went to his. “All right, honey. Later.”
His head slanted one way, mine tilted the other and it was a lot later when I was able to get up, frost the cake and make dinner.
*
We had pork tenderloin with Gramps’s famous glaze, boiled new potatoes, salad and delicious rolls with sunflower seeds crusting the top, eating it at the wrought iron table on Tate’s back patio.
My eyes were on his terraced yard and my mind was filled. It was filled with what it would say to Tate if I spent a day weeding the plants and adding more. It was filled with if I cared anymore about Tate reading what that said (and I figured I didn’t). It was filled with Tate telling me his Mom left and his Dad was dead and how little I knew about him. It was filled with how strong the feeling was that I wanted to know more and the fact the power behind that feeling didn’t scare me. It was filled with the knowledge that Wood “killed” Tate’s Dad in a car accident; with Stella telling Tate to cut Wood slack; with Stella saying, if Tate let it go, Wood would be able to; and with Wood telling me they once were brothers. It was filled with Wood coming to take my back when Neeta was in town, for me but also for Tate, even after what passed between the three of us. And it was filled with Wood telling Tate he’d do anything he could to help Tate get Jonas from Wood’s sister.
Wood missed Tate and you only hold onto anger that long if the person you’re angry at meant something to you so I was guessing Tate missed Wood too.
“Ace,” Tate called and I looked from his plants to him. “You lied.”
Taken from my thoughts and surprised at his words, I felt my eyebrows draw together. “Sorry?”
He slid his fork on his plate and his brows went up. “Passable?”
I looked at his clean plate then back to him. “My cooking’s okay, not much to write home about. This was good because of my grandfather’s famous mustard sauce, not me.”
“Your grandfather come for a visit while I was puttin’ up the curtain rods?” he asked.
“No, he’s dead,” I answered.
“Babe,” Tate replied on a grin.
I felt the sudden, intense need for Tate to know about me. I’d let him in, I’d let me out. I wanted this and I wanted him and I wanted him to have me.
Therefore, I shared, “All my grandparents are dead.”
He sat back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah?”
“Gramps, that’s Mom’s father, he’s the mustard glaze guru,” I informed him, Tate didn’t reply so I went on. “It was his farm that became Dad’s. He had only girls. Three of them. Dad studied agriculture at school. His folks owned a farm too but it was smaller and he was the second of two sons. My Uncle George got that farm.” Tate remained silent so I went on. “Dad took over Gramps’s farm. We all lived there together, all my life, until I left and, after that, Grams and Gramps passed away. It was okay though, us being together, because it was a big house and it made us a big family.”
Tate still didn’t speak, didn’t start sharing his own stories so I continued.
“Mom’s Mom, Grams, she made great chocolate chip cookies. The best,” I stated. “She used to refrigerate the dough between making it and baking it. I don’t know what this did but it made her cookies killer.”
Tate watched me and made not a noise.
“Dad’s Dad, he was a master at the grill. He could grill an amazing steak,” I continued.