And heaven help her, all she could think about was how solid he’d felt against her during the ride, how safe, how dangerously easy it would be to forget every reason she’d sworn to keep him at arm’s length.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low, roughened, not by anger this time but something else. Something she didn’t dare name.
“I’m embarrassed but fine—and I do need you to move.”
“Will you let me help you up?”
“Will it stop you from biting my head off every time I breathe in?”
“Maybe.” His lips twitched, the barest hint of humor breaking through.
“Just move, Tate,” she muttered, trying to roll away. Her elbow sank into the grass, and she groaned. “I’m not doing this.”
“Friends help each other.”
“We’re barely friends.”
“I’m putting forth an effort—why aren’t you?” he asked quietly, settling back on his haunches and giving her space.
The sincerity in his voice pricked something inside her. She sat up, brushing grass off her hands. “I’m not… Tate… look.” She sighed, heavy and broken, starting and stopping before forcing the words out. “We’re… we are not good—you know? I think there is too much push and pull. We’re too much oil and water.”
“I was thinking vinegar and baking soda,” he said softly, a reluctant smirk ghosting across his lips as he held out his hand.
“And there you go,” she muttered, almost resigned. “You feel like you have to one-up me on everything. I don’t need someone correcting me, snapping at me, or telling me how stupid I’m acting… trust me, my brain will alert me of my stupidity all by itself.”
His gaze lingered on her, shadowed and unreadable in the porchlight. The weight of it pressed on her chest until she looked away, suddenly self-conscious.
“I don’t think we have it in us to be friends and…”
“I’m sorry,” he interrupted quietly.
Her head snapped back toward him. Of all the things she expected, that wasn’t one of them.
“You might be right about me and my personality,” he admitted. “I’ve always felt like I had to make my presence known by trying harder, shutting down others, or stepping into the limelight… but not at your expense—and I’m sorry. I was just trying to help with the car.”
“It’s not just the car—it’s everything,” she whispered, her throat tightening. The honesty in his words cut deeper than any argument.
“So are you telling me there is no point in us trying to be friends, because I’m too critical when I try to help someone, help you?” His voice was careful, but she could hear the tension beneath, the unspoken fear. He was a live wire ready to snap, and she knew it.
“I’m saying that maybe we need to go a little more slowly, and if I need help, then I’ll ask,” she offered. Her heart ached even as she said it. “I really enjoyed the ride, enjoyed spending time with you, but…”
“It’s over—so go away?”
“The evening is over, and we need to let it end on a high note.”
“And me trying to be nice wasn’t a high note?”
“Tate…”
“Answer me,” he demanded, heat rising in his voice again. “Don’t sigh. Don’t huff. Don’t act like I did this—because I’m trying to help and you are rejecting every single attempt like being around me could give you the plague…”
“I was going to say ‘a headache’,” she muttered.
That did it. He shot to his feet, towering above her, his expression carved from anger and hurt.
“Well, you’re home now, so get some sleep and your headache is leaving,” he snapped, turning on his heel and striding toward the bike.
“Tate…” Nettie scrambled up, guilt crashing into her chest. She hadn’t meant to wound him like that, not really.
