Chapter 26
NETTIE
Opening the front door, Nettie’s heart gave a little kick at the sight of Tate standing there on her porch.
Evening shadows pooled behind him, the porchlight catching the edges of his dark hair and carving his jaw in sharp, restless lines.
His eyes—those smoldering, unreadable eyes—lifted to hers, carrying both hope and hesitation.
That wary smile on his lips tugged at her in a way she hadn’t expected. It was careful, almost boyish, and so unlike the guarded, tough exterior he usually wore that she caught herself staring.
She pushed open the screen door, forcing a casual lilt into her voice. “C’mon in,” she said, arching one brow with playful mischief. “You look scared.”
“I’m not comfortable with this,” he admitted gruffly, holding up a wrinkled shopping bag as though it were a shield. The poor thing looked like it had been through battle—creased, faded, one handle stretched thin.
Her chuckle bubbled out before she could stop it.
“Well, change happens when you find yourself uncomfortable.” Without waiting for an argument, she slid her hand into his—large, warm, calloused—and tugged him inside her little house. The scent of fresh coffee and chocolate still lingered in the air. “Hang your jacket, and I just made us some… oh!”
She didn’t finish. Tate suddenly pulled her closer, his hand tightening around hers as he drew her into his solid chest. She felt the heat of him, the quiet intensity that rolled off his frame like a storm barely restrained.
One broad hand claimed her hip, almost possessive, while the other rose with startling tenderness to cradle her cheek.
His thumb brushed lightly over her skin, sending tingles down her spine.
His dark gaze captured hers, fathomless and searching, as if he were staring into the very heart of her. He swallowed hard, the movement of his throat betraying his nerves.
Her voice was a whisper, fragile but aching. “What?”
“I don’t want to feel like a fool or lose my temper because I can’t do this—because I want to.” His words rushed out, roughened with honesty. “I want us to find our way, but there might be setbacks… and I’m sorry if there are.”
Her chest squeezed. For Tate to admit weakness was monumental. It took a big person to admit you were flawed – but then again, weren’t they all? Nettie placed her hand over his, pressing it firmer against her cheek.
“You are safe with me,” she murmured, each word soaked with conviction. “We’ve both taken steps, made changes, and found ourselves here… so let’s keep going together.”
Relief softened his features, and for the first time since she’d opened the door, his smile reached his eyes. The corners crinkled, his whole expression shifting into something almost boyish.
“That’s why I want to kiss you now,” he confessed with a husky chuckle. “I want to have kissed you at least once, before you throw me out of your house for losing my cool.”
Her lips curved, her heart stuttering.
“Then don’t.” She touched his cheek, her fingers trembling just slightly as she rose onto her tiptoes.
Their noses brushed in a playful nudge, making her laugh softly despite the thick tension between them.
“I’ve got buckeyes, coffee, and more kisses if you keep yourself together and don’t become all pissy at me… it’s just knitting.”
“Says the woman who does this for fun,” he muttered, rolling his eyes skyward. His tone turned exaggerated, almost theatrical, before he groaned mockingly. Yet when his gaze returned to hers, the teasing faded into something heavier. More intent. “This is so much more fun though…”
The caress on her cheek deepened, his whole hand sliding into her hair. He cradled her head, tilting it just so, and lowered his mouth to hers.
Tate kissed like he lived—fierce, consuming, unapologetic. The kind of kiss that pulled the air from her lungs and sent her knees wobbling. She clung to his shirtfront, letting the world blur until there was only him.
But she broke away, gasping softly against his lips. “No.” Her protest wasn’t rejection, only a trembling hesitation. She searched his face, desperate to read the storm there. “I want to try this, to see if we fit…”
“Babe, I promise when it happens, it will—”
She slapped her hand over his mouth before he could finish, already knowing exactly where his remark was headed. His eyes danced with humor, and sure enough, laughter rumbled out against her palm.
Her lips twitched. Oh yes, she knew him far too well.
“Behave,” she scolded with affectionate firmness, slowly pulling her hand away. “And come with me.”
“Wanna cover my mouth again, Sticks?” he teased, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
She chuckled, rolling her eyes, and grabbed his wrist to tow him toward the living room. The couch sat ready with skeins of yarn, the colorful balls tucked neatly into a long wooden bowl. It looked cozy, domestic and maybe even intimidating for a man like Tate.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, skepticism coating every syllable. “I mean, it’s perfectly okay in a relationship if you have your things, and I have mine. We don’t have to share hobbies.”
“Oh, I know.” Her grin widened as she guided him down onto the couch. “Now sit down, and I’ll grab our coffee.”
He dropped onto the cushions with reluctant heaviness, muttering under his breath.
Nettie ducked into the kitchen, her heart thrumming with a secret she’d been waiting to share.
She gathered the small surprise bag, balanced the two mugs of steaming coffee carefully, and carried them back into the living room.
Just as she entered, Tate guiltily dropped the knitting needles as though they had burned him.
Nettie bit back a laugh at the sight—six-foot-plus stubborn hockey player looking guilty over yarn.
Neither of them mentioned it, though his eyes flicked instantly to the bag in her hand, suspicion etched across his face.
“What’s that?” he asked, wary as ever.
She settled beside him, tucking her legs beneath her, the coffee warming her palms. “Get out your cell phone,” she instructed gently, fighting the grin tugging at her lips.
He didn’t argue, just dug it from his pocket and handed it over. She shook her head.
“You wanted it,” he started, watching her, but she only smiled.
“Take a selfie of us—together.” Her voice softened at the request, almost trembling. His eyes widened, throat working as he swallowed. She saw the exact moment he understood. His lips parted slightly, his entire body stilling.
“Change happens when things are different, remember?” she reminded him softly.
“So we’re doing things differently?”
She nodded, heart thumping. “We are, Cujo. And I want a few selfies with my boyfriend.”
The word lingered between them—boyfriend. His eyes flicked to the bag again. “What’s in the bag?”
“Disposable cameras,” she admitted, finally giving away her secret. “I want us to have all sorts of photos to look back on and remember these moments between us…”
She didn’t finish—because Tate leaned in, swallowing her words with a kiss.
It wasn’t desperate this time, but steady, purposeful.
His lips molded to hers like they’d always been meant to fit.
She melted, every inch of her body softening into him, absorbing the unspoken vow threaded in the way he kissed her.
When they parted, his gaze lingered, softer than she’d ever seen. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you,” he breathed, voice low, reverent.
“It’s my pleasure,” she whispered back, daring to mimic the gesture and tuck his hair—short as it was—playfully behind his ear. His eyes nearly closed at the touch, as if she’d unraveled some tightly bound knot inside him. “Selfie time, Cujo…”
“As you wish,” he murmured, raising the phone.
She leaned in closer, fitting herself against him until their reflection filled the screen. Her arm slipped easily around his shoulders, her other circling his chest, pulling herself into his warmth.
His eyes glowed. His lips curved in the gentlest smile. For once, he looked completely unguarded. Happy.
And in that frozen image on the screen, Nettie saw more than just two people fumbling through the awkward newness of a relationship they never imagined coming to life. She saw something neither of them had dared name aloud—something fragile and unstoppable all at once.
Love.
Tate snapped another picture, and another, as she laughed against his shoulder. She turned into him, kissing him again, sealing what the photos captured: the beginning of something lasting.
Something real.
Something worth every attempt, every ounce of energy they both had.
Nettie had never considered herself much of a teacher, but with Tate, everything felt different—sharper, more alive, more delicate. The way he glared down at the yarn tangled in his big hands was almost comical, and she bit back a smile.
“No, like this…” she murmured gently, shifting on her cushion so she could see him better.
She sat cross-legged, perched on one end of the couch, her knees brushing the fabric in a familiar rhythm while her own project rested neatly at her side.
Tate sat next to her, mirroring her pose, though it looked unnatural on him, his broad frame bent forward, his knees jutting out at awkward angles.
He held the needles as if they were foreign weapons rather than harmless sticks of wood, his knuckles whitening with the effort.
His scowl deepened as he glared at the snarled mess in his lap.
“This isn’t working,” he muttered darkly.
“Be patient,” she urged, her voice calm and warm, though inside she was already bracing herself.
“I think we both know that isn’t my strong suit.”
“I know, but don’t give up yet. You’ll get it…”
“Nettie…” His tone held warning, a plea, and a spark of temper all at once.