Chapter 17 #2
Sure, the car was beautiful, but he didn’t have to do this.
They seemed to fight all the time now that she knew he was back in town.
They hadn’t spoken for years until recently, so why would he do something like this?
– and he knew! He knew when she’d called him, when she texted him… and never said a word.
Dialing his number again, she heard a voice – his voice.
“Where is she? Why is she still here?”
But it wasn’t on her phone. His voice was echoing in the showroom, very close – and very dominating, like he was angry or frustrated.
Her stomach dropped.
“Mr. Cassidy, we were—” one of the salesmen began, but Nettie didn’t wait to hear more. She shoved through the frosted glass door, blinking against the glare of the showroom lights until her gaze collided with his.
Tate stood there, helmet in hand, a storm etched across his face.
He shoved the helmet into the sales manager’s arms with enough force to make the man stumble, then pivoted and stalked toward her.
Each step radiated controlled aggression, an energy that hit her square in the chest and sent her instinctively retreating into the office.
The door shut with a sharp click behind him.
“You’re crying,” he said, his voice low but cutting, as if the words had been dragged out of him against his will.
Her lips trembled. “Tate…”
“You hate it.”
“You didn’t have to give me a car…” she managed, hating the way her voice sounded small, defensive.
“I don’t want to worry about you on the road.”
“I’m not your concern—and you—”
“Stop it,” he snapped, the words cracking through the air like a whip. He dragged in a breath, exhaled, then gave her a lopsided smirk that softened nothing and everything at once. “Were they mean to you? Is it too gaudy?”
“Mean? Gaudy?” Nettie blinked at him, incredulous. “No, they were very kind – and are we even looking at the same car? It’s stunning and…”
“You like it?” His tone gentled, and when he reached out, his hand brushed against hers. He was asking her opinion, like she mattered, and as fragile as she felt right now?
That single touch undid her.
Her composure crumbled. The tears she’d been holding back surged free, and before she could stop herself, she was reaching for him at the same moment his arms opened.
She folded against his chest, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of him—leather, soap, and something uniquely Tate.
Disbelief, amazement, guilt, and longing spun wildly inside her, leaving her breathless and trembling— and she just needed a hug.
Now.
From anyone.
Even Tate.
“Shhh…” Tate crooned, his voice soft and steady, a balm against the chaos in her chest. “I’m so much better at handling hissing and biting than tears—ask Mulligan.”
A startled laugh escaped her, tangled with tears, and she hiccupped against him. Pulling back slightly, she sniffed indelicately and wiped her eyes. “I’m not biting you.”
“Darn,” he deadpanned, though his eyes glimmered with teasing warmth.
“You can’t just…” she started, a curl of pleasure spiking through the haze of anxiety as she realized he wasn’t just gifting her a car but teasing her too.
“I can. I did. I will – every single time,” he cut in firmly. “If you don’t like that one, then pick anything you like on the lot. I don’t care what you choose, but choose one today.”
Her mind scrambled for something, anything, to regain her footing. “I’ll pay you back,” she blurted automatically, her brain already spinning with impossible calculations of how she could. But his mouth curved in a knowing smile.
“In deeds,” he murmured suggestively, his voice dropping low as his eyes held hers. Nettie stiffened, jerking back.
“I’m not sleeping with you for a car,” she hissed, shame and anger mixing hot in her chest. His eyebrow arched, amused.
“Yup. I like the hissing much better,” he chuckled. “I meant maybe you could teach me how to cook something from scratch. Or show me how to knit, Sticks.”
“How to knit sticks?” she echoed, bewildered, before realizing her mistake. His laughter rang out, rich and unguarded, and she found herself staring. This wasn’t the Tate she remembered—the bitter, sharp-edged boy who’d always pushed her away. This man was different. Softer. Playful.
“No, not knitting a bunch of sticks together. I think I’m gonna call you ‘Sticks’ from now on…”
“Then I won’t answer you,” she sputtered, heat rising in her cheeks. He was giving her a nickname? Had the whole world gone crazy?
“Why?”
“Because Sticks is a dumb name.”
“I’m a dumb guy who’s made a lot of dumb mistakes in his life,” he shrugged, eyes never leaving hers.
Her heart squeezed. “No, you aren’t…” She faltered, the words tumbling to a halt as he drew her closer again.
The air thickened between them, every second stretching taut as he leaned in, so close his nose nearly brushed hers as he stared into her eyes. Nettie’s breath caught, her lungs forgetting their purpose as his gaze held hers, and a single thought exploded in her mind as she held still - waiting.
Was he about to kiss her?
“We’re changing things,” he whispered, his voice firm, resolute. “Today, things are gonna be different. I’m stepping forward, taking the shot, and putting every ounce of energy into this—so are you gonna meet me halfway, Sticks? Are we ready for a new twist in whatever game this is?”
Her pulse hammered. “Don’t call me that—and this isn’t a game.”
“Then what do you want me to call you? Sweetheart? Friend? Lover?” he asked softly, almost congenial, like he knew the answer already but was humoring her.
Just hearing the way he whispered those words, like a caress against her very soul, was setting her on fire – melting her walls.
Her lips parted, panic and longing tangling in her chest.
No, she thought wildly. “We’re nothing to each other. We’re nothing.”
“Well, see, now we have a problem,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth quirking, “because I refuse to call my best friend ‘Liar’ as a nickname.”
She gawked at him, stunned into silence as he stepped back. Just like that, the warmth was gone. He turned, picked up a stack of papers, grunted, then set them down again, his expression shuttered once more.
“I’m heading out,” he said flatly, eyes avoiding hers. “See ya.”
Her mind spun. “What?”
But Tate was already moving, striding to the door. Nettie stumbled after him, panic clawing at her chest. By the time she stepped into the showroom, he was tugging his helmet back from David.
“Take care of her,” Tate ordered, his voice loud enough to carry.
“You got it,” David replied simply.
“Tate!” Nettie called, desperation cracking her voice. Her car still sat outside, crippled with two flat tires. She had no choice—the new car or nothing. But Tate didn’t look back. Not even once.
Helmet on, he swung a leg over his bike, engine roaring to life. Seconds later, he was gone, tearing out of the lot as though this entire confrontation had been nothing more than a brief detour.
Nettie hadn’t even reached the dealership doors before the sound of him faded into the distance, leaving her reeling.
“Miss Yarborough?”
She turned, every eye in the dealership fixed on her—some envious, some knowing, all curious. The moment felt surreal, like she was living someone else’s dream. People didn’t do things like this. Friends didn’t do things like this.
Lovers do, that inner voice said knowingly.
“Miss Yarborough?” David said again, gentler this time. Ollie appeared beside him, handing her a steaming cup of coffee with a kind smile.
“All you need to do is sign one paper,” David continued smoothly, “and the rest was already handled by Mr. Cassidy—as long as you like this car?”
“I… I…” Nettie stammered, her feet heavy as Ollie nudged her gently toward the gleaming car waiting on the showroom floor.
“Let me show you a few things,” Ollie coaxed, his tone warm, patient, almost grandfatherly. “Come on. You’ll love this one—I promise.”
An hour later, Nettie was driving her new car, dancing and singing at the top of her lungs.