His mouth flattens. “That’s not what I meant.”
“She was reading here this morning and I thought she might want a snack,” I say in a rush.
“Again.” He takes a step into the guesthouse, closing the door behind him so the cold air doesn’t come in. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful. And I’m not surprised at all, because Bea brings this out in everyone she meets.”
My heart does a tug of affection as I think about the shy wayBea asked if she could read in here this morning, the cat right behind her.
“She’s very cute,” I say, stupidly self-conscious again.
“She is.”
He looks pleased, and there’s a beat of silence between us.
“The cat brought me something,” he says, clearing his throat. His cheekbones are going pink. “And I wanted to return it to you.”
“Something of mine?”
He holds his hand out and there’s a crumpled piece of lacy navy blue fabric in his palm that makes my stomach drop through the floor.
“Oh my god.”
My panties are in Tate’shand. They’re clean, thank fuck. I haven’t worn that pair yet.
“The cat brought you these?” I should take them, but I can’t move. I’m just staring at them.
The image of Phoebe batting at my bra last weekend as I pulled it out of the bag to taunt him flashes into my mind.
“Yes.” He sounds deeply uncomfortable as he places them on the counter. “I was going to throw them out but didn’t want you to find them in the garbage and think... Yeah. I don’t know.”
The mortified tone of his voice makes that playful part of me sit up. “And think what?”
He stills. “I don’t know.”
I smirk. “What would you be doing with my panties?”
His eyes widen. “Nothing. I wouldn’t do anything with your panties. Oh my god.” He rubs the bridge of his nose while I start laughing. “Jordan. They were expensive. I didn’t want to throw them out.”
“How do you know the price?”
He blanches before he regains control. “Okay, very funny.”
That’s not an answer, and he hates lying, so now I feel like there’s something he’s not telling me.
“There was something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he says, and the sober tone of his voice dampens any amusement. “Last night.”
Unease settles in my stomach. “I stand by what I said,” I start, staring at the floor. “I’m not going to put myself out there for someone?—”
“I’m sorry.” He holds my eyes as I fall silent. “I was wrong. I was wrong about you, and I was wrong about Ross.”
I don’t know what to say. This, I didn’t expect.
“Things weren’t the way I thought,” he continues, “and I made a lot of assumptions. I agree with you, that a relationship should be give and take. I spent a long time hoping my dad would act a certain way and he never did.” His words sound truly neutral, like he’s had time to process and accept this. Like he harbors no anger. My curiosity about Tate Ward grows, gathering strength.
What’s that like, to accept that the person who is supposed to love you doesn’t? Tate has his life sotogether. Maybe if he can, I can, too.
“I didn’t know that,” I say quietly.
He nods. “So I understand your anger now.” He takes a deep breath, hesitating. “I talked to Ross.”
