Page 75 of The Situation
His features are smooth and sober. Long gone is the playfulness and mischief I’m used to seeing on his face. He’s serious, and that takes my breath away.
The least I can do is be honest with him.
“I’m too scared,” I say, shrugging like I just told him the sky was blue. I may look nonchalant, but my insides break open as I speak my truth aloud.
He stills. “You’re scared of me?”
“I’m scared of you. I’m scared of me. I’m scared of even considering falling for someone again. Not that that’s what you’re asking me to do, of course. I’m not implying that you’ve somehow fallen for me in such a short period because that would be ridiculous.”
“Maybe it would be,” he says, searching my eyes. “But wouldn’t it also be ridiculous to allow fear to hold you back from something that has the potential to be amazing?”
His words hit my heart, striking the middle of my wounds.
He’s right. Allowing fear to hold me back is ridiculous.But isn’t it equally unreasonable to jump into deep, dark waters without thinking it through?
“Why do you care so much, Tate? Isn’t this more trouble than it’s worth?”
I force a swallow.Aren’t I more trouble than I’m worth?I hate that thought, but it’s right there, festering inside me.
“You mean, aren’tyoumore trouble thanyou’reworth?”
I fill my lungs with air and hold it, feeling the burn of the expansion overtake the sting of embarrassment at being called out.
His phone rings, breaking the silence between us. His gaze lingers on me for a long moment before he pulls the device from his pocket.
“I need to take this,” he says, looking at the screen.
I can’t find my voice, so I just nod.
He slips out of the room, closing the door behind him.
ChapterSeventeen
Tate
“I think she thought our conversation was over,” I say, pinching the edge of the pie crust for Mimi.
She sits next to me at her kitchen table, studying my every move.
Mimi used to make a pie a week when I first met her. There would be a freshly baked pie or cobbler every Wednesday when I showed up for our date. But as time passed, the motor skills required to mix the ingredients, roll the dough, pinch the edges, and prep the filling—not to mention creating the fancy lattice crusts she’s a big fan of—got to be too much. Instead of letting her feel bad about it, because she knew I loved her pies, I teased her and told her that I knew what she was doing. She wanted to bake with me instead of for me.
That’s not true, but I think she appreciated me saying it. And I’ve been the baker in our relationship ever since.
“She’ll come around,” Mimi says. “I mean, look at you. You’re hot stuff.”
“I’d have to be hot stuff to pull a stunner like you.”
She smacks my arm and laughs. “She’s probably just playing hard to get, but she won’t last long. God knows I wouldn’t.” She whistles between her teeth. “They didn’t make men like you when I was young, I’ll tell ya that.”
“What do you think about age gaps, Mimi?” I ask, filling the pie shell with blueberry filling.
“What do you mean?”
“Aurora is older than I am. I don’t know by how much, but I don’t care. It’s just a number.”
“That’s right.”
I paint the crust with an egg wash. “She made a comment about being older than me and that it made her feel a certain way, I guess. I’ve been thinking about that a lot because it’s one thing I can’t fix.”
