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23
Libby
Spit Shake
Just as Gunner said, it takes three hours to hit the edge of a tiny town not a lot different from the town I live in. Forest encroaches on the edges, as though the people that settled here stopped in the middle of the woods and decided it was a cool place to set up camp.
They took out only one tree to make room for their hut, and two hundred years later, they’ve now cleared out a couple thousand trees to make room for a few houses, a hospital, a dollar store, and at the top of what I figure is Main Street, a grocery store that looks a lot like Jonah’s.
We stop in there and start our first ever domestic act; we go shopping together.
I thought it would be frustrating to shop with Mr. Turkey-is-all-we-need, but when we pass the cookie aisle, he takes down one single sleeve of chocolate chip. “All yours. It’s more than your macro count allows, but it’s not so much that you’ll leave this place in a week with a potbelly and self-loathing.”
How can he know me this well? How can he know exactly what I need when we barely even know each other?
As he turns the cart and tries to move away, I grab his arm and pull him back with a jerk. The top corner of the cart hits the shelving, but it’s completely forgotten as I grab onto his collar and pull him down. His eyes light up with fun, his hands come to my hips. But before his lips can touch mine, I stop him and stare into his eyes. “Thank you.”
“For the cookies?” He lips tug up into my favorite grin. “You’re welcome.”
“Yeah, for the cookies. But also, for this time away. For coming back for me.”
“I promised I would.” He leans in the rest of the way and slides his tongue along my bottom lip. “We spit shook on it. We can’t break that kind of promise.”
I laugh straight into his mouth as he continues to kiss me. “So maybe when we get married, instead of a regular ceremony, we can spit shake on it.”
He pulls back with a huff and throws his hands in the air. “There you go again with the marriage talk. Jesus, Elizabeth. We onlyjustmet!”
“I hate you.” I push away from him and steal the cart so I have something to do with my hands. On the way past the sleeves of cookies, I snatch up a second packet and flash my middle finger at a laughing Gunner. “We are not buying turkey. You can go fuck yourself.”
* * *
This ‘small’cabin that Gunner speaks of is bigger than my apartment. Not that that’s hard to achieve, but still, his attempt at humility irks me a little. Twenty minutes after leaving the grocery store, Gunner turns the Range Rover on to a steep gravel driveway that stretches for a full mile or two. Trees line both sides of the windy driveway, so we can’t see the house until the final bend and crest opens up to a small clearing and the cutest log cabin I’ve ever seen.
It’s massive, double-story, but the romance isn’t lost on me at all.
The two-story Victorian-esque home has a top level made of logs, and the bottom level, stones. It stretches out so the front has the perfect grassed space with beautiful daisies circling the driveway, but the forest encroaches everywhere else. Pine trees stretch high above the A-framed home so branches provide shade, and in place of logs or stones for the A in the in A-frame, a window that makes it impossible to see in, but I’d bet any amount of money, when inside, we get the most spectacular view of more forest.
It almost breaks my heart that he has these kinds of homes. In one day, I’ve been inside Griffin Plaza, a Range Rover, and now this. And the fact I’m holding his hand while here does weird things to my heart. My brain rejects the money, it rejects the idea of having access to something so… easy.
But we spit shook on it.
“Stop freaking out, Tate. It’s not as bad as it seems.”
“No?” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth in contemplation. “Because it seems like I fell in love with a Bishop. That Bishop has a metric ton of cash, and wow, look at that coincidence; a Bishop, a Tate, and lots of money. It looks fishy.”
“Not from where I sit.” He squeezes my hand when I try to pull away. “No one buys you. No one buys me. None of my money was made while hurting innocents. You need to relax and stop overthinking this.”
“Would you consider giving everything away and coming to live in my little apartment?” I stare up into his eyes and obnoxiously flutter my lashes. “You could be my station’s IT support, where you’ll earn a paltry forty-five thousand a year like the rest of us.”
He scrunches his nose and flashes a playful grin. “Babe, I’ve already made more than forty-five-k… today. I’m not giving that up after working so fuckin’ hard all my life.But! If it makes you feel better, when I buy you an engagement ring, it’ll be cheap and ugly. Ya know, the opposite of gaudy and attention-seeking.”
“Ugh.” I throw his hand away and push the car door open. “Engagement ring? We literallyjustmet. Why are you going full clinger on me?”
I love that instead of copping an attitude, he only slides out of his side and meets me at the back of the car. Gunner sent no one ahead of us –sorry, Marianne– so there are no lights on, no welcoming party, no candles or a meal in the oven.
Which is perfectly okay with me.
I don’t ever want to meet hispersonal careteam. I don’t want anyone except him serving me a meal or washing my clothes. I get the theory behind why he has them; if he’s earned forty-five thousand dollars and it’s not even four in the afternoon yet, then his time is better spent doing whatever it is that he does with computers, and not cleaning his home. By focusing his efforts where they’re most valuable, he also provides employment for people who have families to feed.
