Chapter 28
NETTIE
“What is going on?”
Nettie’s voice cracked into the stillness of the breakroom, though no one was around to hear her.
She stood frozen in the doorway, her tote bag slipping precariously from her shoulder.
She had only meant to grab her lunch, maybe unwrap the sandwich she’d packed, and scroll through a few bookish reels before diving back into work.
But the moment she tapped her phone awake, her entire world shifted.
The screen blazed with notifications.
Three thousand comments.
Six thousand friend requests.
The numbers blurred together, dizzying, climbing so quickly that it looked like her phone was infected with some strange virus. Her thumb hovered uselessly over the glass as though afraid to touch it, afraid the numbers might multiply further just by her breathing too hard.
Her lips parted, a sharp inhale catching in her throat. Her heart galloped into her ribs.
Her tote bag slipped off her arm with a thump, landing on the linoleum floor, but Nettie didn’t even flinch. She was too busy staring, wide-eyed, as her jaw slowly dropped.
Then, just as suddenly, her shock cracked open into a smile. A disbelieving, giddy smile that made her cheeks ache instantly.
Of course.
Tate.
The realization came in a rush, flooding her system with warmth that no amount of fluorescent breakroom lighting could dim.
Tate Cassidy—Gina’s brother, hockey legend, fan favorite, man of a million headlines—was having his team pose with the cookies they had made together.
Big, tough men in jerseys, grinning for the camera, proudly holding her little sugar-dusted creations like prized trophies.
And every single one of those pictures was tagged with her name.
Her.
Nettie’s heart gave a breathless leap.
She flicked her thumb upward, scrolling through messages so fast her eyes could hardly keep up.
Are you Tate Cassidy’s girlfriend?
Can you share the recipe?
Hey, think you could slide me some free game tickets?
And others… cutting, cruel, venom slipped through in the way only strangers on the internet knew how to deliver.
Her chest pinched, a cold flicker of hurt threatening her bright bubble.
But Nettie was quick, faster than she had ever been with her phone.
She deleted. Blocked. Buried those voices before they could sink their claws into her joy.
She didn’t need them. Not now. Not when something so beautiful had sparked between her and Tate.
Her phone buzzed again—different this time.
The kind of chime that made her whole body still, then light up like fireworks.
It was his alert, his special notification for when Tate texted her.
His name glowed across the top of the screen.
She quickly thumbed the screen to read it – and smiled. It was a photo of him, licking the frosting off a cookie with a mischievous grin on his face. Shameless flirt, she thought, sighing at the swoony image of her man.
Um, so the cookies were a hit, huh?
A nervous giggle tumbled out of her throat, sharp and too loud in the empty room. She bit her lip, tapping quickly, her hands shaking as she texted him.
You are amazing, and I want the world to know it.
Her breath came faster as his reply rolled in almost immediately.
You’re the only one that counts in my book.
The words poured from her in a waterfall of honesty and longing.
He was it. He was everything to her, and she had imagined so many times what it would be like to tell him how she felt – but those same old fears held her back.
She pressed a trembling hand against her heart as though to hold it together, because surely, surely it was about to burst.
The breakroom blurred around her—the hum of the refrigerator, the faint scent of stale coffee grounds, the shrill beep of the microwave someone had just abandoned. None of it mattered. She was in her own little world now, a world painted in the glow of his words.
Speaking of books, are you free tomorrow night?
Her breath hitched. She clutched the phone with both hands, afraid she might drop it. He was asking her out? Like a legit date?
She typed quickly, her thumbs fumbling with excitement.
If I wasn’t – I am now!
Her stomach twisted with nerves—was that too much? Too eager? Too obvious?
The screen lit up again before she could worry herself to pieces.
Did you already have plans, Sticks? Should I be worried?
She let out a half-laugh, half-squeak, shaking her head.
No – it’s just an expression. LOL.
Then let me reassure you – you have plans.
WITH ME
Her knees wobbled. She leaned back against the counter, staring at the little bubble of words like they were something out of a dream. Keep it cool and calm, Nettie, she thought wildly.
Oh?
Yeah, this guy thinks it’s about time he takes his girl out for a night on the town.
Her.
Nettie slapped a hand to her mouth, muffling the squeal threatening to escape.
He called her his girl. The words played on loop in her head, as thrilling and surreal as the first time she’d heard her name announced at graduation.
Her heart swelled, pressing against her ribs until it almost hurt.
And with it came the echo of his earlier promise, quiet and sure:
“When I take you out on a date, you’ll know it.”
This was it.
This was him making good on his word. Her hands shook as she typed, but she couldn’t stop the smile stretching wide across her face.
I would love to go out with you.
A pause. The little dots appeared, bouncing with infuriating slowness. Then, at last:
I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven p.m.
Nettie pressed the phone to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut. A soft laugh broke free—half sob, half sigh of relief—while her pulse drummed like a song she knew by heart. She hugged the phone tighter, rocking on her heels in the middle of the breakroom, too giddy to stand still.
Tomorrow at seven.
She didn’t care about the comments, the trolls, the flood of strangers invading her tiny online world. All that mattered was him. His words. His promise. As of now, she was officially Tate Cassidy’s girl, and they were going on a date tomorrow night.
Leaving work behind, rushing home from the daycare, Nettie had never been so excited in her entire life. She knew Tate was going to bring his A-game. He’d promised, he’d hinted, and now that moment was here… well, in forty minutes or so.
She had laid out her prettiest dress, hoping to knock his socks off, and kept her hair in a bun so that way, it wouldn’t get tangled, stayed somewhat nice, and wouldn’t end up with some weird sticky mess that was unidentifiable from a rogue grubby hand.
If it was sticky, she’d removed it from fabric or hair at some point in her career.
Racing into the house, she threw her purse on the couch but left her shoes on after injuring her toe a few weeks ago. Yeah, that was not happening again. She padded quickly to her bedroom, stripping off her clothing as she went, in an effort to get ready ultra-fast.
It was probably a good thing no one was here to see her, because she was running behind and doing what Shannon dubbed a ‘hoe-bath’ in the sink – pits and privates – just to freshen up.
Risking her perfectly coiffed hair after washing it last night, blowing it out straight with a smoothing serum, flat ironing it, then using a curling iron to give it a little flip and tame any flyaways… yeah, she was not risking a shower.
A little baby powder, fresh deodorant in key places, a spritz of perfume – then it was on to the makeup.
She swiped a thin pad over her nose, cheeks, and forehead, applying a small amount of pressed powder before pinching her cheeks. Some eyeliner, frantically fanning her eyeballs as she accidentally stabbed herself with the pencil, sneezing, and then trying once more before giving up.
In fact, her eye was watering so much that she skipped mascara altogether. A swipe of lipstick, carefully unwinding her bun and letting her hair lay on her shoulders – if a person squinted hard enough – she could be mistaken for a supermodel…
On another planet.
Nettie sighed, letting her shoulders slump.
Miss America, I got lost along the way, she thought, drawing in a deep breath and freezing as there was a knock at the front door.
“Coming!” she shouted, almost kicking off her shoes and opting to wear her sneakers to the door, before knocking them off quickly with a one-two flop and slipping into a pair of black heels she had waiting.
Yanking open the door, she did a double-take.
There was a man standing there in a black suit, black hat, white gloves, and holding an umbrella – and it wasn’t even raining. “Uh, can I help you?”
“Miss Yarborough?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Edwin and I’ll be escorting you to your dinner reservations…
” and as she spoke, she saw Tate standing beside the limousine in the distance, looking dazzling.
He was wearing a stunning black suit tailored to fit him in a way that made his shoulders look so wide, his legs so long, and if possible – it made his dark eyes glitter like black ice.
Was that possible? She thought silently as she gulped in understanding of what was happening. When he said she would know if they went on a date–then he meant it.
She. Would. Know.
“Um, let me get my coat,” she stammered and turned away, only to hear Edwin’s voice again.
“Not necessary, Miss Yarborough. Mr. Cassidy has arranged for that as well,” that lofty nasally voice which would normally be irritating was actually comforting as he smiled at her – and nodded to his free hand without the umbrella. In his hand was a long wool coat with a fuzzy collar.
“I don’t wear fur…” she hesitated, and Edwin smiled.
“Mr. Cassidy said you would say that,” he replied politely. “It’s designed to look like it, but I assure you, it’s as close as possible without any animals being injured in the process.”