Chapter 7 Tatum
Tatum
Abel insists on buying more than just a pair of hiking boots. Despite looking a little uncomfortable once we hit the small patch of shops lining the streets, he quickly adapted by busying himself by asking if I’d want a new water bottle, or a new pack to carry my belongings in.
The way he was eyeing the different bathing suits, I’m surprised that he didn’t ask if I wanted one of those, too.
Insisting on dragging me to more than one place, stopping for the kind of coffee I could possibly find back in the city, and showing off everything the town has to offer, he guides me to our last stop.
The Maplewood Diner. Taking me out for dinner wasn’t on my bingo card for today, but neither was having this man making me see stars with his tongue.
The diner is filled to the brim, and nearly every table is filled. It’s a little hard to hear him over the chatter, but there isn’t much room left to chat once the food comes out hot. Smells incredible and tastes even better.
“So…” Leaning over the table, he eyes my half-eaten burger and lifts a bushy brow. “What do you think about Willowbrook Ridge?”
When he shifts in his seat, like he’s nervous, I start to figure out what all this is about. Telling him that the town is nice isn’t going to cut it. Not after he dragged me around while being on a mission.
At the thought of him wanting to show me what I assume are the best bits of this town, my stomach fills with more than this delicious food. The butterflies are soaring as they please, but the last thing I want to do is get ahead of myself here.
“I’m surprised it’s not more populated than it is. It’s a quaint little town that should be more than a little dot on the map.” Looking around, I watch the waitresses stop at tables and chat up the people eating like they’re more friends than a transaction. “I’ve got no complaints.”
He nods, and I catch the small smile on his lips. It’s a fleeting thing, there and gone, but it does something to my insides. Makes them warm.
“Good.” He clears his throat, picks at the crinkled straw wrapper next to his plate. “That’s… good.”
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy with something unsaid. I watch him, watch the way his other hand lightly taps at the table, the way his jaw works like he’s chewing on words instead of the fry he just popped into his mouth.
“Abel,” I say his name gently, prodding. “What is it?”
He looks up, and for a second, he looks almost boyish. Unsure. It’s a stark contrast to the man who had me pressed against his kitchen table just a few hours ago, and the shift makes my heart clench.
He holds my gaze, and the nervous energy shifts into something more focused. More intent. “You should stick around.”
The words make my heart skip a beat. Feeling my pulse kicking, I have to ask to make sure for certain that I’m not getting my hopes up here. “For the entirety of the week?”
“No.” He shakes his head, leaning forward, his forearms on the table. “I’m thinking much longer.”
I blink. Just when I think I’m prepared for the words, I find myself speechless. Is Abel really asking me to stay?
He takes my silence as a prompt to keep going, the words starting to tumble out in a rush.
“Not on the mountain, necessarily. I mean, if you wanted to, but—there are cheap apartments in town. You could find a job, something cozy. The diner’s always looking for help, or there’s the library if you enjoy reading.
It’s not the city, I know, but it’s… good here. The people are good.”
My heart is hammering so hard I’m surprised he can’t hear it over the clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversations around us.
“Or…” He trails off, and the uncertainty creeps back into his features. He looks down at the table, then back up at me, and what I see in his eyes makes my breath catch. He looks a little scared and so incredibly vulnerable. “Or you could stick around the cabin.”
“With you?” I whisper, momentarily forgetting how to breathe.
He nods, once. “I know it’s on the smaller size, but you can turn that room into your own.
When my brother comes around, he can take the couch.
I know we just met. But your company…” He pauses, searching for the right words.
“It’s been a nice change. I thought I liked the silence until you stumbled upon my doorstep. ”
A startled laugh escapes me. “Really?”
“The quiet used to be all I wanted. It was easy. Safe. But now, just thinking about going back to the way it used to be…” He shakes his head slowly. “Feels impossible.”
The butterflies in my stomach have evolved into a full-blown swarm. This man, this beautiful, solitary man who lives on a mountain, is telling me he doesn’t want to go back to his life before me. That he wants me to be a part of it.
“Abel…” His name is barely a breath on my lips.
He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing against mine.
“I’m not good at this,” he admits, his voice soft enough for just my ears.
“I’m not good at words. But I know that I don’t want you to leave.
” He then glances around the diner. “People may give us certain looks, but if we’re on the mountain, none of that matters. I just want you near.”
He pauses and frowns before scoffing.
“No, that won’t be enough. I want you to be mine, Tatum.”
His words hit me harder than I’m sure he expects.
Nobody has ever said that to me. Not like this. Not with their whole chest, so sincerely that it’s enough to make my chest ache with longing.
My throat tightens. My eyes sting, just a little, and I have to blink rapidly to keep my emotions at bay.
“You want me to be yours,” I repeat, testing the weight of the words on my tongue.
His jaw tightens as he takes in my response.
“Yeah. I do. But I also want you to have a choice.” He shifts, and I watch him steel himself, watch him gather up every ounce of courage in that broad chest of his.
“So I guess I should ask you properly.” He squeezes my hand, his thumb pressing into my palm.
“If you stay in my cabin, Tatum… are you staying as my roommate? Or my partner?”
The word partner hangs in the air between us, shimmering like something sacred, and I blush, because I’ve never been asked out like this before.
I don’t get flustered by much, but the way he’s looking at me, like I mean something—it heats my cheeks from the inside out. I can feel the warmth spreading, staining my neck, probably making me look like a tomato.
Abel’s eyes drink in my reaction, and his grip on my hand tightens before a low and rough groan leaves him.
“You have no idea what that blush does to me.”
I bite my lip, trying to suppress a smile, but it’s useless. I’m grinning like an idiot. Because this man—this gorgeous, quiet, mountain man—wants me to be his. I want to be his, too.
I want it so badly I can barely breathe.
“I’m not gonna be your roommate,” I hear myself say, and my voice comes out steadier than I feel.
His eyes search mine, hopeful and wary all at once. “Yeah?”
I shake my head, and the smile on my face feels like it might split me in two.
“What do you want to be?” he asks, and his voice is rough, like he’s barely holding himself together. All because he wants to hear me say the words.
I lean across the table, close enough that I can see the way his pupils are growing bigger in size. “Yours.”
The word barely leaves my mouth before he’s moving.
He doesn’t kiss me—we’re in public, and I appreciate that he has some restraint—but he lifts my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to my knuckles that says everything.
Clearly not caring about catching some attention, his mouth peppers a few more until he’s releasing me from his grip.
When he looks up at me over my fingers, there’s a fire in his gaze that makes my stomach flip. Then he’s scanning the diner, looking around like he’s just remembered where we are. His free hand shoots up, flagging down our waitress with an urgency that makes me laugh.
“What are you doing?” I ask, still giggling.
He doesn’t answer right away, just waits for the waitress to appear at our table with a smile. “You two need anything else? More coffee? Dessert menu?”
“Boxes,” Abel says, and his voice is clipped, rushed. “To-go boxes. And our check. Please.”
The waitress blinks, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift from lingering over dinner to getting us out of here. But she recovers quickly, nodding and disappearing toward the kitchen.
I’m still laughing, a breathless, giddy sound that I don’t recognize as my own. “Abel. What is wrong with you?”
He turns back to me, and the look on his face, one of pure, undiluted want, steals the air from my lungs.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he says, and his voice is low, intimate, meant only for me. “I just got the woman of my dreams to say she wants to be mine. I want to take her home and celebrate.”
Celebrate? Something like this means that much to him?
The word lands somewhere deep in my belly and settles there, warm and heavy.
The waitress returns with our boxes and the check. Abel doesn’t even look at the total—just pulls enough cash to leave her a decent tip from his wallet and hands it over, his eyes never leaving mine. She takes it with a knowing smile that I’m too far gone to feel embarrassed about.
“You’re ridiculous,” I whisper as I start transferring the remains of my burger into a box.
He watches my hands move, watches every small motion like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “I’m motivated.”
Then he’s standing, gathering our boxes, holding his hand out to me.
I take it without hesitation, my mind made up.
He pulls me up, and for a moment we’re just standing there in the middle of the diner, surrounded by people and noise and the smell of grease and coffee, and none of it matters. All I see is him.
“Ready to go home?” he asks.
Home. Like it’s ours already.
I squeeze his hand. “Yeah. Let’s go celebrate.”