“This place is amazing,” I said, taking my time crossing to him. My heart thudded. There was still time to chicken out. I could pretend I’d left my oven on or something. But I was here. I was here because it was important to me to try—and because Tate had made an attempt too. I wouldn’t get scared off. “That view is ridiculous.”
The proud look on his face matched the photo of Chance he’d sent. “When I was a kid, I called dibs on this spot. I didn’t think I’d build out here for real.”
Then he’d had to move home to take over for his dad. “How’s your dad doing?”
He lifted a shoulder. “The cancer’s going to take him soon, but he won’t stop. I have to get up earlier and earlier to beat him to chores.” Fondness crept into his eyes, but it was aimed at me as I crested the porch stairs. “Thanks for coming.”
“I couldn’t resist the cute invite.” I stopped by him, and he brushed the backs of his fingers down my face.
His expression was full of need, like if we had another overnight, we’d start right where we’d left off before we’d fallen asleep. “He’s…resistant to the idea.”
I nodded. “Of me.”
“No. Well, maybe. But I think he’s more scared my time with him will be even more lean. I haven’t done the best job proving I’ve changed.”
I gripped his hand. “It takes time.” I took another moment to soak in the green valley and towering trees, mostly to fortify my courage. Chance was inside. Was his mind made up?
He leaned in close. “I want to bend you over this railing so bad.”
I sucked in a breath. “You have theworsttiming. I’m going to walk in with a raging blush, and he’s going to think I’m trying to trick him into liking me.”
“You don’t need to trick him. But maybe assure him you can no longer give him extra homework?” He winked and took my hand.
He led me inside. My stomach clambered into my throat with each step. I was more nervous about meeting a kid I already knew than I had been for any job interview.
I didn’t want a job. I wanted Tate.
I couldn’t focus on the sweeping log ceiling arching high overhead. Or the chic rustic interior. I couldn’t admire the space and the style. I searched for a little boy—and a test.
“Hi, Chance.” I dropped Tate’s hand when I spotted Chance playing video games, tucked deep into a corner couch, his arms propped on his scrawny knees. The TV would be too big for my living room, but the size of this house made it look minuscule.
He only flicked a glance my way, then focused on the TV. I shook my head at Tate before he could growl at his son’s lack of manners.
The oldignore her and she’ll go awaytactic. I had one benefit I hadn’t considered until now: I knew this kid. I knew how his brilliant, sometimes devious little mind worked. I knew when he was upset, when he was thinking hard, and when he was truly excited. The photo Tate had sent showed a genuinely happy Chance.
Careful not to appear like I was trying too hard, I said, “Nice trout. Catch anything else?”
Fish talk sparked interest in his eyes. “A walleye.”
I glanced at Tate. “Did you get anything?”
“He got two trouts,” Chance answered for him. That was a good sign.
“Shore fishing?” I asked.
He nodded.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “I spent a lot of my summers fishing with my dad before I left for college.”
That snapped his attention off the game, though his gaze was dubious. “You fish?”
“A girl can’t fish?” I teased.
Tate was quiet next to me, covering his smile with his hand.
“But you’re…”
If he said old, I’d dissolve in a puddle of humiliation. Kids had a way of making me feel ancient when I hadn’t even hit my prime.
