Page 50 of Fall Love

“I know,” he says immediately. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry it came to this.” The earnestness in his tone, the sorrow in his eyes, says everything.

He’s truly sorry, and I believe him.

“Yeah,” I say a little quieter, attempting a smile that’s weak and wobbly. “Well. Maybe you can put in a good word with Bucky Beaver for me.”

The humor falls flat between us.

He grimaces slightly, reaches for his hair, and then stops himself. He’s trying to tame his quirk. He’s also still standing here, like this matters to him. Like maybe I matter to him, after all.

“I’ll do anything you need,” he says, softer now. Like it’s really true.

The intention lands somewhere deeper than I want it to.

Why do his eyes have to look like that? So open. So careful. Like I might disappear if he says the wrong thing.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and it comes out more fragile than I expect.

“Let me start by getting you something to drink. They have hot cider over there.” He nods toward a vendor, his voice shifting to hopeful.

I exhale slowly. Resisting him feels almost futile.

“It’s a start.” There’s no more edge to my voice, just something uncertain and soft.

His smile in response is immediate and genuine, almost relieved, stealing my breath away, and it hits me then how much tension I’ve been holding in without realizing it.

Tate walks backward a step, then another one, keeping his eyes on me, like he won’t look away. Like he wants to make certain I’m still with him.

He holds out his hand, and I take it.

Then I follow him.

CHAPTER 18

[Tate]

“Let me take you somewhere today?”

Neve hums around the Styrofoam cup holding steamy cider. “Sounds vaguely familiar.” She smiles softly, reminded of the other day when I asked her to come to the apple orchard with me.

That day had been such a good one, even if it ended without the kiss I’d been desperate to give her all day long. The one I thought would happen when sticky apple pie filling coated our fingers and her lips.

Her mouth is fucking sin. The way she sucked my fingers. Eyes half-mast. Lips covered in pie syrup. She was as tempting as the fruit, and I wanted her. I wanted her like a raw ache in my belly.

Neve is a free spirit, and it is refreshing. Willpower, Aunt Charma said. More like strong-willed. She is who she is, and I admire that about her.

And I felt sick about the sale. Sick that I was keeping something from her. Something I needed to tell her, only I didn’t know how. I was already worried about her. Pregnant, thinking she’s alone, upset about losing something so sentimental.

I also feel sick that I apparently hurt her. By keeping my distance, giving her space, she had time to overthink, to overprocess, without me being that someone I want her to lean on.

The thing about Neve’s hard outer shell is she has a softer side. I might have teased her about being emotionally attached to Rusty’s Wrecks, because she is attached to it. The place was important to her. Full of memories and good times, like I wish I’d had with my dad. I am envious, and I didn’t want to take the place from her. Which led to investigating a plan B. One I hope she will consider.

“Where are we going this time?” she says, giving me the green light. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved. Her question was my answer. She is willing to spend another day with me.

She wasn’t wrong; I should have called her. I should have checked in, but I honestly wasn’t sure she’d want to talk to me.

Lumi called me on Thursday morning, and once I confirmed that the Snowe sisters really wanted to sell, time just accelerated. I called the office. I called the client, a parent company for Bucky Beaver Body Shop. The client was thrilled. My boss was ecstatic. We’d just made one of the most important acquisitions for Hessfield Holdings.

Still, I shake thoughts about the deal and focus on the woman in front of me.