Chapter 21
Tanya Clucker and Henda Martell have become the natural leaders of my pack.
“Be nice to Jade Cluckwall.” I hold Henda’s soft little body in my hands and look into the sweet, beady eyes. “You’re sisters now. You have to take care of each other, not bully them for front spot at the water trough.”
She chirps twice and I take that as confirmation that my point got through and set her back down in the bin.
I check to make sure the brooder at the back is working so they stay nice and warm in my over-air-conditioned house, and I’m topping off their food when the sound of paws scrambling over gravel pulls my attention to my front porch.
Duke’s labored snorts come long before Tate knocks on the door. I swing open the door and drop down to my haunches to welcome another one of my favorite pet friends into my home.
“Duke!” I hold my arms out wide as the wiggly little potato leaps into my arms—well, as much as a bulldog can leap—and covers my face in kisses. “Are you excited to see me or are you tricking me for treats?”
“Excuse me.” Tate joins us and his voice sends shivers running down my back. “Duke is a gentleman. He would never use a woman for her treats.”
“You’re right,” I say to Tate, but keep my eyes on one very excited puppy…who absolutely just wants a treat. “I’m so sorry, Duke. You deserve a treat for my awful accusation, don’t you? Because you’re the best boy ever!”
I don’t know if it’s the word or my overly excited, high-pitched voice, but his paws slide back and forth on the hardwood floor like he’s winding up and then boom!
Like a shot, he’s off, running straight through my living room, past my bucket of chicks, and into my kitchen, no doubt coming to a halting stop next to the freezer where I’ve been storing his treats.
“A cute little genius.”
“Of course he is,” Tate says. “He learned everything he knows from me.”
I almost make a joke about going to the bathroom outside, but stop myself. Barely.
“You both are pretty slobbery.” I wink and turn my back on Tate to join Duke in the kitchen.
I open the freezer and pull out the glass container filled to the brim with bone-shaped treats.
“Now these are a new recipe, but I think you’re really going to like them.
They’re peanut butter cookies, but instead of water, I used bone broth for added nutrients and flavor.
On top is a coconut oil peanut butter drizzle, and they’re nice and cold to cool you off from the awful Texas heat your dad subjects you to with his open windows. ”
I hold my hand down, and ever so gently, he takes the treat from my hand like the little angel puppy he is. Then he chomps it down in a single bite.
“I think he likes it!”
Tate is leaning against the doorframe of my kitchen. His strong arms are folded in front of his solid chest, but the smile on his face is anything but hard. It’s almost impossible to believe that the man standing in front of me is the same grumpy stranger people warned me about.
“He’s a dog, Luna. Of course he likes it.” His smirk reaches his onyx eyes. My knees wobble a little at the sight. “But I’m sure he likes them even more because you’re the one who made them for him.”
“That’s sweet.” I close the container so I can put the treats back in the freezer before Duke tricks me into giving him one—or five—more and cross the kitchen to Tate.
“Are you laying on the charm extra thick because you know I spent yesterday getting day drunk with your sister and Millie and you’re afraid they spilled all your secrets? ”
“I’m always sweet and I don’t have secrets,” he lies through his straight, perfect teeth. He doesn’t even flinch, and I don’t know if I should be impressed or concerned. “And sorry for asking, but is day drunk different than night drunk?”
I know he’s trying to change the subject, and normally, I wouldn’t take the bait. But since this particular subject includes me harnessing the power of margarita-fueled bravery to set in motion a plan that has a very high likelihood of exploding in my face, I allow it to slide.
“Absolutely. Night drunk is for dancing, kissing strangers, and making friends with girls in bathrooms.” I don’t know if I’m breaking girl code by filling him in on the intricacies of girls’ nights out, but he avoids talking to the majority of people, so I figure our secret is safe with him.
“Whereas day drinking is for gossiping with your friends, eating snacks, lounging around, and sharing your favorite TikToks.”
He frowns and his eyebrows scrunch together. “But can’t you do all the day drinking things at nighttime? Why does the time of day matter?”
Boys are so cute when they’re confused.
“You can and it doesn’t.” I know it’s pointless, but I try to explain anyway. “Time is a social construct, but vibes are a law of nature. The categories and the ability to do one or the other is not dependent on whether the sun is out or not.”
“I still don’t understand, but I’m going to take your word for it.” He shakes his head, and the sound of his laugh washes over me as he pushes off the doorframe.
“Good choice,” I say. “Some things aren’t meant to be understood.”
He moves closer to me, and his smile fades as his finger grazes the bridge of my nose. “You got sunburned.”
I don’t know if it’s the gentleness of his touch or the quiet concern in his voice that does it, but I melt into him.
“I know,” I say. “I got a little lackadaisical after our third round of margaritas, but you should see Millie. She looked like a lobster. We tried to take her to the emergency room, but she wouldn’t listen to us.
Your sister ended up spending the night at Millie’s to make sure she didn’t blister to death overnight. ”
Growing up with an Irish mother and grandmother who never tanned a day in their entire lives, I’ve seen bad sunburns before, but nothing quite like Millie’s as we finished the final touches of the chicken coop.
Between the hangover I know she had to have thanks to my superb mixologist skills and her scorched skin, I have a feeling she had to call in for backup at the Artist Alchemy today.
“I don’t know what it’s going to take for her to learn her lesson.” Tate shakes his head and rolls his eyes, sounding more exasperated than compassionate for my pale friend. “This happens to Millie at least once a year.”
I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice if I tried. “She’s burned like this before?”
I only need the slightest bit of discomfort or inconvenience to never do something again.
I threw up after going on an upside-down roller coaster when I was thirteen, and I haven’t set foot on another one since.
Don’t even remind me of the time Gabby convinced me peppermint schnapps in my hot chocolate was a good idea.
As delicious as it was in the moment, you couldn’t pay me to touch the stuff after the hell I paid the next morning.
“Oh yeah.” He nods his head, and his long dreads bounce around his face. “At least once a year, sometimes more. If I remember right, I’m pretty sure she ended up in the hospital from sun poisoning one year.”
“I’m glad you told me. Now that I know, I won’t allow it to happen again.”
I make a mental note to stock up on sunscreen and to research the best dermatologists in and around Celestial.
“Many people have tried,” he says. “But if I had to put my money on one person to succeed, it’d be you.”
Other people don’t have years of codependent experience trying to keep their mom sober. This is a cakewalk compared to that. I’ll have sunscreen at the ready from now until eternity. Millie’s skin is going to be so grateful.
“Thank you.” I rest my hands on his chest and push onto my toes. “Your faith in me means the world.”
I tilt my chin up and he meets me in the middle, touching his mouth to mine.
Not that making out with him in the football stadium parking lot wasn’t the epitome of my sports romance dreams coming true, but there’s something about the casual ease of kissing Tate, standing barefoot in my kitchen while Duke pants at our feet, that makes my heart constrict.
The pressure and awkwardness I carry with me, the insecurities that linger in the back of my mind, all disappear when I’m around him.
His strong, steadfast presence grounds me in a way I’ve never experienced before.
It’s amazing and terrifying. I’m afraid if I hold on too tight, I might push him away, but if I don’t hold on tight enough, I risk letting him slip through my fingers.
“You’re easy to believe in,” he says, coming back in for another kiss and soothing my irrational fears. “Your house, on the other hand, has been harder to come around on.”
“Your feelings and concerns are valid, but look how cute it is already!” I gesture around my kitchen. The pink cabinets came out better than I hoped, and the crystal knobs I attached are the crowning jewel. “It’s going to be your greatest achievement yet when it’s finished.”
“If it’s ever finished,” he grumbles, the corners of his mouth fighting a grin. “This place is the song that never ends.”
Today is finally the day we’re bringing the new claw-foot tub into the bathroom and the renovation to a close. The guest bathroom I’ve been using is fine, but I can’t wait to soak in the bathtub like I dreamt about when I bought this house.
The renovation probably would’ve been finished much faster if it weren’t for the approximately million and one side quests that have popped up along the way.
Not only did he fix my laundry room, there were also the minor electrical issues he fixed by rewiring the “fucking nightmare” Mr. Monroe jury-rigged.
Then there were the stairs he insisted had to be addressed.
Apparently, some of the noises I thought came with living in an old house were actually alarm bells.
I tried to argue that it was fine; between football and his other clients around town, I didn’t want to pile more onto his schedule.
But then he said that if I didn’t let him look at them, it would be me, not the bathtub, falling through the floor.
And since falling through the floor is something I’d very much like to avoid, I decided to listen to his advice. Four steps had to be replaced.
And that’s not including all the “fun” projects I roped him into whenever he was gearing up to head home for the day.
He installed a new ceiling fan in my living room and a chandelier that looks like it’s made out of vintage teacups above my kitchen table.
Then there was the time he hung up the curtains Miss Margaret surprised me with and supervised while I swapped the old kitchen sink faucet for the fancy gold one I got for a steal on eBay.
Thankfully, I learned my lesson when I flooded the bathroom and it went off without a hitch.
He doesn’t know it yet, but a massive order of wallpaper will be arriving next week, and he gets to be my assistant.
But no matter how much extra work I pile on him, other than our initial agreement, he always manages to avoid talking finances with me.
“You do know that eventually, you’re going to have to let me pay you for everything you’ve done around this house.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “You already paid.”
“No I didn’t,” I remind him. “I paid for the supplies and materials when you first started, but you still haven’t given me an invoice that includes labor costs or receipts for the things you’ve bought since.”
“And I’m not going to,” he says, and I can tell he’s gearing up to launch an ironclad defense.
“I’ve been doing this in my spare time, and even before I found out what a good kisser you are, you were my family’s neighbor.
I already get enough shit from them. I’d never hear the end of it if I charged you for this. ”
It’s not that I’m dying to spend money, but he’s being ridiculous.
“This is Celestial. Everyone considers everyone a neighbor. You couldn’t make a living if this is how you handled all your clients.”
“Maybe,” he says. His dark eyes turn molten, and he flattens his hand against the curve of my back. “But you’re not all my clients.”
I exhale a shaky breath. “Then what am I?”
He stares down at me, and the intensity in his eyes stretches seconds into an eternity.
“What are you?” he asks, and his voice is thick with meaning I can’t quite decipher as he pulls me closer to him. “You’re the woman who came into town, sat at a bar, and without warning, upended my entire life with a single smile.”
His words hit me so hard, I forget how to breathe.
I forget about my past, and the future ceases to exist. I forget all my fears and worries and reasons we shouldn’t be. For one wondrous moment, I forget about everything except the man standing in front of me and how it feels to be wrapped in his arms with his mouth on mine.
And I get so lost in this moment, with my fingers tangled in his locs as I get drunk off his taste, my body shaking as need unfurls into the deepest parts of me, that I forget all about what I had planned until it’s too late.
Much, much too late.