Chapter 27
[Neve]
Waking up next to Tate is disarming. I can’t remember the last time I woke up in a bed with a man. We’ve typically done what we came to do, and someone is gone long before morning arrives, so this is different.
Lying beside him, I take in the slope of his nose and the curve of his chin, covered in coarse hair. The shape of his earlobe. The pout of his lips. He’s a work of art.
My hand hovers over his shoulder, not touching him, just lingering. Then I move it over his bare chest. As if I can feel his heart beating without placing my hands on him. I don’t wish to wake him, just take this private moment to marvel at him. Sculpt him into my memory.
Store us in my mind’s eye.
Last night was certainly something.
Tate wakes with a gasp, and I quickly draw back my hand, like I accidentally touched him. Like I took some privilege I shouldn’t have.
He rolls his head toward me, then rolls it away. “What time is it?” His voice is morning-rough and confused. Like he’s as surprised I’m still here as I am.
“I might be as big as a sundial, but I’m not one yet, so I have no idea.” I chuckle, shifting to glance over my shoulder. My best guess is we’ve slept in. Maybe eight o’clock.
“And if you were a sundial, I’d follow you in any direction.”
When I turn my head back to face him, he has his phone in his hand, typing away, like he wasn’t aware of what he just said.
“That was . . . sweet.”
He drops his phone on the bed next to him and shifts to face me.
“Really? I thought you might consider that cheesy.” Our eyes meet.
I dig my teeth into my lower lip, fighting a smile, as I shake my head. “I might like cheesy sweet.”
We stay quiet a second. Eyes lingering on each other.
“Hi.” That sleep-rumbled voice travels right down my center, pooling between my thighs.
“Hi,” I whisper back, taking the liberty to finally touch him and push back a thick lock of hair that fell over his forehead.
“All good?” I nod, implying the phone he dropped behind him.
“I need to meet Jake for breakfast.”
The thought of food has me blurting, “I could go for pumpkin pancakes right now.” This man worked up my appetite, and I run a hand over my belly before what Tate said registers.
“Oh.” Oh. Breakfast. With his brother. The idea of Tate spending time with his brother shouldn’t pinch at my chest, but it does. “You mean Jake and Lisa.”
I hate how I emphasize her. I hate the idea of him being near her. A woman who hurt him.
He scoffs. “No. Just Jake.” Tate rolls to his back and lays the back of his hand against his forehead. “He’s going to ask me to be his best man.”
“How do you know?” I ask, hushed and surprised, as I press up to my elbow.
He gazes back at me. “Because he’s my brother.” He rolls again, reaches for my face, and runs his fingertips down the side. Then he tickles his fingers over my lips. “I want to make you pumpkin pancakes in bed, but I’m already late.”
“Oh. Of course. Right. Yes.” I tug the sheet tighter over my breasts while struggling into a seated position and strangely feeling the familiarity of this situation.
Tate and I aren’t a one-night stand. At least, not this time, and I know logically he has morning plans.
As do I. But I can’t shake the sudden rush of emotions.
Of the conflict between past positions and my current one.
Tate isn’t kicking me out of bed any more than I want to leap out of it, but I still feel off.
“And making pancakes in bed would definitely be messy.” A joke is the only way to stem the sudden ache I shouldn’t be feeling.
Tate follows me, sitting upright as well, and chuckles at my quip, before saying, “I’d love for you to stay. Linger in bed a while. Get some more rest.”
He leans forward and stamps a kiss on my shoulder.
The touch is almost too tender, when I’m suddenly feeling unnecessarily raw and overly awkward.
I’ve not only spent the night, but I’m naked in his bed, and very aware of how pregnant I am.
Despite all the reassurances last night, I can’t shake these feelings, maybe because this new position is so foreign.
He’s asking me to stay.
Which he confirms when he says, “You could stay.” His voice drifts quieter, almost coy. “Wait right here for me.”
I hear the innuendo but my tongue leaps into action.
“Oh. No. No, no,” I say, flustered while lust for him crashes with the need to leave. “I need to get going as well. My sisters. They’re waiting on me, too.”
His brows crease. “Okay.” He hesitates. “I’ll see you later, then.” It isn’t a question.
Still, panic rushes through my veins. I never spend the night. I never wake up in bed with a man. I don’t know why I thought I’d be comfortable doing this.
Because you trust him? Because you want to stay. You want him to stay.
I don’t take the time to evaluate any of those thoughts.
“Today, and tomorrow, are booked.” I lower my gaze, along with my voice. “We’re cleaning out Rusty’s Wrecks.”
Lumi and Isolde have the day off because of the weekend, but I’m allowing for tomorrow as well. We don’t want to wait until the last minute to remove what we want from the garage.
“I can come with you,” he offers, a mix of understanding and hope. Understanding this will be difficult for me. Hope that he can be helpful. “Lift boxes or whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” I state, a little too quipped. “But Lumi’s boyfriend Saint is helping us out.”
Tate’s presence is not a good idea. While he isn’t the enemy here, it still feels like a conflict of interest to have him in Rusty’s Wrecks. As much as I like the idea of him being there to support me, I think I need to tackle these final days on my own.
“Neve,” he whispers, compassion in every letter of my name.
But I’m already shaking my head, scooting toward the end of the bed with the sheet at my chest. Not only will I be doing the walk of shame, but I need to walk through his house naked to collect my clothes.
However, before I reach the end of the bed, Tate scrambles past me and hops off the foot. He’s naked and hard and squatting in front of me. I glance away from the appendage that connected with me last night. That filled me up and made me feel worshipped, safe even.
“Neve?” he questions, his brows pinched, almost stern. “We’re good?” Like he’s seeking confirmation or maybe trying to reassure me. He doesn’t have any regrets about last night.
As for me, I don’t know how to handle all that’s rumbling around inside me, so I lie. “We’re good.”
He gives me another long look, but the intensity is almost too much. Like he wants to know my thoughts, and read my heart, when even I can’t define everything inside me.
When I glance away, he stands, then steps over to the closet, taking a flannel shirt off a hanger. Then he reaches into a drawer and removes a pair of sweats.
“These are all going to be big on you.”
“You might be surprised,” I whisper, implying the size of my belly. “But thanks.”
“I need thirty seconds to shower, and then I can take you home.”
I nod, closing my eyes, feeling foolish for the sting in the back of them.
Then he kisses my forehead, and as much as some women might love that move, I never have.
And it leaves me feeling even more awkward and raw, when I know deep down, I shouldn’t be.
I stand outside Rusty’s Wrecks, similar to how I did over a week ago, staring at the building that looks even sadder than I remember.
“Do you know what I did?” I whisper to the structure. Not only did I cave and sell this place, I developed feelings for the man who bought it from us.
Because I can’t get out of my head the way Tate touched me, treated me, made me feel special last night.
This morning was just an awkward clusterfuck.
That thought is still in my mind when Lumi pulls up with Saint in the passenger seat of her truck.
I haven’t seen him in a few weeks. Speaking of unfairly good-looking men, Saint is a fifty-year-old, Santa Claus lookalike.
Only hotter. With silver in his hair and beard, and a twinkle in his eyes, and a body that’s too fit to be the jovial father of Christmas.
While Lumi heads toward the main entrance, Saint gives me an easy hug before asking me patiently, “How are you doing?” He doesn’t mean the baby. He means me.
“Today and tomorrow are going to be difficult,” I openly admit, sensing he’d know if I was lying. Like he really is the man in red and knows if I’ve been naughty or nice.
Can he tell what I did last night? I slept with Tate. Does that make me bad?
He watches me while my sister opens the main door to the garage, leaving the welcome sign permanently turned to CLOSED.
“I think your dad would understand,” Saint offers softly.
I could argue that Saint didn’t know my dad. He has no idea how crushed Dad would be about the sale. How disappointed Dad might be in me. Almost forty and pregnant, and now without the family business.
“Change is difficult.” He gazes toward the sky, as if an answer is up there. In some ways, it is because the temperature is shifting, and autumn hangs in the atmosphere. He glances back at me. “Change is also inevitable. And sometimes, it’s exactly what we need.”
I smile. “Says the man in love with my sister.”
“Exactly.” He smiles back at me.
Their love has changed both of them, and their love was exactly what the other needed.
Lumi deserves all the happiness in the world.
She took on the role of mother when the twins and I were still teens.
When she became a mother herself, she still took care of Dad.
She handled the business books for years, so she knew where the garage stood financially.
But Dad is gone.
Danny is grown and off in New York.
My sisters and I are adults.
Selling off the garage takes one more load off Lumi’s shoulders. She’s freer than she’s been in years. And happier, too.
I’m slightly envious. I want to be happy as well.
I rub my hand over my belly before I trudge up to the entrance with heavy feet and step into the garage for one of the last times.