For a beat, his chest tightened, Mulligan’s purrs filling the silence as Tate’s thoughts stumbled over themselves. He hadn’t expected a reply. He hadn’t even been sure she’d know it was from him, though clearly Gina’s big mouth had played a rolesomewhere in this chain of events. A crooked smile tugged at his lips before he thumbed a quick reply.
I’ll tell you ‘You’re Welcome’ in two days, I guess…
He typed, the corners of his mouth twitching. It had taken her two full days to track him down, and he wasn’t above making a point of it.
Her response came quicker than he expected.
I didn’t have your number.
He snorted under his breath, shaking his head. “Sure, you didn’t,” he muttered, though she was already typing again.
And I didn’t text to be berated either.
Biting back a laugh, he forced himself not to be caustic or rude – but he had to know.
So why did you text?
I’m not really sure anymore… bye.
Well, that would not do,he thought hesitantly, realizing just how fast and easily she was able to shut him down. What happened to the girl who once told him he was cute – that same woman who offered herself up practically when he’d been riding his motorcycle home. Was she not interested in him? Did she think he was ugly now? Yeah, he was a little rougher around the edges, but not much else had changed… had it?
Nettie?
What?
You’re welcome
Tate smiled softly, knowing she was probably irritated as could be right now, and that was okay, because he’d been irritated the last two days. She had his number now, which meant that she went to Gina to get it… which meant that the big mouth knew he’d left the yarn for Nettie.
A part of him was curious how long it would take for her to text him again. If he knew his sister, she would be prying and nosing about very soon. And almost like Mulligan read his mind, he moved up his chest slightly to just below his chin, and just purred – soothing any irritation he felt at knowing his kid sister would be butting into his personal life.
CHAPTER 8
NETTIE
It had been nearlytwo weeks since Nettie and Tate exchanged a few simple text messages—and the silence afterward gnawed at her like moths in wool. Nothing. Not a word, not a thumbs-up emoji, not even one of those curt little “no problem” replies that men threw around like pocket change. Just silence.
The yarn sat beside her on the armchair at home, tucked into the bag as though it were watching her. Sometimes, when she came into the living room, it felt almost alive—looming there like a quiet sentinel, waiting for her to pick it up, daring her to transform it into something worthwhile. She hadn’t touched it. Not once. Because touching it would mean admitting she was thinking about him.
And oh, she was.
To distract herself, she’d gone out to dinner with Gina and Shannon twice. However, “dinner” was code for a lively circus of clinking glasses, endless chatter, and Shannon narrating her chaotic dating escapades with the flourish of someone who believed the world needed to hear them. Tonight was no different.
The little Italian place buzzed around them—cutlery clinking, servers calling out specials, bursts of laughter from a birthdayparty two tables away. Nettie sat back, hands curled around her water glass, letting the warmth of the restaurant wrap around her as she listened.
“So Felix asked me to meet his parents,” Shannon was saying, her thick blonde hair sliding forward into her plate until she impatiently swept it back. She made a face of dramatic horror, like the very memory was giving her indigestion. “I have never felt so awkward in my entire life. I mean, he’s fun to be around, and he hangs out with some wild guys, but…”
“But he’s not your type,” Gina cut in knowingly, her dark eyes flashing with amusement as though she’d already written the ending of Shannon’s latest saga. “I get it. So why aren’t you dumping him?”
“Because I don’t want to be alone?” Shannon said it like a confession, sheepish, before offering a nervous laugh. “I mean… and I know how this is going to sound—but it’s hard to be pretty.”
Nettie blinked, choking on her sip of water, and glanced toward Gina. Together, like a choreographed act, she and Gina picked up their glasses, leveled a stare at Shannon, and drank deeply in unison. Two unimpressed elephants at the watering hole, waiting while the sparkly unicorn announced her first-world struggles.
“Oh, do tell,” Gina shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. For a moment, Nettie’s heart jolted—because Gina sounded so much like Tate just then that it pulled him right to the forefront of her mind, that lazy smirk of his, that gruff humor that lingered in his voice.
“Let’s hear just how hard it is to be pretty, you vain supermodel…” Gina continued.
“Ugh,” Shannon groaned, tossing her hair like the martyr she clearly believed she was. And just like that, the table cracked into laughter, the kind that made heads turn from nearby booths. Fora few bright seconds, the sound drowned out everything—the doubts, the silence from Tate, the ache of waiting.
