Page 16 of Where She Belongs

His brows lifted. “I’m guessing that restaurant didn’t have that on the menu.”

Rylee shook her head. “Not even close.”

“So what did you get instead?”

Her smile returned as she met his gaze. “I asked for the sandwich and when the waiter told me to pick something else, Aunt Roxy rose to her feet and pointed at the man. She said she didn’t care what it would take, but I would be getting my sandwich. Apparently, she knew the chef. She made sure the waiter understood who Uncle Allistair was and how disappointed he’d be to hear his favorite niece didn’t get what she wanted.”

Tate gaped at her. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” she said, popping the “p.”

“Let me guess. You got some obnoxious version of a PB&J with jelly reduction or some nonsense.”

She laughed again, which spurred his own laughter. “Actually, the chef sent one of the waiters out to the bakery next door for fresh sourdough and down the block to the little neighborhood market for peanut butter and grape jelly. It was delicious even though Roxy was impatient for them to hurry up and get it done.” Rylee sighed, placing her cheek in her hand. “And it was the first memory I have where I realized everything would be okay.”

Tate blew out a surprised breath. “Wow. That’s… uh…”

“Yeah.” Rylee laughed. “That’s Aunt Roxy for you.”

At that moment, the side door opened and Jason entered the kitchen. He paused on the threshold, his eyes bouncing from Rylee to Tate and back again. Then a small smile tugged at his lips. He didn’t utter a single word as he headed for the cupboard and pulled down a glass. He filled it with ice water, took a long drink, then placed the glass in the sink.

He turned, nodded, and muttered, “’Night, Tate.” Then he glanced at Rylee. Curiosity shone in his gaze, but he didn’t ask any questions. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be giving Tate the third degree. Jason would want the whole story, and who his visitor was. Thankfully, that wouldn’t be happening tonight.

Tate waited until his brother was gone, then turned to Rylee. “I got some blankets out for you. I think it’d be best if you stay here tonight. It’s late. If there’s a problem with the electrical, it’s not going to be easy to fix anyway.”

She had an argument coming, but he held up a hand.

“It’s not an imposition, so don’t even think that. I’ll come out to your place in the morning and we can figure out what happened. And what you heard in the basement.”

Rylee winced. “Yeah. I guess that’s a good point.” Her crooked smile was absolutely adorable. He wanted to follow her to the couch and hear more about her life, about Roxy, and what her plans were. There was a pull to Rylee that he couldn’t explain. Most surprising was the fact that he didn’t mind it. The connection he shared with her was solid and real. Exhilarating.

But he held back.

Tate nodded toward the hall. “You can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she said with a strangled sort of laugh. “The couch is fine for me.”

He could have put up a fight, but once again, he chose to keep his mouth shut. The Rylee he remembered was more stubborn than the goats over at Sagebrush Ranch. He should just count himself lucky that she agreed to stay until the storm let up. So all he said was, “Sleep tight, Ry-Ry.”

She stiffened. It was small, but he caught it. Her eyes locked with his briefly then she slipped away from the island and headed for the couch. “Thanks, Tate. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rylee jolted awake, disoriented in the dark. There was no telling what roused her from her sleep and at first, she couldn’t figure out where she was. She peered into the dark room, blinking as her eyes adjusted and that’s when the memories of the night before came crashing down on her like a tidal wave.

The power outage.

The crashing sound in her basement.

Reconnecting with the little boy from her past.

But he wasn’t a little boy anymore. Tate was all man. He was all hard planes and sweet smiles. He was bergamot and spice. He was everything the men in New York were not. Tate Dennison had a way of making her spill things about herself that she hadn’t told anyone.

That story at the restaurant took place in the early days of living with her aunt and uncle. It had been during a time when she didn’t feel she fit in anywhere and Roxy had been the bridge to helping her get settled.

The people who ran in her aunt’s social circles would never understand where Rylee came from. They would never be able to grasp her desire to stay busy and keep a job. Part of her wondered if at some point she’d be pushed into running charities while she hung on her husband’s arm like a trophy.