Chapter 5 #2
His eyes softened almost imperceptibly. “I’m… impressed.”
And just like that, he walked away.
No goodbye, no lingering glance. He strode past her, out the door, and moments later, the low growl of his bike filled the air.
She caught a glimpse of him through the glass—throwing his leg over the seat, helmet on, tires squealing as he peeled out of the lot, leaving only a puff of smoke and the echo of her racing pulse behind.
Nettie whispered aloud to herself, mentally reeling.
“What just happened?”
Ten minutes later, after standing in the checkout line and being harassed repeatedly by Melba, who she was going to forever remember her name now that she forgot it before, and nearly got caught – was questioning her repeatedly about Tate.
Melba wanted to know if they were dating, if he was single, what was it like to date someone so broody and grumpy, commenting on his large hands, asking if he ever smiled… and the list went on and on.
Uncomfortably so.
Getting to the car, she flopped inside, threw her bag in the passenger seat, and dialed Gina immediately – who answered immediately. Usually, it was two or three rings because the girl loved her ringtone, but this time?
Seconds.
“Why is your brother so freaking weird?” Nettie blurted out as a greeting.
“You saw Tate? Where? Was he nice?”
“Yes – which is creeping me the ‘efff’ out.”
“Oh my gosh – you said ‘eff’. So it was bad? Was it bad, Nettie? You never go there, Miss-Pollyanna-Sunshine, and for you to imply there is a cuss word means he was a troll, a gorgon, a complete cretin – we’re talking Kaiju-sized ‘effer’… minus the ‘H’ or the ‘F’ depending on how you look at it.”
“A Feffer? Oh and FYI - your Kaiju that you are related to somehow actually smiled at me.”
“Hang on… hannng on,” Gina said warily, like she was trying to process the same things that Nettie’s own brain was stuck on. “Did you say smile? As in ‘teeth’ were showing because that wasn’t a smile – that was a physical warning like some bear showing you his canines before he eats you.”
“No. He curled his… ah… um…”
“Huh?”
“His lip curled, smirked, climbed… okay, Gina – his lip curled upward on one side into a smile, and it wasn’t a spasm or a stroke because I already thought of that. There was no twitching, no drooping. Your brother gave me a legit hot-boy-smirk…”
Gina gasped.
Nettie made a garbled noise in reply.
It was like they were speaking their own brand of communication that said so much in those simple moments of connection.
In fact, they knew each other so well that she could practically picture Gina sitting there, clutching her phone, biting her lip, and puffing out her breath repeatedly like she was about to explode.
“Spill it – do you know why he’s being creepy weird?”
“I’m still processing that Tate was nice to another human being.”
“You’re processing? I’m afraid I’ve huffed something landing me into some walking nightmare – mind you, I am sitting in my car, in Texas, in a parking lot, in the middle of October…”
“Is it running?”
“No.”
“Start the car! Start the car!” Gina nearly yelped in her ear. “You’ll die, cook your brain, or fry your eggies in your ovaries… and I need you! You’re my bestie.”
“I thought Shannon was your bestie?”
“Stitch, puh-lease – we both know it’s you…”
“I don’t sew…”
“Yet,” Gina corrected. “We both know you are a year away from being either a Sourdough-woman or a quilter… maybe both. You have ‘Crazy-Cat-Lady-era’ on the horizon and we both know it.”
“Twelve meows and a Truth,” Nettie sighed, letting her shoulders slump as she started the car, feeling the blast of heat blister her cheeks as the fan hit her full blast in the face with a scalding breeze before starting to cool a smidgeon.
Fall in Texas – ‘nuff said.
“So should I be freaked out that your brother is ill, dying, or has had a mental breakdown? Brace yourself – Tate was looking at yarn… at my craft store.”
Gina made the noise again.
Nettie gasped in horror as it suddenly clicked in her head.
“You did this?” Nettie whispered in disbelief. “You sicced your brother on me? I’m not even thirty yet, and we agreed.”
“I told him to be nice if you ever saw him again,” Gina confessed, and Nettie rolled her eyes.
“He’s capable – more than capable – and I’m telling you that he has his moments of being sweet, but it’s buried so deep in that angry mess of a person that it’s hard to see.
I mean, I get the family-version of him and I’ve seen him laugh, but it’s so rare… and… and…”
“And you sicced him on me because you want me as a sister-in-law,” Nettie said flatly, realizing exactly what her friend had done.
“Gina, I’ve already told you that while I think your brother is cute – we aren’t compatible in the slightest. I run from drama and anxiety, and he creates it – in waves!
” she stressed, waving her hands frantically and grateful for Bluetooth so she could let her emotions out with gestures.
“I cannot handle Tate – which is why I’ve always avoided him.
You cannot sic your brother on me because I am mentally ill-equipped for dealing with him…
and all of his angry weirdness. He’s too much. He’s… Tate, Gina. ”
“If I can handle him, you can.”
“No – seriously. I cannot.”
“But we’re besties.”
“Because you are not weird… much.”
“Tate is…”
“Tate is Tate,” Nettie interrupted flatly. “I mean, think about it. If you pictured the hottest guy in the universe…”
“The new goalie for the Coyotes?” Gina sighed happily – and Nettie paused, lifting an eyebrow in surprise at her friend’s unexpected confession. “Never mind – continue.”
“We’re gonna revisit that comment,” Nettie retorted before continuing.
“If you picked the hottest guy in the universe who absolutely hated your guts, what would happen if that suddenly changed? What if he kissed you or grabbed your butt while you wrapped your legs around his waist? Not that any of that happened - we’re talking hypothetically. I mean, what if he looked at you like…”
Her panicked rambling stopped as Tate’s eyes and that slight smile flashed before her eyes for a moment. Those warm, dark-chocolate eyes mixed with that out-of-control wavy hair that begged to be finger-combed. That shadow on his jaw… his lips… and – oh my gosh…
“OMIGOSHHH! GINA?!”
She made a noise in her throat between a shriek and a moan of horror as Gina squealed excitedly.
“I know!”
“Tate?!”
“I KNOWW!”
“Tate cannot – cannot – ever Tate me – I mean, ‘date me’…”
“Maybe you want him to ‘Tate’ you deep down inside…”
“Maybe you never say the words ‘Tate’ and ‘deep’ in the same sentence again? I just got a bodily shiver…”
“Was it a good one?”
“You’re weird. Why did I even call you when you are obviously on his side?”
“I’m on your side – always.”
“Your brother cannot like me – and I cannot like him.”
“Why?”
That question hung in the air between them as words failed Nettie.
She had no reasons, no explanation, no way to explain how it would make things weird for them, for her, for her very life.
That would be the equivalent of trying to lasso a hurricane and expecting to come out of the whole thing unscathed.
“Gina – please just leave things alone and don’t sic Tate on me again. Promise me you won’t…”
“I promise.”
“Are your fingers crossed?” Nettie questioned quickly – earning her a heavy sigh that told her otherwise.
“Fine. I begrudgingly promise,” Gina muttered flatly.
“Thank you – and I mean it.”
“I know, which is why I’m agreeing. Now, are you coming over or what?”
“No, I think I’m going to go home and work on a few stocking caps before I tackle the scarves – ugh – those take me so long to do.”
“Maybe you could make a green and gray one for Tate and…”
“Bye, Gina,” Nettie interrupted – hanging up on her best friend before texting her a heart to soften the blow.
Yeah, this conversation was over, and anything else said would fall on a much-too fertile imagination that needed time to settle down and bury whatever kernel of optimism had sprung forth in those moments.
Hours later, Nettie sat cross-legged in her usual spot on the couch—the old, sagging cushions dipping just enough to cradle her hips and legs as though the piece of furniture had memorized her shape over the years.
The faded floral fabric had long since lost its color, but to her, it was perfect. Familiar. Home.
This was her place. Not just the couch, but the feeling of belonging it carried. After her parents died, she had come here—to her grandmother’s small, humble house—and learned to find contentment in simple things.
Her grandmother had taught her that peace didn’t come from what you wanted, but from what you cherished, from a well within you.
A chipped teacup that always held her favorite peppermint tea.
A creaky floorboard she knew to avoid if she wanted to sneak a midnight snack.
And this couch was her safe harbor after the storm.
Her own personal storm…
Hurricane Tate.
Category six – evacuate and run.
Nettie’s knitting needles clicked together in a steady rhythm, the faint metallic sound tapping into the quiet hush of the room. Knitting was her favorite of all her hobbies. Cross-stitching was neat, crochet was clever, but knitting?
Knitting was her soul’s music.
Her happiness.
Her fingers moved with muscle memory, counting silently, yarn looping through and around, building something useful and soft out of nothing more than string.
Sometimes she hummed along to the radio, sometimes she sang out loud, but always the needles brought comfort.
Knitting never judged her. Never told her she wasn’t enough. Never made her feel small.
She created… not destroyed or tore down things.
Not like Tate did.