Chapter 6
Tate
I rub the sleep from my eyes as I pad down the hallway and into the kitchen, heading directly for the coffee pot.
Danny stumbles to his feet from his dog bed in the living room and waddles over to me, tail wagging.
I put on a pot and stare out the window at the nearest field, the grass sparkling with dew.
I take a deep breath, then yawn, absentmindedly petting Danny.
It’s Saturday morning, and I really should be sleeping in, but when you’re up at the crack of dawn every day, it’s hard to sleep past six in the morning, even on weekends.
The sun has just risen over the horizon, casting the whole world in a golden glow.
It’s my favorite time of the day, honestly.
Some people call me crazy for it, but I love the tranquility that comes with the early morning air.
A noise behind me catches my attention, and I turn.
“Oh!” Lucy stops in her tracks, eyes widened slightly in surprise.
“I didn’t think anyone else was up yet.” She’s dressed in sweatpants, a loose t-shirt, and a light sweater, which she tugs tighter around her body at the sight of me.
She has no makeup on—not that she ever wears much—and her hair is a bit messy from sleep.
In other words, she looks downright adorable.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, just got up.”
She nods, glancing away from me. “Just thought I’d get some coffee,” she explains.
“I’m making some now,” I say with a gesture at the coffee pot. “There’ll be enough for you too,” I add.
She nods, awkwardly standing in place, shifting from foot to foot.
It’s been a few days since her injury, and her ankle seems to be doing much better.
She’s been able to walk fine for the last two days now, albeit a bit more carefully.
Danny boops his nose against her, begging for pets, to which she obliges.
“How’s your ankle?” I ask simply to fill the void.
“Good. Almost back to normal.”
I nod. I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. Lucy stands in silence. “You’ve been able to consistently put weight on it?” I ask.
She nods, glancing down at her ankle. “Yeah, seems fine. I mean, I’m being extra cautious, but I probably don’t need to be.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
She smiles, tugging her sweater tighter around herself.
“Sorry about the cold in here,” I find myself saying. “It’s an old house …”
She waves off my comment. “Oh, I’m fine.”
“Do you like creamer in your coffee?” I say, moving toward the fridge. I know I’m rambling, filling the silence with useless words. I’m not normally like this. Silence doesn’t usually bother me.
“I’ve been using the Coffee Mate in there. Theresa said it was fine,” she adds.
“Of course it’s fine,” I say quickly. I open the fridge and pull out the creamer, setting it on the counter beside the coffee pot. It’s gurgling now, slowly filling the pot.
“So you … run the whole ranch?” Lucy asks me.
“Kind of. I run the actual ranch side of things. My brothers handle the business side.”
The corner of her mouth twitches upward. “So you’re like a cowboy.”
A small chuckle bubbles out of me. “You could say that, sure.”
She grins, staring down at the floor. She moves to lean against the counter as well, giving her ankle a break, standing just a few feet away from me now. “Do you enjoy it?” she asks.
“I do. It’s kind of serendipitous, considering this was all handed to me by my dad. He started Thatcher Ranch when he was young.”
“You make it sound like you don’t deserve it or something,” she says with creased brows.
I’m silent for a heartbeat. “I work hard, I really do, but I like to be honest about how I got where I am in life. It all came from my parents. I don’t like to pretend otherwise.”
“That’s fair,” she comments.
“Did you always want to nanny?” I find myself asking. I realize I honestly don’t know much about her. Other than her name, age, and her current job as Fern’s caretaker, she’s kind of a closed book.
She shrugs. “I love kids, always have. I guess I was never very career focused, but I’m happy this is the job I get to do.”
It’s a simple answer. Seems honest. “What brought you to Cedar Ridge?” I ask. “You’re from Washington State, right?”
She nods. “Yeah … I guess I just wanted some new scenery.” She shrugs.
“Fair,” I repeat her reply from earlier.
The coffee machine dings, and I turn around to grab a mug and begin filling.
I pour a cup of black coffee for me and then one with cream for Lucy.
I span the distance between us, holding out the mug.
Her fingers lightly graze mine as she takes it, and it doesn’t elude me how aware I am of that seemingly insignificant fact.
Her hands wrapped around her mug, she stares up at me, barely a foot away. God, she’s small. So short and sweet … and pretty. Her hazel eyes are such an interesting shade. Almost gold. Almost like the sun, in a weird way.
It’s just then that I realize I’m … leaning toward her. Slowly. Really slowly. And is she also leaning toward me? Her eyes are fixed on mine in an intense stare that I couldn’t entangle myself from if I tried.
“Daddy!”
The sound jolts me into reality, and I take a step away from Lucy, almost spilling my coffee in the process.
Fern rounds the corner in cupcake pajama pants, launching herself at my leg and wrapping her arms around me. I laugh, leaning down to ruffle her hair. “Morning, sweetheart.”
Lucy is still holding her mug in a death grip but is smiling down at Fern. I’m grateful for the interruption, because what was that? Were we about to … was I about to kiss her?
“We’re going to the park today, right?” Fern asks me.
“Yes, we are,” I assure her. We’d made plans yesterday, and she’s been hyped ever since.
“And Lucy can come!” Fern realizes with wide eyes, pointing.
Lucy and I clock each other over Fern’s head. I desperately try to read her expression. Hesitation, hope, acceptance—I can’t tell. “Oh, sweetie, it’s Lucy’s day off today. She doesn’t need to come to the park,” I say quickly.
“But she’s not busy, is she?” Fern whines. “Are you busy, Lucy?”
Lucy cocks her head, smiling down at Fern. “I’m not busy, but honey, don’t you want to spend time with just your dad?”
“No.” Fern shakes her head emphatically.
I snort. Toddlers. Thanks a lot.
“See, Daddy? Lucy isn’t busy—can she come, please?” She’s tugging on my pajama pants now, practically jumping up and down. She seems near a meltdown, and I figure the best thing to do is get some food in her and then try to reason with her.
“We’ll see,” I say. “But Lucy might not want to—”
Fern makes a frustrated pouting noise and a little hop. Yep, we’re nearing tantrum territory.
“I don’t mind coming, if you don’t,” Lucy says quietly, meeting my gaze hesitantly.
I stare back at her. Honestly, the idea of Lucy accompanying us sends warm, fluttering feelings through my stomach. I’m past being embarrassed or annoyed by them—I’ve just accepted it now. But … fuck, we almost kissed. I’m sure that’s what that was. Is this … a good idea?
“Are you sure?” I ask, even though Fern is highly tuned into our conversation and there’s really no going back from here.
“It’ll be fun,” Lucy says with a smile and a shrug.
Fern squeals and starts jumping up and down. “Park, park, park!” she chants.
With a smile, Lucy takes a sip of her coffee and wanders off, presumably to start getting ready for the day. With coffee in hand, I let Fern tug me along after her to her room where I know we’ll spend the next forty minutes or so trying to get her ready slash playing with her toys.
An hour later, the three of us climb into my pickup and head to the park downtown.
It’s a weird feeling. Inside the enclosed cab of my pickup, I can’t help but fixate on how close we are.
Lucy is sitting in the passenger seat barely a foot away from me.
I can smell her perfume. Floral and citrus.
She’s so close, I could reach out and touch her.
But of course I don’t.
Because she’s the fucking nanny to my kid.
I resist the urge to physically shake my head or slam it against the steering wheel. What is wrong with you, Thatcher? I chide myself. I need to get my shit together before I blow everything.
Once we reach the park, I quickly slide out of the driver’s seat and move to start unbuckling Fern. Lucy waits patiently beside me, and then the three of us cross the parking lot and head to the playground in the center of a wide-open field.
Fern scampers ahead of us, quickly launching herself into the jungle gym and crawling around. I call out a word of caution, hoping she’ll heed it and be safe, but soon she’s found some friends and is absolutely engrossed in anything and everything but me and Lucy.
I should have known this. That while of course Fern would want Lucy to come, she’d quickly make friends or become sidetracked, leaving Lucy … with me. Alone.
Not exactly where I want her to be.
Well, I mean it is where I want her to be, but that’s the problem.
Lucy shuffles awkwardly beside me, then shoots me a small smile. “You take her here often, I’m guessing?” she asks.
I nod, stuffing my hands into my jean pockets. “Yeah, she loves this place.”
“It’s cute seeing her with all the other kids,” Lucy observes.
A sudden thought occurs to me. “You said you had lots of family—young kids,” I remind her. “Do you miss them? I mean, you’re so far away from home.”
A flash of something I can’t quite identify snakes across her face, but then it’s gone. “I do miss them, yeah. It’s tough being away … but good too.”
“We should sit,” I realize suddenly, concerned about Lucy’s healing ankle. I gesture to a bench nearby where we can keep an eye on Fern, and we take a seat. “What made you want to move in the first place?” I continue.
Lucy is silent long enough that I wonder if she’ll answer the question at all. But then she sighs and shrugs. “Just wanted something new.”
I stare into her hazel eyes, wide, hopeful. “And have you found that?” I find myself asking. “Whatever that something new you were looking for is?”
She stares back at me, thoughtful. “Maybe,” she finally settles on.
Fern chooses this moment to run up to us, a dandelion clutched tightly in her palm. “Look, Daddy! Look what I found!” she squeals.
“So beautiful, sweetheart,” I praise, beaming down at her.
Her eyes shift to Lucy. “For you!” she announces, placing it on Lucy’s lap before turning on her heel and bouncing off.
Lucy giggles, picking up the dandelion and smiling down at it like a cherished item.
“So sweet,” someone comments, and I look up to see a grandmother and her child walking by hand-in-hand. “You’re such a beautiful family,” she comments earnestly as she passes.
I open my mouth to correct her, but the words die on my tongue.
She’s already walking away. I glance at Lucy, whose cheeks have turned a darling shade of light pink.
And now all I can think about is how I’d almost kissed her this morning.
How her lips might have felt against mine, her body against mine, my hand in her hair.
And for better or for worse, I finally accept it. I like Lucy Adler. A lot. A whole fucking lot. And I need to do something about it.
We spend a few hours at the park before heading home, where I don’t see Lucy again until after dinner when Fern insists that she join us for watching her favorite Disney movie.
She sits between us on the couch, cuddled up to Lucy’s side, her head in the crook of her arm, her attention fully absorbed by the movie.
I keep glancing over at them, keep feeling my heart squeezing painfully in my chest—from want, need, hope.
At some point in the movie, I move my hand to Fern’s head, absentmindedly stroking her hair as I often do.
I think she’s asleep, by the slow rise and fall of her shoulders, her deep, little sighs.
My hand moves from her head, down her shoulder, about to pull away, when it bumps into something that’s not Fern.
My hand rests over Lucy’s, which is tucked around Fern’s little body. I don’t look at her. I don’t want to break this, ruin this. Or maybe I don’t even want to acknowledge the moment.
But before I can pull away, Lucy wraps her hand around mine, intertwining our fingers together and holding me there.
And so I stay, barely breathing, barely moving.
The movie ends, and Fern is still asleep.
Just like the other night, Lucy heaves her up into her arms and carries her to bed.
I watch from the doorway as Lucy gently tucks Fern in and gives her a small kiss atop her head.
My heart lurches. It hurts watching this.
I try to pretend that I don’t know why, but I’ve never been a very good liar.
Lucy comes back into the hallway, shutting Fern’s door quietly behind her. We stand there for a few heartbeats, not saying anything, just looking at each other, close enough to share the same air.
“I had a good day today,” I say quietly.
“Me too,” Lucy agrees.
“But if you’d rather, I can make sure that your time off isn’t impeded on again. I know Fern can be—”
“I don’t want that,” she interrupts.
I stare down at her. Those wide, hazel eyes, the way she stares intently up at me.
She bites her lip, and fuck, my heart does that thing again.
“Lucy,” I breathe, agonized, because I’m so, so scared.
Does she want this? Does she actually want this?
Is this inappropriate what we’re doing? Of course it is. But … what does she want?
“Tate,” she whispers back, and her gaze drops to my lips. And fuck it, I can’t take it anymore. Reaching for her, I cradle her face in my hands and press my lips to hers. Soft, slow, sweet. I feel her fingers clutching at my t-shirt, pulling me closer to her, and I oblige.
The kiss becomes deeper, stronger, hungrier, but I don’t let it carry us away. I won’t. Not now. Eventually, we break, panting quietly as we rest our foreheads against each other. My hands still on either side of her face, I gently caress her cheek with my thumb.
“Goodnight, Lucy,” I breathe, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before taking a step back.
“Goodnight,” she answers with a smile that about melts my heart.