Page 27 of The Situation
“I’m good,” I say. “Tate?”
He smiles and turns to Sean. “Thank you. I think we have everything we need.”
“Perfect. I’ll swing back by in a few and check in with you. Enjoy.”
I sit back and study Tate as he takes a drink. He’s such a peculiar man. Attractive, of course, but also equally kind. His manners and genuine respect for Sean, as well as for me, are surprising.
I have so many questions. I can’t help but wonder how old he is and what he does for work. He seems to have access to a lot of money and carries himself with a certain confidence that piques my curiosity.
But those questions aren’t getting answered, namely because I’m not going to ask. I’m going to keep this light and not dig in too deep. I’m going home tomorrow and leaving him and whatever transpires between us behind.
This is getting me back into the game, not the game itself.
“So this Mimi,” I say, slicing into my chicken. “Tell me about her.”
“She’s the coolest grandma of all time.”
“Sounds like you two have a thing.”
“Oh, we do.” He lifts a piece of steak to his mouth. “And I’m afraid of what that thing would look like if our age gap wasn’t a solid fifty years.”
I laugh. “Does Mimi have a thing for you?”
“I’ll put it to you like this—I see her almost every Wednesday for our date night. That usually consists of dinner that I pick up somewhere and a cookie or cake she makes for me. Then we get into her golf cart, and I drive her, usually shirtless, around the neighborhood so she can make the old man at the end of the street jealous.”
My giggles are instantaneous. “You’re serious?”
“You’ve never tasted her lemon meringue pie.” He smiles from ear to ear. “She’s really … I wouldn’t say sweet because she can be hell on wheels, but we love her. Two of my other brothers and I have adopted her as our pseudo-grandma. She likes me best, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear the sarcasm in your voice.”
“You do that.”
We exchange a look that sucks any remaining nervousness out of me.
I can’t explain why I feel so at ease with Tate, a man I met only a few hours ago. But I do. He feels oddly safe. He’s a breath of fresh, amber-scented air.
The thought makes me chuckle.
We sit quietly and enjoy our meal. We occasionally comment on the taste of our food or the songs playing faintly overhead. Otherwise, we simply share space.
I reach for my drink when a stunning couple stops at our table. The man is older and dazzling with thick, dark hair and intense eyes. The woman on his arm is breathtakingly beautiful in a sleek red dress.
“Fenton,” Tate says, standing. “It’s good to see you.”
Fenton extends a hand toward Tate. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
The woman looks down at me and smiles warmly. I instantly like her.
“What brings you to Columbus?” Fenton asks.
“I have a conference in the morning. What about you?”
He slides an arm around the woman’s waist. “Brynne wanted to see an art exhibit at the museum here this weekend. Tate, have you met my wife?”
Tate looks at her and nods. “I have not. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brynne.”
