Chapter 8 #2
Nettie’s stomach dropped, wishing the floor would give way beneath her any second now.
She hadn’t told anyone because it was nothing, and telling Tate’s sister seemed like such a bad idea all-together.
The last thing she wanted was her best friend to go and discuss with her brother about how Nettie was talking about him at dinner.
No. Thank. You.
“It was nothing…”
“You talking with Tate is not… nothing,” Shannon said slowly, emphasizing the words. “You had a crush on him and…”
“I did – and it’s over with,” Nettie interrupted quickly, evenly, flatly, trying to eliminate the conversation. End it brutally… like a guillotine on her personal relationships or lack thereof. “You know why they are called ‘crushes’ – you get crushed, painfully.”
“What happened?” Gina said sternly. “And I want details. You are not getting out of this, or I’m going straight to my brother.”
Oh mercy – that was exactly what she didn’t want to happen.
“Look, it was nothing,” Nettie stammered, panicking. “I was shopping for yarn, and he was there. He left. I left. It was nothing. I swear.”
“Was he mean to you?” Gina asked protectively, making her feel a little better.
“No,” Nettie replied softly. “He was… He was himself but nicer and…”
“There’s more?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Spill it.”
“He bought me some nice yarn in my favorite color… and I think he smiled at me.”
“He smiled?” Shannon exclaimed. Gina clapped happily nodding - and then froze.
“Wait - two smiles? Or just the one?” Gina hesitated before looking at Shannon again. The disbelief before focusing on Nettie again made her feel weirdly defensive. Gina just stared at her, waiting, before Shannon spoke again.
“Again? Or was this last time? Has he smiled at you twice, or are you saying his face weirdly cracked? Was he baring his teeth like a rabid dog? Maybe he was having a seizure or…” Shannon paused, looking at them both.
“How did you know it was a smile. How many of these strange ‘smiles’ happened? I mean, we all know the guy and Tate’s not capable – or I didn’t think he was. ”
“He is,” Gina replied, but didn’t pull her eyes away from Nettie.
“He smiled at me,” Nettie began hesitantly, feeling almost weird.
“I’m pretty sure of it, but please don’t say anything.
Just let it go. I can’t put myself out there again – you know?
If it was a smile, if there is anything, then it’s gonna have to be him trying.
I refuse to go after him again, and even if it ends up with me being an old maid alone with thirty cats, I cannot put myself out there again for him to break my heart… again.”
Nettie paused her impassioned plea, looking at their faces alight with understanding. Her fork clinked softly against her plate as she set it down, the weight in her chest pressing heavier with each word she spoke.
“I’m not going to chase him, so if he’s interested, it’s got to be his idea, on his terms, because I’m not hard to find. I live in the same place, the same town, work in one location, and have always been a creature of habit. Same shops, same patterns, same everything.”
Her voice wavered even as she tried to sound firm. The truth stung. Tate had always known exactly where to find her. He just hadn’t bothered.
“Nettie…” Shannon’s soft murmur was part caution, part sympathy.
“No.” Nettie cut her off quickly, sharper than she intended. “I won’t put myself out there again because he crushed my feelings…”
“Nettie…”
The repetition of her name made her nerves prickle. Her throat tightened, and she pressed her palms flat against her napkin in her lap, trying to anchor herself. She needed her friends to understand that they needed to leave whatever this was alone.
“Tate has never shown any interest except an intense dislike of me,” Nettie said openly, voice catching on the word dislike.
Just saying it out loud hurt. “And while you might ask out men, Shannon… I just can’t do it.
The one time I actually tried to come onto someone—it ended up being Tate.
I can deal with ‘tolerable’ but ‘nice’ isn’t in his vocabulary – just like throwing myself at someone isn’t in mine. ”
There. Out in the open. The confession felt like tearing a bandage off a wound that had never healed.
“Tate… don’t,” Gina’s voice interrupted, suddenly urgent.
Nettie froze. Every muscle in her body went taut like a bowstring. Gina wasn’t looking at her anymore, but past her.
Past her…?
Dread churned low in Nettie’s stomach. With a sinking feeling, she turned her head, every heartbeat a thunderous drum in her ears. And there he was.
Tate.
His fathomless dark eyes met hers, shuttered and unreadable, like twin storm clouds on the verge of breaking.
“I’m not,” he said simply, voice cool and clipped, before turning away. He didn’t argue, didn’t fight. His expression gave away nothing and before she could react, he just walked off.
Nettie whirled back around in horror, her pulse galloping. “WHY IS HE HERE?” she began, her panic and anxiety exploding.
“I had no idea he was coming!” Gina’s voice was thin, too quick, like she knew it sounded like an excuse.
“Oh my gosh, Nettie—follow him,” Shannon blurted, her hands flying up as if flapping them wildly like a chicken could somehow propel Nettie after him.
When Nettie didn’t move, Shannon latched onto her arm, tugging her bodily out of her seat.
“If you ever wanted something, needed a hand from Fate, or a sign from Above—this is it. Follow him!”
“I can’t…” Nettie’s protest came out weak, unconvincing even to her own ears.
“Do it! And hurry!” Shannon urged.
Gina’s wide, stricken eyes caught Nettie’s, her expression a complicated mix of worry and hope. She tilted her chin toward the door, voice barely above a whisper. “She’s right - go!”
That single word pushed Nettie’s trembling legs into motion.
Her heart pounded against her ribs as she darted through the restaurant, weaving between startled patrons. She didn’t even realize she still had her cloth napkin clutched tightly in her hand until the cool night air hit her face and she burst into the parking lot.
And there he was.
Tate straddled his Ducati, the sleek black bike gleaming under the yellow wash of the streetlamp. He held his helmet in both hands, poised as if he’d been seconds away from vanishing.
“Tate,” she called, the word shaky, unsteady.
He stilled. The faintest hesitation, but it was enough.
They stared at each other across the stretch of cracked pavement, silence stretching so tight it threatened to snap. Gathering what little courage she had left, Nettie took a step closer.
“What, Nettie?” Tate asked coolly, his voice distant, emotionless. “You made your feelings known. I’m sorry I ever bothered you.”
Her stomach dropped. “You weren’t supposed to hear any of that.”
“Maybe you should have told me that a long time ago.”
Her fingers curled tighter around the napkin. “We don’t talk. We’ve never really talked.”
“Guess that’s not starting now either.” He shrugged, a gesture meant to look careless, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him.
Nettie’s throat was dry, but she forced herself forward another step, as though every inch mattered. “I heard you got a cat…”
His head jerked up sharply, and for a flicker of a moment his expression was raw—unguarded, almost stricken. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, hidden behind that careful mask of his. That tiny slip was all she needed to know: something was different.
Something felt wrong.
Tate was hiding something.
“I found a kitten,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “So what?”
“Maybe you could text me a photo of it.”
“Maybe.” His shoulders rose and fell, a nonchalant shrug that looked rehearsed. He opened his mouth like he had more to say, then shut it again.
“What?” Nettie prompted quickly, her own urgency startling her. “What were you going to say?”
His gaze softened, if only by a fraction.
Instead of that obsidian glass, there was a slight thawing there, making those dark eyes she always admired appear more like ink.
“Maybe we should talk sometime and clear the air,” he said quietly, so quiet she nearly didn’t hear it over the hum of passing traffic—or the hammering of her own heart.
Her knees felt weak.
“Maybe we should,” she whispered, the words sticking in her throat. “I mean, we could talk or try to be polite to each other—”
His sharp gaze cut to hers, and she faltered instantly.
“Because I would really like a chance to mend things—as friends.”
“Friends, huh?” His voice was edged, unreadable.
“Did you have something else in mind?” she asked, her voice breaking on the last word. Her heart was pounding so fast she was half-convinced it might just give out right there in the parking lot.
“I guess we’ll see.” He yanked his helmet over his head, the motion abrupt. His voice, muffled now, still managed to carry. “I’ll text you later when my sister isn’t eavesdropping from the doorway.”
Nettie blinked, startled, and turned.
Sure enough, Gina and Shannon were hovering in the restaurant’s doorway, pretending poorly that they weren’t watching every second, hanging on every stilted word between them.
When she turned back, Tate gave her a knowing look, visor down, as if mocking both of them for the audience they’d unintentionally acquired. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he shut the visor, started the Ducati, and rolled back smoothly.
He lifted a hand in a small wave, casual, almost dismissive—but to Nettie it felt like so much more. Usually he stormed off but this time he was telling her ‘bye’ - like she was worth acknowledging to him. Then he twisted the handlebars, revved once, and shot forward into the night.
Nettie stood frozen in the parking lot, clutching her napkin like a lifeline, her pulse still racing, her chest tight with the unbearable weight of hope and dread mingled together.