She did. I’d watched her countless times over the years, moving with pure abandon to whatever was playing. Occasionally with other guys, which had always twisted my gut in knots I’d pretended not to notice.
“They’ll be starting up in about twenty.” Pete set the second beer down. “First round’s on the house. Consider it an engagement present.”
“Appreciate it.” I pulled out my wallet anyway and stuffed a generous tip into the jar on the bar. “Good to be home.”
“Good to have you back in one piece.”
I saluted him with the glasses and worked my way across the room to the table Tate had secured in the corner. Leather creaked as I slid onto the stool, and I sighed in contentment.
“What’s that sigh for?” Tate asked.
I nudged one beer in her direction and took a sip from the other. “Because this right here is exactly what I’ve wanted to be doing for months. Having a beer, right here, after work with you. Celebrating the successful acquisition of another job.” I lifted my glass. “To Mrs. Fairchild.”
Tate tapped her glass to mine. “To Mrs. Fairchild. It’s going to be a hell of a job to get that place back in shape.”
“Worth it, though, to see the look on her face when we pull it off. I think it’ll be a little like giving her back some of her late husband.”
“I hope so. It was such a sweet story how they marked all their life events, big and small, in that garden.”
I wanted to do the same with Tate, but that was jumping the gun, so I held my tongue.
Hank Thompson lumbered over to our table, his massive frame blocking out half the bar. “Welcome home, son.” He clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to rattle my teeth. “And congratulations! Never thought you two would finally figure it out.”
“Thanks, Hank.” I took Tate’s hand where it rested on the table. She started to pull away, but I squeezed, reminding her of the part we were meant to play. “Just glad to be back.”
Hank had apparently destroyed whatever natural social bubble had been around us. As soon as he wandered off, Sarah Mitchell swooped in. “Oh my God, y’all are so cute together! I can’t believe you kept it secret all this time.”
Three more well-wishers stopped by before we managed two sips of beer. I shifted my stool closer to Tate’s, draping my arm across the back of her chair. She stiffened, then relaxed against me.
The server managed to stop by to take our orders in between visitors, and I could only hope they were quick with the food. It didn’t seem like I was going to get the uninterrupted hangout time I’d wanted.
The Whitaker twins descended on us next, matching platinum heads bent together as they cooed over the “romantic” story of how I’d proposed. Tate’s palm grew damp against mine as she stammered through the tale she’d concocted at the cookout last night. I had no idea who’d started spreading the details of that around already.
“And then he sent me this photo of the garden he’d designed...” Her voice wavered.
“The one with the proposal spelled out in flowers,” Jenny Whitaker sighed. “So creative.”
I had wondered how hypothetical me had pulled off a decent proposal from the other side of the world. I grinned as I fingered the ends of Tate’s hair. “Had to make it special for my girl.”
The twins finally drifted away, but were immediately replaced by my old high school football coach.
“Your daddy told me you were back.” Coach Harris stuck out his hand. “Thank you for your service, son.”
I shook it, grateful he didn’t launch into engagement talk.
As he walked away, Tate sighed. “Sorry about all this,” she whispered.
I turned to brush a kiss to her temple. “Stop apologizing.”
A camera flash drew my attention. I frowned at the guy standing a few feet away with his phone pointed in our direction. “What the hell, man?”
The guy had the good grace to look faintly embarrassed. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m Grady Tipton, with the Huckleberry Gazette. I just wanted to run an update on the story, now that you’re back from deployment.”
Tension fairly vibrated off of Tate. It was one thing to play into what was already out there. It was another to keep egging on the original source.
“Look, Grady, I appreciate your enthusiasm about our relationship, but could you maybe not? This is our personal lives you’re talking about here, not a story. We’d like a little privacy, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh. Yeah, yeah. Of course. Sorry to have bothered you.”
