Chapter 23
When Tate told me he planned a surprise date night for me, I envisioned the most romantic night of my entire life complete with candles, champagne, and the whole nine yards.
It might sound over-the-top, but to be fair, these are the expectations he set up for himself.
What else was I supposed to think when, before I even thought we were friends, he brought me to his favorite spot to look at the stars and I fell asleep wrapped in his arms? He set the bar high, not me.
“This is getting out of hand,” I yell over the live band who has moved on to the next song on their list of the men of country’s greatest hits. “It’s just disrespectful at this point. Not even a single Reba or Dolly song? Where have you taken me? This is sacrilegious.”
I did not allow Millie and Ciara to force me into blister-inducing cowboy boots and denim shorts that make my thighs chafe for these mediocre-ass men to disrespect some of the most important voices in country music.
“You’re not a real Celestialian until you’ve made it to the Whiskey Rose,” he shouts back. “If anyone was going to make it official with you, I wanted it to be me.”
If the dirty looks I’m getting from more than a few women here tell me anything, it’s that not everyone wants me to feel like a real Celestialian. I appreciate the gesture, though.
“I want to think that’s sweet, but thanks to this set list, it kinda feels like a punishment.
” Not to mention the fact that despite the ceiling fans spinning overhead and the air-conditioning pouring through vents, my legs are sticking to the vinyl barstools and beads of sweat are dripping down the back of my neck.
“If you hadn’t already fixed my entire house for me, I might say you owe me. ”
When it comes to my experiences with nightlife, they are neither vast, nor endless. I’ve never been a big fan of clubs, and before tonight, I’d never set foot in a honky-tonk. But even though I have little to no expertise in this realm, the Whiskey Rose is exactly how I would’ve pictured it to be.
Multicolored Christmas lights hang from the ceiling, and an almost whimsical glow reflects from the sticky film coating every surface in the building.
Neon beer signs hang on every wall, and mismatched chairs surround the beat-up tables sporadically placed all around the bar.
The dance floor is packed with familiar and new faces line dancing their hearts away to the musical—and man-centric—stylings of the Dusty Cowboys, who, although they seem to hate women vocalists, are very talented with their respective instruments.
“Don’t worry, they only play until ten,” he reassures me. “As soon as they’re off the stage, I’ll be sure you get your fill of the Chicks, Shania, and Dolly.”
“Don’t forget Reba.”
The corners of Tate’s mouth tip upward, and even with the live ruckus blaring through the speakers, I can still hear the gasps of Celestial residents all around us at the sight of his smile. I see it so often now, I forgot it’s a rare sighting for everyone else.
“A single mom who works two jobs? I could never forget about her,” he says, ignoring the curious eyes that have been staring at us all night. “I’m thinking ‘Fancy.’ ”
And just like that, Tate gets even hotter.
I take a sip of the whiskey soda I resorted to when I realized they didn’t have a drink menu or sparkling rosé, but it does nothing to quench the thirst I’m suddenly feeling. “ ‘Fancy’ is always a good choice.”
“It is—”
“Tate Jacobs!” a high-pitched, slightly slurred voice shouts from somewhere in the packed bar. “Well, as I live and breathe. What have we done for Celestial’s golden boy to grace us with his presence tonight?”
Ever since Tate’s reunion with Silas, it’s like the pressure valve has been released.
Things aren’t perfect (yet), and they aren’t calling each other to hang out all the time (yet), but the tension in his shoulders has loosened.
His smiles come and go much more often, and his little dimple has even made an appearance a time or two.
It’s like he’s a new person. But the moment the tall blonde sidles up beside us, the old Tate falls back into place so fast, my neck hurts from the whiplash of it all.
“Kayleigh.” His mouth is set in a straight line, and his eyes turn to stone when he says her name.
“Kayleigh? Really? I don’t see you in ages and that’s all you have to say to me?” She slaps his arm and leaves her bony hand resting on his bicep. “I know Mrs. Pam taught you better manners than that.”
His mom? Touching him was already bad enough, and now she’s talking about his mom? I don’t think so. Protective, possibly jealous, instincts I can’t remember ever feeling before rear their ugly heads and push me off my stool.
“Hi!” I knock her hand away and shoulder in between them until my back is flush against Tate’s chest. “I’m Luna.”
“The woman who bought the Monroe house.” She eyes me up and down, and her bright pageant smile does nothing to detract from the disgust in her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“That’s so funny,” I say, but in the way where it’s obvious that I don’t find it funny at all. “You gotta love the Celestial Whisper Network, but I feel bad! I haven’t heard anything about you. It’s Katie, right?”
I’m not laughing, but if Tate’s body shaking behind me is anything to go by, he is.
And she is not happy about it.
“It’s Kayleigh, actually.” She corrects me, the smile on her face faltering so quickly that if I blinked, I’d miss it.
“Oh my goodness.” I wave around to the crowded bar, making sure my smile looks every bit as authentic as hers. “I’m so sorry, it’s just so loud in here. It’s impossible to hear.”
“The Whiskey Rose is always like this,” she says. “But we never see Tate here anymore, not like we did in the good old days at least. Right, Tate?”
I recognized her dirty game the second I clocked her rhinestone-encrusted hoop earrings and spiked stiletto heels on the dirty, uneven floors. But just because I don’t like her game doesn’t mean I’m above playing it…at least for a second or two.
“Tate used to come here a lot?” I ask her before aiming my attention at a now grimacing Tate. “Does that mean you’ve been holding back your line dancing skills?”
After one particularly brutal experience line dancing in my third grade gym class, I never had a desire to do it again. But, if it means I get to piss off Kayleigh and watch Tate shake his cute butt in one fell swoop, then get me on that dance floor stat!
“I’m not holding anything back from you.” Tate drops his hands to my hips and hooks a finger through the belt loop on my shorts. “I haven’t danced since college.”
Kayleigh’s blue eyes laser focus on his hand at my hip.
“Don’t let him trick you. He was so good at these dances.” Kayleigh tries to play it cool, but her beet-red cheeks are impossible to miss even beneath the neon glow of the bar signs all around us. “And I would know since I’m the one who taught him.”
“Really?” I know I shouldn’t egg her on, but I can’t stop myself. “You have to tell me more!”
Tate’s fingers bite into my skin and a victorious twinkle sparkles in her eyes.
“I don’t think—” Tate starts, but Kayleigh bulldozes right over him.
“He was the captain of the football team, and I was the captain of the Celestial Belles,” she says, losing me as fast as she got me.
“The Celestial Belles?”
“The Celestial Belles,” she repeats, bringing an affronted hand to her chest. “The national championship–winning Celestial Belles, led by the incomparable Liza Smart for three decades.”
“Oh!” The name rings a bell from my first football game. “The fancy cheerleaders with the fringe and the hats!”
“We are not cheerleaders.” Disdain drips from her tone, and she sounds much more offended now than when I called her Katie. “Belles are dancers.”
“Sorry, we only had cheerleaders in Colorado. I’m still learning all the intricacies of Friday night lights,” I apologize, even though I’m not sure why she’s so upset.
Cheerleading is a sport! And I would know.
I binge-watched both seasons of Cheer and I know every word to Bring It On.
“But dancers or cheerleaders, they were all amazing.”
All the drama and ceremony happening around the game was more entertaining than the game itself, and both the cheerleaders and the dancers contributed to that.
Don’t even get me started on the band.
“Oh well, I did hear you’re a Northerner, so I guess that makes sense.
But back to the story,” she says, and at this point, I don’t know if she’s trying to be a bitch or if she’s being sincere.
“As the captain of the Belles, I was assigned to teach the captain of the football team a line dance to perform at the Celestival.” She looks over my shoulder at Tate like he’s the prize she’s still working hard to win.
“But I would’ve taught him anyway. We were high school sweethearts, right, Tate? ”
No amount of music or chatter could hide the deep sigh that seems to come from the very base of Tate’s soul. “We dated in high school, Kayleigh, not a minute after. We weren’t high school sweethearts.”
I get the feeling that he’s had this exact conversation with her countless times in the past, and judging by the dismissive wave of her hand, he’ll continue to have it many times in the future.
“Semantics.” She winks and I fight back my ever-growing ick. “And who’s to say things can’t change in the future?”
“Me,” he says without a hint of remorse. “I’m to say.”
“All I’m saying is you can’t predict the future.” She tosses her long blond hair over her shoulder, and her smile doubles in size. “You have to remember how much fun we had together. And now that we’re both back in Celestial, it could be nice to see where things stand between us.”
As the person standing between them, I can tell her firsthand that things between them feel bad. Awkward and bad.