I couldn’t ask him to move, or he’d miss out on all the fun. I kept my back straight, maintaining as much personal space as I could. “It’s fine.”
His eyes darkened as they locked on at me, and he seemed about to say something.
Jim beat him to it. “Oh my word.”
We leaned to see past the front seats and out the windshield. Elk and bison, dozens of them, packed together in front of a second cattle guard.
“Guys ready?” Jim asked over his shoulder.
Carla braced her hands on the steering wheel as she slowly edged the van forward. A massive head the size of the entire window shoved its way inside the van, horns and all, black tongue swaying and curling, looking for its breakfast. Jim shrieked again, the high-pitched sound ending in a fit of laughter as slices of bread left his hand.
Another bison pushed his way forward, and I found myself eye to eye with the two-thousand-pound creature. I pressed my back to Tate’s chest, the bison’s space instantly more important than my own. Giggles erupted from my chest as its rough tongue wrapped around my fingers and extracted the bread, leaving my hand slobbery. This went on with both bison and elk and the cutest little deer I’d ever seen, until we ran out of bread. Our exit strategy consisted of rolling up our windows and watching the animals chase after us. We couldn’t stop laughing the whole time, and when we finally exited by driving over the cattle guard, I was ready for a bathroom break.
Carla parked at the facilities, and we all piled out, needing to wash our hands, if nothing else.
Tate stopped me with a hand to my elbow. “So?”
What could I say? That was an experience I’d never forget, and he’d made it possible. “Thank you. That was incredible.”
“I knew if I could get you to put a book down long enough—”
I wouldn’t let hisI told you sospeech ruin it either. “Now it’s your turn to follow through on our bet. I’ll have a song and an agent to send it to picked out for you in the next few days.”
Five
Turns out I didn’t need a few days. I parked myself in my favorite chair, laptop resting against my thighs, and started Googling agents. Learned the difference between a music agent—someone who basically just books the artist’s gigs—and a music manager—someone who helps the artist develop relationships with specific record labels. Tate needed a manager. He could book his own gigs if he wanted, but what he needed was someone who could put him on the radio. Let the world hear his moving lyrics and soul-touching voice.
It took a couple of hours, but I finally found someone I thought would be a good match for Tate and his music. Ctrl+P and my printer spewed out the info I needed. The song he should send was a no-brainer.
Tate had been outside on the fire escape a couple of weeks ago strumming something new. His voice had filled the air. Sometimes he’d repeat a bar in an octave higher or lower, pause, and start again. The magic of his composition. I’d pulled a chair up to my open window and sat for who knew how long listening to him piece it together. He’d continued to play, and a restlessness had begun in my fingertips, worked its way inward until I’d been pulled out the window and up the fire escape stairs like a hypnotized person. Tate had given me his half grin, never missing a beat as he continued to sing, his eyes locking on mine as all of his feelings reached out and stirred my own.
I could still remember the lyrics.
If shooting stars made wishes come true,
Then you’d see me as I see you.
Baby, I want the best for you, wanna give the world to you.
Baby, I love the whole of you and would give my all to you.
But do you see me and the love I hold inside for you?
It had almost been like a lover’s serenade. A man coaxing his beloved not to spurn his deepest feelings. A plea to allow him into her heart.
I sighed at the memory, cheeks heating a bit at my silly romanticism. Especially considering it was Tate. Myfriend.
But the world would fall in love with him when they heard that song. It would be impossible not to.
I glanced at the illuminated numbers of the clock on the stove: 9:02. He’d still be awake. Locking the door behind me, I scurried down the long hall to the stairwell and climbed the risers to the next floor. After three knocks and a long pause, I wondered if he was even home. Then the door opened, and there Tate stood, a towel wrapped around his hips, chest bare, hair wet, water dripping from the soaked strands down the side of his face.
“Uh…uh…” Not even with strangers had I been so completely tongue tied. Heat flamed my cheeks as I stared at his toned chest. My eyes widened as my brain finally kicked in, and I swirled around, mortified.
Tate’s deep laugh rumbled behind me, and I covered my face with my hands.
“You can turn around now.”
I wasn’t so sure. Spreading open my fingers, I rotated slightly and peeked through them. He still stood there in a towel, but a Seahawks T-shirt now covered his well-defined middle.
