Chapter 22 #2
“I was kicking myself because I wanted to really kiss you – but I also don’t want to ruin things between us.”
Her chest tightened, and she swore the world tilted sideways. He wanted to kiss her? Really kiss her? Heat pooled in her cheeks, her skin prickling with awareness.
“Then don’t,” she breathed before she could stop herself, her eyes locking on his like she was caught in a current too strong to fight. “I’m in no rush, and I would rather this be right than to ruin it by…”
“Kissing me would ruin it?”
“No,” she whispered mindlessly, her voice softer than air.
She was melting—melting so fast she didn’t even recognize herself anymore.
She had spent so long keeping her feelings boxed up, wrapped tight so no one could see, and now here they were, spilling everywhere.
“I just… I tend to ruin things… and this is a good thing… my favorite thing… oh gosh, Tate…”
His breath hitched, his thumb brushing her jaw as if he couldn’t help it. “I was thinking the same thing.”
He leaned closer, and her entire body lit up with panic and longing in equal measure. Her hand lifted almost on instinct, pressing lightly against his chest—not to push him away, but because she needed something solid to hold on to before she completely unraveled.
“We can’t ruin this…” she begged softly, though her words sounded weak, like she was pleading with herself more than him.
He was so close. Close enough that she could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the dark sweep of his lashes, the intensity in his eyes that made her feel utterly seen. His nose brushed against hers, the gentlest, sweetest touch—and it broke her open in ways she didn’t understand.
He was so fierce with everyone else, quick-tempered and sharp, but with her… he was infinitely tender. With her, he was the boy she always knew and had suspected lived beneath all that armor.
“Should I stop?” he asked huskily, his thumb sliding from her jaw to the edge of her chin—the tiniest nudge downward, a silent invitation for her to open to him.
And heaven help her—she obeyed.
Her lips parted.
Her breath stuttered.
It was as if every nerve ending in her body had been rewired and now only responded to him.
She felt him everywhere—in her chest, in her stomach, in her soul.
His lower lip grazed hers, feather-light, and her body melted at the single brush of contact.
Her hands were traitors, climbing higher up his chest, clutching at his shirt, aching to drag him closer.
“SUP STITCHES!”
The shout ripped through the spell like a thunderclap. Nettie froze, her eyes flying open. The heat of the moment, the closeness, the intimacy—it shattered instantly.
Tate’s eyes snapped wide too, nearly black with frustration, with knowledge of exactly what they’d almost done. Horror flickered in them, matched by her own. They leaped apart so fast it was as if they’d both been burned.
“Gina…” Nettie whispered, the name tumbling out without thought.
Tate turned sharply, a snarl curling his lips, his entire body shifting with protective instinct. He moved in front of her, pushing her back behind him with one strong arm as if shielding her from the intrusion, his shoulders squared, his presence bristling.
Nettie stood there in the shadow of him, breathless, trembling, her lips still tingling, her soul still aching from a kiss that hadn’t quite happened… yet.
“Where are y’all – and I’m telling you now, if you are doing the nasty in the bedroom then…
oh hey!” Gina exclaimed in delight, walking around the corner happily.
“I saw the Porsche and knew Nettie was home,” Gina continued, oblivious.
“Girl, you missed a doozy of a movie. There were intestines everywhere, and in this one scene, this guy shoved what might have been a fence pole or a javelin into—um, why are you both glaring at me?”
Nettie’s breath caught, her embarrassment clawing its way up her throat. Glaring? If that was what Gina thought this look was, then heaven help her if she ever saw Nettie truly furious. Right now, Nettie was somewhere between mortified, dizzy, and ready to melt straight through the hardwood floor.
“Sup Stitches…” Shannon’s voice carried before she appeared, skidding around the corner with the grace of a freight train, nearly barreling into Gina.
The two of them stumbled awkwardly, one glaring, one grinning, before they both went oddly silent.
Tate shifted beside Nettie, his warmth grounding her, and she found herself glancing up at him. Just one look, a silent exchange that said everything they couldn’t possibly voice right now.
Shannon’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my gosh – you a-and the gargoyle were about to…”
“No,” Nettie blurted, her voice strangled with nerves.
“Yes,” Tate countered, smooth and unbothered. “So get out.”
Nettie blinked, startled by his bluntness, though a tiny part of her wanted to laugh. Only Tate could sound that calm while standing at the epicenter of her complete humiliation.
“You two were…” Gina whispered now, her eyes lighting up with dawning realization. She swung a finger back and forth between them like she was conducting an orchestra, her grin spreading wider with every second. “I interrupted you two starting something?”
“I think they were about to eh-eh-uh-uh,” Shannon hissed, her voice pitched high as she slapped her hand over her mouth like she couldn’t bear to say the words outright.
“If it was anyone but my brother, I’d say ‘I wanna see this’ – but trust me, I really don’t,” Gina muttered back, stage-whispering as though Tate and Nettie weren’t literally three feet away. “I cannot even imagine his ‘O’ face…”
“Or hers,” Shannon breathed, staring at Nettie with wide, owlish eyes. Her gaze held all the disbelief of someone spotting a unicorn in their backyard. “Is it wrong that I’m turned on?”
“You’re not alone – and I feel like a freeeeak,” Gina drawled the last word out dramatically, shaking her head. “Back away slowly and get anything that will function as an upchuck bucket.”
They began to retreat, step by awkward step, whispering and gawking as if they’d stumbled upon a scandal worthy of a primetime soap.
Nettie’s hand found the middle of Tate’s back, steadying herself as much as offering him support. She nearly bit her lip to keep from smiling—the absurdity of her two best friends backing out the front door like guilty toddlers sneaking out of a candy shop was too much.
“You watched a movie with intestines – but you can’t imagine Tate kissing me?” Nettie shot after them, incredulous as they kept backing away toward the front door. Tate was slowly advancing on them, almost menacingly.
The ivy planter dangling from the ceiling swayed violently as Tate slammed the door behind them, sending a gust of air rippling through the room before either woman could answer.
Nettie braced herself. She expected him to turn on her, expected his legendary temper, the one she’d seen simmer in his eyes more than once.
Instead—he laughed.
A rich, deep sound rolled out of him, bending him over as if the humor had caught him entirely off guard. He cackled, shaking his head, one hand braced on his knee, the other running through his hair.
Nettie stared at him, stunned. Her lips parted.
“Oh my gosh, Gina’s face was priceless…”
“You’re not upset?” she asked cautiously, half afraid the laughter might mask something else.
“Nah,” he chuckled, straightening at last. His smile lingered as he reached for her, tugging her against him until she fit snugly in his arms. “It’s just kinda funny that fate sent her to interrupt us, so maybe it’s not time for that first kiss after all.
I want it to be special for you, a moment we both look back on and treasure, and my sister interrupting us - that was not it. ”
The tension that had been coiling tight inside Nettie loosened, unwinding all at once. She let out a nervous laugh. “No, it wasn’t.”
He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t storming off. He wasn’t regretting that almost-kiss. He wanted it—wanted her—but he wanted it right. That realization left her heart flipping like a gymnast mid-routine.
“Want to help me with the buckeyes?” she asked softly, clinging to something normal, something grounding.
“Let’s have that coffee, those buckeyes, and hang out for a bit, Sticks,” he said tenderly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. His touch lingered, feather-light, but it left fire in its wake. “I’d like for things to be comfortable between us.”
“As friends…” she murmured, though her voice wavered.
“Sure,” he chuckled, lowering his mouth just enough to brush a teasing kiss to the tip of her nose. “You can call it that.”
Their eyes locked, and something unspoken hung there, fragile and dangerous and so, so sweet. Slowly, their arms loosened, but neither was willing to let go entirely. Instead, their hands found each other naturally, fingers twining in a grip that felt both easy and unshakable.
Together, hand in hand, they walked back toward the kitchen.