Chapter 30
Liam
Moving around the kitchen, my steps feel lighter today. The avocado I sliced was perfectly ripe, the sourdough toasted to just the right bronze, and not one egg shell needed to be painstakingly scooped from the stupid pan.
Colors seem brighter. The air feels clearer. The sunlight streams warmer through the windows. Even Sammy begging at my goddamn feet is less annoying.
And that's all because of Tessa.
We finally talked—really talked—last night. No whispered half-conversations. No loaded looks or quick glances. But a full-on discussion about what this might be.
She feels it too, and her ex? Irrelevant, which I didn't realize was weighing on me so much until I blurted out the question. But most importantly… she feels it too.
We just talked, which led to a whole other set of issues for me personally. But I'm on cloud nine this morning just knowing that we're actually doing this.
She wants to take things slow? Fine. I'll crawl blindfolded if it means I get to have more of her.
If anything, it's for the best. I was hesitant for all the same reasons as she was, so slow is probably what we need.
But that doesn't mean it's gonna be easy.
Especially after all this time without this feeling. Especially with her.
"Good morning."
I spin to find Tessa standing in the doorway in the baggy tie-dye tee I've seen her in at bedtime or before she gets dressed for the day.
Even that familiar shirt seems different this morning.
The purple and blue ink swirled in tight starlights seems more vivid today—new.
Like the faded, washed-out patterns from years of wear have gotten their fresh start.
Like I have.
"Morning. I didn't hear you come down," I say in awe of her as Sammy saunters over to his second-best girl.
It's true, I didn't hear a thing. Maybe she snuck up on me, or maybe the low hum I've been feeling everywhere since last night drowned out the sound of her footsteps.
"I'm sneaky like that," she jokes.
The same smile I've worn since I walked out of her bedroom last night reappears. "Good to know."
She steps into the kitchen further, her eyes scanning the two plates on the island. "Where's Ruthie?"
"She stayed at my brother's last night after the game," I answer, dropping the last of the over-medium eggs onto the mashed avocado. "The Flames won their first playoff game, so Levi was feeling generous I guess."
"Oh." Tess says brightly, her eyes wandering again over the avocado-topped sourdough hidden beneath a perfectly cooked egg. Beside each platter is a small bowl of acaí, topped with fresh blueberries and raspberries, and an empty coffee mug just waiting to be filled.
"So…" she drags out, a quick lick of her lips before she locks eyes with me. "You cooked us breakfast?"
I suck in a breath dramatically, turning toward the coffeemaker with my brows furrowed. "Ooh, this is so awkward," I say, pulling the glass pot from the machine. "This actually isn't for you."
Tess's eyes grow wide as I allow the hot liquid to fall from the spout in a slow trickle as I wait for her reaction.
"Oh…" she attempts again, though her tone is more forced.
I almost relent immediately as I set the pot right on the counter, but the pink in her cheeks tempts me not to.
Stepping over the dog, who must have found a rogue blueberry on the floor and is now rolling it between his paws, I round the counter and stand between her and the food.
I lean casually back on the granite, my palms hooked around the edge.
"I wasn't sure where cooking breakfast for you fell on the speedometer we're working with. "
I smirk lazily, but she doesn't notice. Instead, she nods, distracted as she takes me in, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. I'm in a hoodie and a pair of black mesh shorts, but the way she swallows tells me whatever she did to herself last night is no longer enough to wash me from her mind.
The feeling's mutual.
"Makes sense," she says unconvincingly, pulling her shoulders back to look unaffected. "So, um… who's the second dish for then?"
I spring to stand, dipping past her to pull almond milk and her sweet cream creamer from the fridge. "Grandma Birdie."
She snorts out a laugh, reaching for me as I close the metal door. "Stop," she giggles, shoving my shoulder playfully. She notices the creamer in my hand and grins.
"What? I'm serious," I tease back, stumbling toward the island from the imaginary blow. "Don't be jealous, Hastings."
She slides onto a stool in front of me, and suddenly Sammy loses interest in the fruit. "Oh, I'm jealous. But only of you. I'd love to share a meal with Grandma Birdie."
"Honestly, same," I chuckle. "Maybe then we'd get some answers."
Tess shakes her head, then leans down to scratch the sensitive spot behind Sammy's ear.
Why am I jealous?
"I doubt it," she laughs.
I pause, reveling in the way the sound lights up the room. As her smile fades, I slide one plate toward her. "Of course this is for us," I say, the mood shifting immediately. I move, taking the seat next to her, and pull the other toward me. "We both have to eat."
She knows what I'm saying without an explanation. I wasn't kidding about not knowing where cooking for her fit into… this. But I'm not sure about anything regarding us, except that doing what feels right is what's gotten us this far.
"Well, thank you," she says, reaching for the creamer and dropping a splash into her mug. "It looks delicious."
I smile, taking a scoop of the acaí, one blueberry and one raspberry sitting perfectly on top of the spoonful.
"Today's an off day, right?" Tess takes a cautious sip from her steaming coffee, and I try to look anywhere but at her lips molded around the rim of the mug.
"Uh, yeah," I answer, blinking myself back to breakfast. I pick up the toast, careful not to let the egg slip off the top. "I'm gonna head in for like an hour though before Ruthie gets back."
She nods, testing the tart purée, her eyes closing briefly—savoring it. "Is anything different this year?" she asks after swallowing. "You know, since it's your last season. Or are you pretty much sticking to your usual routine?"
I press my lips together, shrugging. "I mean, at this point, it's pretty much the same. But the season just started. I'm working with my replacement a lot more…" I glance over at her as her eyes dart away. I don't need to remind her who that is after last night's conversation in the truck.
"But besides that, the retirement stuff will come later."
She clears her throat before picking up her own toast. "And what's your plan for after?"
I chew, grateful for the slight run of the yolk that seeps out and is still piping hot. Somehow the sting on the roof of my mouth makes the question burn less.
"I'm not really sure, honestly." I wipe at the nonexistent mess on my lips, buying myself a few extra seconds. "But it's what everyone wants to know."
She swallows her bite and washes it down with a sip of coffee. "Well, yeah," she answers as if it should be obvious. She shrugs, grinning. "It's kind of a big deal."
"I guess." I sit back on my stool, my mug warm between my hands. "The problem is, I don't have the answer."
Tessa sets her toast back onto her plate after biting off another piece. She grabs a napkin of her own and dusts off her fingers. "There has to be a million things you could do." She sweeps the paper across her lips, and I follow it. "Like nothing for example."
She smiles, and so do I, because for the first time someone doesn't mention an idea that keeps me involved in the sport.
"Yeah," I laugh. "Nothing might be fun for a while." I shake my head, pouring another sip of warm liquid through my lips. "But that can't last forever. And everyone's immediate thought is that I should coach or critique or do anything really that keeps me in baseball…"
I get lost for a second in the swirl of the marble on the counter, replaying the ever-growing list of ideas I've been given.
"But you don't want that?" she asks cautiously.
My eyes move to hers. "I don't," I blurt. But then I sigh, backtracking. "At least, I don't think so. I'm just not sure staying close will be as great as everyone thinks it will be."
"I guess they assume you'll miss it."
"Yeah… but that's also my point."
She tips her chin up, picking up her spoon and dragging it through the deep purple slush.
With her eyes narrowed, she thinks before she responds.
"It must be hard to even figure out where to start when baseball has been your life for so long.
" She looks at me, her eyes almost apologetic. "When that's all you've known."
I stare back at her, telling her that she nailed it with just one simple word. "Exactly."
A silence falls between us—if you don't count the humming that's still buzzing off of every inch of my body. It's terrifying how much I want her closer—closer than this counter, closer than this conversation. Terrifying, yet… not at all.
"Well…" she starts softly. "I'm happy to help however I can."
Her words pierce my chest, shooting straight through to the untouched spot below my belt—untouched by her, which seems to be all that matters anymore. "Thank you," I say, my voice thick.
She continues swirling her wrist slowly, the spoon shoveling berries through the silky base, but she leaves her gaze on me. "I can help brainstorm," she offers. Her eyes fall to my lips, but she doesn't hurry them away. "Or research options…"
Somewhere between her first offer and now, I set my mug on the island and twisted toward her without realizing. Now, I watch as my hand moves to her knee without needing to be told.
Tess finds my palm as it lands on her lower-thigh, then glances back up, her eyes glazed with desire. "Or… anything else."
I pause for just a second, overthinking our speed again, but when her spoon hits her bowl with a clang, I startle awake.
Thank God.
The next thing I know, I'm hovering over her, one palm braced on the island, the other sliding into her cascading hair. I search her eyes for any hesitation—any sign that she's second-guessing our talk last night, this moment right now—and when I come up short, I lean in completely.
Tessa's hands fly to my sweatshirt, clinging to it and pulling me closer.
Our lips press together, the perfect combination of the salt from the egg and the sugar from the fruit meeting in the middle.
We hold that first kiss just like that, like we're both afraid if we separate it won't happen again.
But when we finally part, it's only to suck in air, then we're right back together.
I groan when her thighs fall open for me and step one leg between them. She's immediately needy, still hungry for more than just Birdie's breakfast. And when she whimpers as my leg brushes the fabric at her apex, I dip my hands under her ass and lift her to the counter.
Just like the last time we were in this position, I settle between her. She rocks her hips into me, and I swipe my tongue past hers, but it feels different still than before—better.
Because now I know she wants this—that I'm not just acting on that magnetic pull between us, though that's still there—maybe stronger.
And now we're alone.
Our breaths harmonizing is the only sound in the room until she slips her hands under my sweatshirt.
“Wow,” she murmurs, her fingertips rising and falling over each muscle below my ribs.
A soft laugh escapes her as she breaks free long enough to peek beneath the cotton.
“Yeah,” I breathe, shadowing over her, watching as the corners of her bruised lips turn up.
She peers up to find my eyes locked on hers, undoubtedly glossy with heat and something close to greed. “Wow,” I echo, dipping back down.
Our lips crash together once more—our bodies another tangle of limbs. I palm her head with one hand, dragging the other down her back. Tess slides her fingers to my shoulders and grips the muscle, pulling me closer.
A guttural noise escapes my throat as she presses her chest to mine, and my hands fly between us, palming her from outside of her t-shirt.
"Your bedroom or mine?" I ask, my voice borderline desperate.
She freezes, her eyes wide, lips swollen, hair tousled from my hold on it.
Wrecked. Beautiful.
Instead of waiting for her to decide, I lift her off the counter and carry her toward the stairs.
She doesn't argue or question me. Instead, she relaxes against me, and the weight of that is everything. Like being chosen—and choosing back—for the first time in too long.
"Mine's closer," I whisper halfway up the stairs.
She nods, our lips still brushing. "That's what I was gonna say."