Chapter 11
Rose
I am holding hands with Tank Graham.
Theo, I remind myself giddily, but the name hasn’t quite established itself in my common canon yet. It only pops out when I’m not expecting it.
Or when the occasion calls for it. And I think holding hands with a man for the first time in literal years is such an occasion.
Theo, the man who played Super Mario Bros. with me for hours—and enjoyed himself. Who asked me to have dinner and made it clear that it was a date.
Theo, who got shy talking about how long it had been since he’d been out with another woman.
Who opened doors and ushered me through, who paid for our meal in a way that curtailed any kind of awkward arguing about it.
Who asked me questions about my life before Sheet Cake and listened intently to my answers about teaching and about my own kids.
Theo, who made me laugh. Who made me feel youthful again. Who made me feel … a lot of things.
It’s safe to say that the crush-like feelings I’ve had for Tank Graham took root and rapidly expanded into a hardy redwood.
Which puts me into entirely unfamiliar territory.
But I’m not alone here. From everything he’s said, Theo hasn’t had a relationship since he lost his wife. I might still have lots of questions about that and a healthy dose of nerves about it all, but there’s comfort in knowing this is new for us both.
Unlike the other dates I went on after David died that felt so wrong, being with Tank comes with a strange sense of rightness.
I’m grateful to see that Main Street is pretty much deserted as we stroll unhurriedly down the sidewalk.
After the spectacle our appearance caused in the diner and Tank’s suggestion to use the back door, I half-expected to see townsfolk—Sheeters, didn’t he call them?
—lined up along the sidewalks with their phones held up to take pictures of the Tank and Rose parade.
“Guess we didn’t need to use the back door after all,” I tease.
Tank’s fingers tighten on mine as he tugs me a little closer. “Oh, there are probably people stationed in every shadow, watching. Beware!”
This pulls a laugh from me, and it echoes down the empty street. Empty looking street. I can’t be sure Tank was fully joking about people hiding in the shadows. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Or,” he continues, “Maybe that was just a ploy to get you into the alley so I could hold your hand.”
“Do you have a thing about holding hands in alleyways?” I give his fingers a squeeze.
It’s his turn to laugh. “No. I do not have a thing for holding hands in alleyways. Is this … okay?” Tank asks, playfully swinging our joined hands into view.
“Definitely okay. It’s been a long time. Feels … nice.”
What an underwhelming word choice!
Just when I think I’m getting my footing with Tank, I find my mouth spewing nonsense, taking me right back to the other day when I blurted out a quote from Scooby-Doo. Although … that conversation was the start of what led us here.
Maybe I need to be easier on myself and not try to pretend I’m feeling polished and prepared for whatever is developing between us.
Because I’m absolutely not polished. Or prepared. In no world did I see this coming.
But nice is too small a word for how it feels to have Tank’s warm, big hand curled around mine. He makes me feel safe, while also like I’m living my most dangerous life.
“Sorry,” I say now. “Nice isn’t at all what I mean.”
“So, it’s not nice?” He pretends like he’s about to let go of my hand, and I curl my fingers more tightly around his.
“No, it is nice. That just wasn’t the right word for it.”
“What is the right word, Rose?”
He’s giving me a hard time, and I decide to do the same. “How would you describe it?”
Tank doesn’t answer immediately, and I think I’ve stumped him until he says, thoughtful, “I’d say that this is something I’ve been waiting a long, long time for—so long that I didn’t really even hope for or imagine it.
And you are someone I could quickly find myself getting addicted to, Rose Roberts. ”
Wow. Okay, then.
His words, which hit me square in the chest, stealing my breath, are shockingly earnest. And though spoken with the same kind of confidence Tank carries so easily, the way he’s glancing sideways at me now reveals a hint of the vulnerability I suspect runs like a current underneath his bravado.
I’ve seen glimpses of it, and it’s endearing.
He’s a strong man, a capable man. But even with all of his good qualities, even with the fame he’s lived with for so long, he’s not cocky.
Before, when I saw him or when we interacted, I saw him as Tank Graham—the man with a big reputation for accomplishing big things. Now, I’m seeing Theo, the real man behind the facade.
And it only makes me like him more.
I realize I haven’t responded in entirely too long, so I blurt out the first word that comes to me.
“Same.” Then I laugh again. “And there’s another simple word that doesn’t do any of my thoughts justice.
You are blessed with the power of prose, and I can’t seem to locate anything beyond a first-grade reading primer. ”
“I don’t need fancy words,” Tank says now with a smile. “Just honest ones.”
“Well, then, full disclosure—nice and same aren’t even remotely close to describing how it feels to walk along this street, holding your hand right now.”
In truth, I feel like I’m in a movie. The quiet, picturesque street, lit only by the moon and strings of lights draped across the road, is perfect first-date cinema.
If this were a movie, though, Tank would probably be leading me up to the gazebo we just passed, where music would swell and he’d ask me to dance.
And then, after just the right amount of longing and tension, he’d kiss me.
Before I can lose myself in that fantasy, I lean into Tank, resting my head on his shoulder for a moment. “If you want full honesty, I find myself getting a little ahead of myself here.”
“That so?” Tank says, and the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips makes me wonder if I’m not the only one.
“It’s been so long,” I say, hoping he’ll get what I mean without me having to articulate how strong my feelings are. “It all feels new. Maybe a little delicate, like it would be too easy to damage it. But at the same time, I want to run toward it going full speed.”
“I keep finding myself second-guessing. I’m not sure I know the rules anymore,” Tank confesses. “All the dating rules in general seem to have changed. And what even are the rules for dating after losing the first love of your life?”
I like the way he says first love. It’s not discounting who his wife was to him nor who David was to me. But it leaves the possibility open for a second love.
My redwood roots stretch a little wider and a little deeper.
“I’ve never really liked rules,” I say. “At least, not ones that are more societal constructs than regulations related to safety concerns. I guess I’m a rule-follower in that sense.
When it comes to this, I think we shouldn’t worry about what anyone else does or what people expect. Maybe we should write our own rules.”
“I like the sound of that,” Tank says. “Writing our rules as we go.”
We’ve reached the street-level entrance to his loft, and I’m disappointed we didn’t have a further distance to go.
I’m also unsure where to go from here, and as he turns to me, taking both of my hands in his, I see the same question in his eyes.
I don’t really want the night to end. But it’s late. I need to be up early again, baking.
A sudden and massive yawn communicates this better than I could have.
Tank yawns too, then chuckles. “I think this is a good time to say goodnight.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s been an exhausting couple of days baking in small batches and running back and forth across the road. Not that I’m not grateful,” I add quickly. “I’m so glad I’ve been able to use your kitchen, and I’ve enjoyed getting to know Kalli.”
“Is it going well?” he asks. “I’m sorry you’re still out of your place. If I could fix the AC myself, I would.”
I believe him. He definitely seems like a fixer, running around Sheet Cake putting out fires or lending a hand. His last two days are a perfect example of that.
“I actually think I’ve sold more in the last two days than in the last two weeks,” I tell him. “And actually, after tasting Big Mo’s pies, I think I might understand why. Do you think people aren’t coming into my bakery because they don’t want to be disloyal to him?”
“Huh. I hadn’t thought about that.” Tank frowns. “Are things not going well in the bakery? I just assumed with how amazing your desserts are that things were fine.”
I shift, not really sure the end of a date is where I want to get into my financial and business woes. “Maybe we can talk about that another day. I have some thoughts, though, after tasting Big Mo’s chocolate chess pie.”
Tank smiles. “So, a second date to discuss your thoughts?”
“Would that be a date? Or would it be too much mixing of business and pleasure?”
“Up to you. I’d be happy with a date to discuss business things and another date to discuss more personal things.”
“Theo Graham, are you asking me on a second and third date at one time?”
“Too forward? I thought we were making our own rules here.”
“I’ll allow it. And maybe we can throw in a fourth date where we talk about what we’d like our rules to be.”
I might sound flirty and confident, but I’m very aware of how fast my heart is beating and of how Tank and I have been gravitating closer. We’re nearly toe to toe, and I find myself swaying closer still.
“It’s a date,” Tank says. “Or, I guess, it’s four dates.
And how would you feel about some baking help tomorrow?
I can’t promise I can do much in the kitchen aside from following orders, but I can sure help with the carrying back and forth across the street.
I didn’t even think about how much extra work that would be. ”
The idea of spending more time with Tank thrills me. “I would love that. I start at four-thirty, but I don’t expect you to be here that early.”
He grimaces. “I probably won’t be up then.”
“Because of the baby? Please know that you can come back. I can totally survive at my place. The temperature cooled down at least ten degrees today.”
I almost suggest that he can also just come back here and stay in the second bedroom, but given the direction things are going, I feel like not staying under the same roof is the best option.
“Don’t worry about me. I mean it. But expect me more like at seven or eight tomorrow.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Our conversation has run its course, and I’m very aware now of how close we’re standing. We have reached the part of the date where you decide if you’re going to end it with a kiss. And with our conversation about rules, I have no idea what to expect. Though I do know what I want.
And with the way Tank’s gaze drops to my lips, I suspect I know what he wants too.
“What do our rules say about kissing at the end of a first date?” Tank asks, his voice low. And though I sometimes find it awkward to discuss this kind of thing so openly, I’m relieved he asked.
“I’m not sure about you, but for me, I don’t see any reason to make a rule against it. In fact, I can think of several reasons for it.”
“Do tell,” Tank murmurs, leaning even closer. “I’m all ears about your reasons, Rose.”
“We’ve both had a good time tonight,” I say, and he nods in agreement. “We’re both adults with all our faculties about us, capable of making reasonable decisions.”
“I’m very reasonable,” he says, and I’m not sure the word reasonable has ever sounded sexy before.
“In addition, I suspect we both understand how short time can be, and don’t want to see it go to waste.”
“It sure would be a shame to waste a single moment.” He’s so close now that our lips are almost brushing as we speak.
I should shut up and just let the man kiss me.
But as is my way around Tank, the words just keep coming out as my pulse skyrockets and my skin seems to tingle from the awareness of his proximity.
“The only possible reason I can think of for holding back is the fact that I’m not sure I even remember how to properly kiss someone.” What started as teasing finishes as more of a raw confession.
“Hm,” Tank says. “You know, I’m not sure I remember either. Maybe”—he lets go of one of my hands to cup my cheek—“we shouldn’t let that hold us back. Maybe”—his other hand releases mine to curve around my lower back—“we should see if we can remember together?”
My eyes drift close at the gentle brush of his fingers on my cheek. “Sounds like a plan.”
His breath skates over my lips, and just when I’m sure his mouth is going to meet mine, I feel him stiffen, and his mouth moves high on my cheekbone near my ear. I almost groan, but then he whispers, “I’m sorry, but change of plans.”
“You’re not going to kiss me?” I say, not even trying to hide my disappointment.
“Not right now. Unless, that is, you want our first kiss being in front of most of my children.”