How Shannon and Gina had managed to talk her into this was beyond comprehension. She should’ve known better. Should’ve guessed where this night would lead. The odds of Tate being here were too high. Her stomach twisted at the thought.
Why hadn’t anyone warned her? Why now, of all nights, did she have to risk making a complete fool of herself in front of the one man who still haunted her thoughts?
Again.
Oh no, she wasn’t going to forget the other, most recent moment, that was a true doozy. No, she would be cringing and blushing about that when she was eighty and in a nursing home. Remember that one time you tried to be sexy… with the wrong person?
Yep.
Traumatized. For. Life.
“Tate’s not coming, right?” she hissed under her breath, panic sharp in her voice as they stepped inside. The familiar scent of baked rolls and something savory hit her nose—Gina’s mother’s cooking always did. But instead of comfort, it only made her nerves rise higher.
Shannon gave a breezy shrug, far too unconcerned for Nettie’s liking.
The kitchen was lively, a soft chaos of voices and clattering pans. Gina stood by the counter with her mother, spatula in one hand, smile bright as ever. She waved at them—and then froze as a smear of mashed potatoes toppled from her utensil onto a glass picture frame on the wall. She yanked a paper towel free and began to wipe it up, muttering under her breath.
Nettie almost sighed in relief. Maybe, just maybe, she’d make it through the night unnoticed. Maybe Tate wouldn’t be here. Maybe this evening would be safe with warm food, laughter, and shared memories…
But then Nettie turned—and collided headfirst into someone.
Someone who grunted.
A six-foot someone wearing black who grunted angrily.
Nettie’s heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach.
Tate.
He straightened, dark eyes flashing with irritation, his tall frame filling the space with that unmistakable presence she remembered all too well.
“Watch it,” he snapped, his voice low and edged like steel, his glare sweeping over them both. His eyes—still that same piercing shade, dark enough to swallow her whole—locked on hers for a single heartbeat before flicking away like she was nothing.
Like usual… she thought painfully, freezing in place as her pulse hammered in her ears. She could almost hear David Attenborough speaking over her, almost like a commentator on the scene.
And here, we have the innocent gazelle about to partake of her meal with her adopted family – until she sensed a threat, recognizing that she’s now become the prey…
“And why wouldn’t I come to my parents’ house for dinner?”
Her throat tightened. She couldn’t answer even if she wanted to.
“I think I lost my appetite,” she whispered, but his glare sharpened instantly, like he’d heard every syllable. The heat of it made her want to shrink into the wallpaper.
“Maybe he’d be halfway decent looking, if he didn’t give off serial-killer vibes?” Shannon leaned close to her, voice mischievous and low. “I’m telling you – dark, broody, looming… like some hockey-obsessed gargoyle…”
“I heard that,” Tate muttered, rolling his eyes before stalking toward the kitchen. “Dad, where’s the remote?”
“We’re not watching television—it’s family night,” Mr. Cassidy’s voice boomed warmly, accompanied by the affectionate ruffle of his son’s hair, which only seemed to make Tate bristle more.
“Family night is whenfamilyis present,” Tate shot back, his words sharp as knives.
Ouch.
Nettie’s fingers curled into fists at her sides, every instinct urging her to run.
“Ignore him,” Gina said brightly, handing Shannon a roll of paper towels like the tension wasn’t filling every corner of the room. “I do—and I’m so much happier for it. I mean, when a dog growls, you back away slowly…”
“Or muzzle it,” Nettie muttered before she could stop herself.
