Chapter 13
13
Tatum
Harrison is so much of what I remember of him in Catalina.
Sweet.
Interesting.
Attentive.
Thoughtful.
And yes, flirty.
I think that’s ingrained in him.
I’ve heard enough stories to know he’s had his bad boy ways, but I was never treated like a one-night stand despite being exactly that.
He didn’t have to show up today, but he did, and from what Natalie said in the text, that backs what he told me. He wanted to. He wanted to be here for me.
After the fight.
After the mean things I said in anger.
After treating him less than he deserved and kicking him out of my apartment, he showed up in a big way for me. As he said . . . steady, loyal, and reliable.
He showed up when my mom didn’t.
Swinging my purse beside me as we walk down the street, I ask, “Why’d you make me eat so much?” I’m teasing, of course. I tortured myself by stuffing my face full of food and champagne.
“You only have yourself to blame for that.” He bumps into me playfully but keeps his hands tucked in his pockets. I kind of miss the little touches we’ve shared, the accidental and the purposeful ones over the years. “I guess I can take a little responsibility. If I had made pancakes this morning, you would have just drunk mimosas instead.”
Keeping my eyes forward, I don’t let the moment pass without saying what I need to get off my chest. “I would have done the same for you.”
“What is that?”
“You think I’m stubborn to a fault, but I would have come to you if you were in my shoes.”
He stops in the middle of the sidewalk like a tourist. “Is that what we’re calling it? Stubborn?”
Shrugging, I reply, “Bitchy works too.”
“Too far. I’ve never once thought about you that way.”
When grumbling New Yorkers gripe when they have to move around us, I take him by the arm and pull him off to the side. “Did you think about me often?”
“More than I should for a woman who hated my existence.” Dare I tell him that I never hated him? That I’d simply hated that we never had a chance?
Wrong place?
Wrong time?
If I’d only met him in the city . . . Well, I wouldn’t have walked away so quickly.
His attention is stolen by the candy store window display. A proposal scene with a giant Ring Pop sitting in a swirl of cotton candy with the words “I Do” in colorful edible dots. He says, “It’s June. Fitting display for a wedding month, but it’s making me hungry.”
“Hungry? We just stuffed ourselves.”
“No, you stuffed yourself.” As he rubs his stomach, the hem of his untucked shirt rides up. Not as much as I’d like but enough to have me wanting more. I know what’s under it, and his body never disappoints. “It takes a lot of food to keep this body going.”
“Only food as fuel?” Fine, I do my share of flirting with him too.
He grins, turning back to me. It’s not surprise that lies in that wry grin, but I think satisfaction. Yep, he’s winning. If making me happy is a victory for him, I’ll let him take the lead.
But then he tugs his lower lip under his teeth, a lip bite that has my mouth hanging open. Who knew that would be the thing to drive my mind wild with fantasies?
Apparently, he did because he lifts my chin until my mouth closes again, and whispers, “Be careful, Devreux. You’re drooling.”
Tugging the door open, he enters the shop. And I’m still standing here like a damn fool in front of a giant Ring Pop proposal. Self-consciously, I wipe the sides of my mouth, just in case. Oh, thank God. All good. I open the door and join him inside the store.
With a handful of candy bags already in hand, he eyes the sea salt caramels when I walk up. “I didn’t know you were such a . . .” I hold up the candy in front of my face.
“Sugar Daddy?” He snatches the lollipop from me. “Very funny.” He’s laughing and drops the candy in one of his many bags.
“What can I say? It was lame, but the joke still landed.”
“Get to shopping, Tate. We need more candy.” He takes a pre-packed bag of the sea salt caramels and then cruises down the gummy aisle.
Since we’re the only ones in the store beside the employees, I walk down the other small aisle and ask, “So what’s with the candy, Decker? Secret sugar addiction? Part-time job providing candy to kindergarteners, or—” I gasp.
He moves a row of Junior Mint boxes, but let’s be honest here. He didn’t have to do that to be able to see me. “Or what?”
“Luring your prey with your sticky sweets.”
“Damn, that escalated quickly.”
“Granted, I’m the prey, and for the record, I love Twizzlers.”
“A licorice girl,” he says like it’s a whole genre of women in and of itself. I’m not sure what to make of that response. He returns the boxes to the shelves, and adds, “I like candy, but I thought it would be nice to get Natalie some. Nick told me he’s been running out at night to satisfy her sweet tooth.”
Hearing him talk about my best friend with firsthand knowledge surprises me. Living there has its perks, I guess. But his action behind that knowledge surprises me more. “The pregnancy must have her craving all kinds of things she doesn’t normally eat.” I round the endcap and run right into him. Some of the candy falls to the ground, and we’re both quick to kneel, bonking our heads together, which sends me backward to my ass.
A bag of Sugar Babies lands on my lap, and he says, “Fitting.”
I’m not actually sure why, but it starts in my belly and overwhelms me until I burst out laughing. With his candy all over the place, he starts laughing too. Rubbing over the red mark on his forehead, he asks, “Why are we laughing?”
“I don’t know,” I say, giggling too hard to stop. “But it feels good.” It does too, like a hard-earned day off.
The store clerk starts shoving the candy back in the bags like a maniac. “Are you okay?” A certain someone might be high on the sugar.
Harrison waits for me to answer, concern suddenly jading the blue of his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I reply, holding my hands out. “Help me up?”
Surprisingly, the clerk takes one of my hands, but Harrison starts laughing again, and says, “I got her. Thanks.” He takes my hands in his, his thumb gently rubbing over the top of mine. “Hold tight, ba—” He doesn’t finish, but I wish he had. He hasn’t called me baby that many times, but I remember every one of them. Usually, he says it in the heat of passion, except the first time and now the almost last one.
He pulls me to my feet, his hands holding tight to mine, the toe of our shoes touching. There’s this moment between us—thick with tension, ripe with an imagination running away, a lightness from the laughter remaining—that feels so good.
Us against the world. It reminds me of what I have with Natalie. And that is strange because I never thought I’d have anyone else in my life like her.
Harrison isn’t a knight riding onto my life’s page to save the day.
No, he has his story to create. Resting his hand heavy on my head, he asks, “You okay?”
I swat him away. “I’ll be fine. By that welt on your head, it looks like you got the worst end of it.” Then I reach up and rub my fingertips so lightly over the bruising skin.
“I never claimed to be a tough guy, but I didn’t expect to be taken out by a five-foot-three Tasmanian devil dressed in pink while in a candy store. You match the store, by the way. Almost like you planned it . . . I’m onto you, Tate.”
“Onto me? I’m innocent.”
“Innocent? You called me a murderer for buying candy.”
Shrugging, I laugh under my breath. “I watch a lot of true crime stories. What can I say?”
He starts collecting the candy into bags again but looks up at me with a grin. “You never cease to surprise me.”
“What do I cease doing?”
“Apparently helping, but I’ll let it slide.”
I finish straightening the skirt of my dress and then bend to help him. He’s already standing back up. “Oops. My bad.”
“It’s okay. That skirt’s too short to be bending over in anyway.”
My gaze darts down to my legs. “What are you talking about? It hits mid-thigh. The one I wore to the concert was shorter.”
“That was too short, too.” He starts for the front of the store like he didn’t just judge me.
Following him, I say, “Good thing you’re not my dad then.”
“I’d be more worried being your boyfriend.”
I stop between the giant lollipop stand and a large display of Necco Wafers. Does anyone even eat Neccos? I grab one package because now I’m curious what the hell they are. Walking up behind him, I tap him on the back with the roll of colorful wafers. “Ah. I see,” I start when he turns around. “Worried because other guys would be looking at me?”
Snatching the Neccos from me, he adds it to the pile he’s buying, and tells the clerk, “Add that to my order.”
I lean my back against the counter, eyeing him. I let my smile carry on. “You know, Decker, you kind of sound like you might be jealous.”
“Pfft. What or whom would I be jealous of?”
“That’s what I can’t figure out, but give me some time and I will.”
He hands over his card to pay for the candy and then angles my way. “Listen, Devreux, I’m not jealous.”
The funny thing is he doesn’t sound mad, not even a little perturbed. Maybe a little defensive, but he’s volleying the banter right back just fine. He takes the bag from the clerk, and we head toward the door, which he holds open for me.
Despite the eight million people in the city, as soon as it closes and we’re alone, it feels private. Out on the sidewalk, he stops in front of the Ring Pop proposal, and as he looks around, he smiles again. “Why do you care if I get jealous?”
“Just wondering why you would. That’s all.”
I turn to lean, but he catches my arm. “You may have forgotten about how good we are together, but I haven’t.”
As we stand in front of the perfection of the confectionary display, our conversation hasn’t taken a turn for the worst but traveled down a much more intriguing path. I hold my purse strap in my hand and shift on my heels. “What made you think of that?”
“I don’t know,” he replies, tapping the window. “Maybe it’s the magic.”
“What magic?”
“The magic you spoke of. You said magic can be found around any corner, but you have to be looking for it. Maybe we didn’t. Maybe it found us.”
Denying my heart beating rapidly in my chest is impossible. By how it feels inside, it’s probably louder than the traffic. I turn to face the street, thinking it’s best before I start letting crazy notions fill my head, like kissing him right here. I look down at my shoes, trying to get lost in the details instead of staring at the man next to me. “Maybe we should go.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
We start walking again, and I think changing the topic is a good idea. “What do you have planned for the rest of the day?”
“Thinking about seeing what you’re up to.”
Grabbing his shirt by the sleeve, I tug him down the street. “Come on. I’ll let you tag along.”
“First stop?”
“The lingerie store.”
“Now you’re talking my language.”