Chapter 8
NETTIE
It had been nearly two weeks since Nettie and Tate exchanged a few simple text messages—and the silence afterward gnawed at her like moths in wool.
Nothing. Not a word, not a thumbs-up emoji, not even one of those curt little “no problem” replies that men threw around like pocket change. Just silence.
The yarn sat beside her on the armchair at home, tucked into the bag as though it were watching her.
Sometimes, when she came into the living room, it felt almost alive—looming there like a quiet sentinel, waiting for her to pick it up, daring her to transform it into something worthwhile.
She hadn’t touched it. Not once. Because touching it would mean admitting she was thinking about him.
And oh, she was.
To distract herself, she’d gone out to dinner with Gina and Shannon twice.
However, “dinner” was code for a lively circus of clinking glasses, endless chatter, and Shannon narrating her chaotic dating escapades with the flourish of someone who believed the world needed to hear them. Tonight was no different.
The little Italian place buzzed around them—cutlery clinking, servers calling out specials, bursts of laughter from a birthday party two tables away. Nettie sat back, hands curled around her water glass, letting the warmth of the restaurant wrap around her as she listened.
“So Felix asked me to meet his parents,” Shannon was saying, her thick blonde hair sliding forward into her plate until she impatiently swept it back.
She made a face of dramatic horror, like the very memory was giving her indigestion.
“I have never felt so awkward in my entire life. I mean, he’s fun to be around, and he hangs out with some wild guys, but… ”
“But he’s not your type,” Gina cut in knowingly, her dark eyes flashing with amusement as though she’d already written the ending of Shannon’s latest saga. “I get it. So why aren’t you dumping him?”
“Because I don’t want to be alone?” Shannon said it like a confession, sheepish, before offering a nervous laugh. “I mean… and I know how this is going to sound—but it’s hard to be pretty.”
Nettie blinked, choking on her sip of water, and glanced toward Gina.
Together, like a choreographed act, she and Gina picked up their glasses, leveled a stare at Shannon, and drank deeply in unison.
Two unimpressed elephants at the watering hole, waiting while the sparkly unicorn announced her first-world struggles.
“Oh, do tell,” Gina shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. For a moment, Nettie’s heart jolted—because Gina sounded so much like Tate just then that it pulled him right to the forefront of her mind, that lazy smirk of his, that gruff humor that lingered in his voice.
“Let’s hear just how hard it is to be pretty, you vain supermodel…” Gina continued.
“Ugh,” Shannon groaned, tossing her hair like the martyr she clearly believed she was.
And just like that, the table cracked into laughter, the kind that made heads turn from nearby booths.
For a few bright seconds, the sound drowned out everything—the doubts, the silence from Tate, the ache of waiting.
But when it faded, Nettie’s thoughts slid right back where they always went— to him.
Shannon was dazzling—everyone could see that.
Golden skin, effortless charm, the kind of beauty that didn’t just turn heads but rearranged entire rooms. Gina was gorgeous, too—tall, striking, the human equivalent of a lit sparkler that refused to go out.
Nettie loved them both, but sitting between them often left her feeling like one of those Norwegian troll dolls—wild hair, button nose, something quirky to be looked at, maybe smiled at, but never chosen.
She was… herself. Brown hair with a mind of its own, soft curves, quiet where others were bold. The kind of girl who blended into wallpaper until someone needed comfort, a listener, someone steady. Men didn’t crave steady. They craved excitement and fireworks.
They wanted Shannons.
They chased after Ginas.
And they passed over women like Nettie.
Except Tate.
The thought stabbed sharp and sweet at the same time, and Nettie nearly choked on her bite of bread.
Tate, with his gruff voice and that maddening scowl he’d worn the day she’d run into him at the hobby store.
She could still see the mangled skein in his big hand, his expression like he was glaring the whole world into submission—until that faint smile broke through.
That smile had no right haunting her the way it did. No right creeping into her dreams, softening all his sharp edges until he looked… dangerous in a different way. She didn’t want to think of him like that. Because thinking of him that way was the first step toward being crushed.
Again.
Hope was more dangerous than love, she thought.
Hope was the thing that clawed into your chest and whispered maybe.
People fell in and out of love every day—Shannon was living proof of it.
But hope? Hope carved itself into bone, into your very soul.
When you lost hope, when it left, what remained shattered you from the inside.
She wasn’t sure she could survive losing hope again.
“Soooo,” Shannon suddenly sing-songed, her mood bouncing back like a rubber ball.
She leaned in, her grin wicked, her eyes sparkling like she’d just remembered her favorite topic.
“Nettie, you got any strong ‘Baby Daddies’ hanging in the background? You know, there is nothing more fun than seeing a man melt when you call him ‘Daddy’ during a steamy kiss.”
“Eww!” Gina physically recoiled, shoving her chair back with a dramatic shiver. “I’m gonna pretend you did not say that, Loos-a-tainia… and go back to fantasizing about my handsome goalie.”
“Lusitania,” Shannon corrected, not even offended by the insult with a snort, clearly delighted. “That’s a good one. I’ll give you that. But I still have my ‘V’ card, thank you very much.”
Nettie blinked at her, stunned. Gina too. The two of them stared as Shannon folded her arms, frowning.
“I’m waiting for marriage,” Shannon huffed, a little too hotly. “I’m not a hoe.”
“You sure about that?” Gina shot back.
“I think it’s sweet,” Nettie murmured before she could stop herself, her voice quiet but sincere. “Being with someone is special, and you don’t want that moment to be with just anyone. I mean, what if they treat you badly, yell at you, or—”
“Not everyone is Gina’s hot brother,” Shannon cut in with a laugh.
“There are some winners out there. But there’s also a lot of losers…
like her goalie. Ugh. Have you ever dated a hockey player?
That sweaty smell is not something you forget.
One game, one kiss, and I was sooo done with that idea.
Nice concept on paper, but in real life?
” She pinched her nose with exaggerated disgust.
“Speak for yourself,” Gina sighed, dreamy as a lovesick poet. “I can just imagine after a game, him rushing to me, yanking off that helmet…”
“Which stinks,” Shannon interrupted.
“Seeing those wet golden locks, his glistening skin, as he spots me…” Gina pressed on, unbothered.
“Wet and glistening are just adjectives for buttloads of perspiration,” Shannon quipped.
But Nettie barely heard them. Her mind had wandered again. What would Tate look like coming off the ice? She’d never been to a game, not once, but she could see him—sweaty, disheveled, raw from the adrenaline, looking straight at her.
The thought made her throat tighten.
“And then my gorgeous goalie looks right through me and walks off,” Gina finished pitifully, slumping over the table. “So yeah, Shannon—tell us both exactly how hard it is to be gorgeous.”
“Guys don’t ask you out,” Shannon admitted, shrugging with surprising vulnerability. “They’re chicken. They think you’re already taken or too good for them. So they don’t ask. They don’t even try.”
“But you’re always dating,” Nettie blurted, frowning. “You always have someone.”
“I ask them out.” Shannon’s cheeks flushed as she admitted it, then she rolled her eyes at herself. “Can we talk about something else? Please?”
“Well, color me stunned,” Gina breathed, stealing the words Nettie herself had been about to say. “The end of the world must be upon us.”
“No kidding,” Nettie muttered before she could stop herself.
Both women turned sharp looks on her.
“What?” Nettie asked innocently. “I’m agreeing with you.”
“Spill it. What happened?” Gina pressed.
“Nothing.”
“Um, that comment does not allude to nothing happening,” Gina pointed out.
“No—it doesn’t,” Shannon chimed in, leaning forward. ”Details are needed. Please elaborate…”
“It’s nothing,” Nettie insisted quickly, shifting the spotlight. “Why would you say the end of the world is upon us?”
Gina’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Because Tate got a cat.”
“To eat?” Shannon gasped, horrified. Her perfectly manicured red fingernails nearly faded into her bright red lipstick as she covered her mouth in shock, before lowering them and speaking again. “I thought Neanderthals hunted bear, elk, and other forest animals… that poor kitty.”
“He’s not gonna eat it,” Gina groaned. “He found it and took it in.”
“Awww,” Nettie and Shannon chorused before freezing, staring at each other, then pointing at the other in accusation.
“That was an awww for the cat,” Nettie volunteered as Shannon spoke at the same time, over her, tossing her own excuse for the ‘Aw’ moment. “Not Tate…”
“You can ‘aww’ for my brother,” Gina countered. “He could use someone ‘aww-ing’ after him. Might even get rid of his foul mood for once.”
“Or an exorcism,” Nettie muttered without thinking.
Shannon burst out laughing so hard she nearly spat her drink across the table. Gina, however, went perfectly still, fixing Nettie with a sharp, assessing stare.
“He contacted you,” Gina said slowly. “And you didn’t tell me.”