Chapter 20
NETTIE
Okay, this is weird…
Back to the word of the day…
Nettie wasn’t sure how it had happened, but she and Tate were actually having a legitimate conversation—about nothing and everything all at once.
She hadn’t expected this, not from him, not after the years of snide remarks, half-smiles, and that maddening wall he always kept up between them.
But somewhere between the hashbrowns and his stories about the team, something had shifted.
He had let down his guard, just a little, and she could see the man she remembered from long ago—the one who used to make her laugh until her sides ached, the one whose crooked grin had once been irresistible. Tonight, that grin was back.
The way he laughed—it wasn’t just polite or forced—it was genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
The way he smiled—slow, wide, the kind that could melt right through her defenses if she let it.
And the way he talked about the guys on the team, about their camaraderie and his hopes for captain— it was earnest, hopeful, almost boyish.
And she got to see this version of him that no one else did.
She found herself telling him about the children at her daycare, their endless energy, their sticky fingers, and their wide-eyed innocence.
He actually listened, leaning forward as though every silly story about finger-paint disasters and snack-time negotiations mattered.
It made her heart twist in an unfamiliar way.
As their meal wound down, Tate stood, stretched, and with an almost sheepish smile, bought her several cherry sticks—her favorite. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he added a container of buckeye chocolates, sliding them across the counter with a little flourish – and a wink.
“You’re spoiled,” she teased, but secretly, it melted her a little inside and made a note of this. Tate had a weakness for buckeye candies.
They lingered a while longer, strolling past the glowing displays of sweets and old-fashioned treats.
The fluorescent lights gave everything a warm, nostalgic glow, like childhood wrapped in sugar.
Nettie excused herself for a quick trip to the restroom, needing a moment to gather herself, before stepping back into the cool night air.
The shift was immediate. Outside, the world was darker, quieter, the hum of the lights fading into the background.
Tate was waiting, helmet in hand, his breath visible in the chilly air.
She climbed onto the bike behind him, the cherry sticks tucked into the pocket of her sweatshirt, and his chocolates stowed carefully in the small compartment on the bike.
“I should have brought my Porsche,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands together briskly. “It’s gonna be a cold ride back.”
“Then I guess I’ll hold on tighter to you for warmth.”
“Am I warm?”
“Like my own hot water bottle,” she chuckled, unable to stop the smile tugging at her lips as she wrapped her arms around his middle.
He was right.
It was downright frigid on the ride back to her house.
The wind whipped at her hair and chilled her arms right through her sweatshirt, but pressed against his solid frame, she could almost forget the cold.
Almost. Her fingers curled tighter into the folds of his light jacket as the bike roared down the quiet streets, every turn and bump pulling her closer.
She wasn’t sure if her shivers were entirely from the cold anymore.
By the time they pulled up in front of her house, Nettie felt suspended in a strange sort of dream. She glanced up at the night sky, the stars smudged like faint chalk dust across black velvet. She didn’t know what time it was, and she didn’t care.
Tate pulled off his helmet, raked a hand through his dark hair, and turned off the bike. The sudden silence was deafening after the steady hum of the engine. He walked her to the door, his stride slower now, more hesitant.
“This was so nice tonight,” he said softly, reaching for her hand, his fingers brushing hers in a way that sent warmth shooting up her arm.
“I had a really nice time,” she admitted, her voice a little breathless. Then she chuckled, almost nervously. “I guess maybe we are talking now.”
And he smiled—oh, that smile.
“I hope so.”
“Me too.”
Her breath caught as he stepped closer, his dark eyes locking with hers. There was something in the way his gaze lingered—intense, smoky, dangerous in a way that made her pulse stumble. His lids lowered slightly, and she could swear the world narrowed down to nothing but the space between them.
“Maybe we could manage to do this again sometime…” he invited, his voice low, velvety warm.
“I might be up to that.”
His nose brushed against hers, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver racing down her spine.
His breath was warm against her lips, teasing, promising.
Nettie’s heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it.
She was convinced—absolutely convinced—he was going to kiss her.
Her body leaned into the moment, craving the contact she had been denying herself for far too long.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice so tender it cracked something deep inside her. The back of his finger traced along her cheek, light as a whisper, but it left fire in its wake.
“If you kiss me, then it better not break whatever spell this is between us…” she whispered, her words more plea than warning. She needed this—needed the fragile, perfect bubble of now to remain unbroken.
His lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, as though he understood far more than he was saying. He leaned closer, and she parted her lips, waiting, bracing for the kiss that felt inevitable.
But instead, his mouth brushed against the side of hers—just the faintest caress on her cheek, enough to make her ache, enough to leave her wanting.
“Sweet dreams, Sticks,” he murmured, his breath tickling her skin. “Text me tomorrow.”
And just like that, he was gone, leaving her pressed against the door, trembling in the silence, her lips tingling from the almost-kiss and her heart racing with all the things left unspoken.
Three days later, the daycare was blanketed in the soft hush of naptime—a rare oasis in Nettie’s otherwise noisy, finger-paint-covered, spill-filled daily chaos.
The blinds were drawn low, muting the sunlight into dim stripes across the carpet.
The air was warm with that sleepy, stuffy smell of crayons, baby lotion, and animal crackers.
Little bodies shifted restlessly on their mats, a chorus of tiny sighs, thumb-sucking, and the occasional squeaky snore filling the silence.
Nettie sat cross-legged against the far wall, her back pressed to the cool paint, her phone tucked discreetly in her lap. It was on silent, just in case, because the last thing she needed was “Baby Shark” waking twenty-two toddlers into anarchy.
Her thumb hovered over the dark screen.
Tate had said, ‘text me tomorrow’.
That had been three tomorrows ago.
And she hadn’t.
At first, it had been intentional—a power move, or at least that’s what she told herself.
Play it cool. Don’t come across as desperate.
Show him she wasn’t waiting breathlessly by her phone.
Except— she kind of had been. Every time it buzzed, her heart leapt in her throat, only to plummet when it was just spam about her car’s extended warranty.
The worst part? He hadn’t texted her either.
They were both stubborn mules. And Nettie knew, with a grimace, that’s exactly why this weird non-game was dragging out. He was waiting. She was waiting. And here she sat, chewing on her bottom lip like a lovesick teenager, overthinking every word she might send.
She told herself she didn’t yearn for him. Didn’t need him. That way lies danger and heartbreak. But oh, her stomach fluttered traitorously when she imagined his crooked grin, the raspy warmth of his voice, or the way his eyes crinkled when he teased her.
Her fingers began typing almost without permission.
Hey – guess what – I filled up my car this morning and it holds about fifteen gallons.
She pressed send before her brain could interfere.
A beat passed. Nettie’s heart stopped. She reread the message and nearly groaned aloud.
“Oh no…” she whispered, pressing her face into her knees. That was the dumbest text in the history of dumb texts. Casual, yes. Standoffish, maybe. But flirty? Witty? Not even close. It sounded like something her grandpa might brag about after a trip to the gas station.
Her thumb darted to the screen, frantic, trying to delete it. Instead, she hit the little heart by mistake. She hearted her own text. Not one notification, but two. Her eyes squeezed shut in mortification.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
She unhearted it quickly, then tried again to erase it—but the little bubble suddenly shifted. Three dots appeared.
“Greaaaat,” she muttered under her breath. “So much for hiding my idiotic comment.”
His reply came almost instantly.
Hey – I’m glad you like it. I filled up too on the way to the arena.
A wink emoji.
Nettie smothered a laugh into her sleeve. Tate winked at her with an adorable emoji. He was impossible.
You know, I’m not dumb.
Never said that.
I’m just trying to figure out how to say hello…
Did you like them?
Her fingers froze.
Like what?
Her brows furrowed.
Never mind…
Before she could respond, movement caught her eye. Her boss appeared in the hall, walking past the classroom door. Nettie blinked, then blinked again.
Her boss was holding the biggest bouquet of flowers she had ever seen, a staggering explosion of soft pink roses with greenery spilling like a waterfall. A glossy balloon bobbed behind it, tied to a curling ribbon.
Nettie’s jaw dropped.
“Nuh-uhhhh…” she breathed. She scrambled to her feet, phone clutched in one hand, heart pounding.
Her boss spotted her through the narrow window in the door, grinning, and pointed toward the office down the hall.