Page 23 of The Situation
“If you aren’t ready to order, I can come back,” he says kindly.
“Do you have any idea what you’d like, Kelly?” Tate asks.
I bite my lip to keep from reacting to my new faux name. It was a random choice, and I’m confused whenever he says it. I feel the tiniest bit guilty, too.But what the heck?It’s fun, and tonight is all about that—fun. Admitting that my name is actually Aurora would ruin that.
I scan the offerings and find a chicken dish that only costs an arm, not an arm and a leg.
“The rosemary roasted chicken looks good,” I say.
“Excellent choice,” Sean says. “It’s one of our most popular dishes. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“I’ll have a filet with peppercorn sauce,” Tate says. “Medium rare, please.”
“Wonderful. I’ll get your order in right away.”
We hand our menus over, and Sean marches away.
Tate leans right back into our conversation without missing a beat.
“Tell me more about this cozy-girl thing,” he says. “That’s what you called it, right?”
“Yeah. I’ve never had to explain it before.” I search for the right words. “It’s a vibe, I guess. Instead of living my life in survival mode and just getting through each day, I’m trying to craft a life that feels good. Soft. Feminine. Like my life is wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, if that makes sense.”
“You know, I like fuzzy blankets.”
I laugh louder than I expect. The statement comes out of nowhere, and something about how he says it is utterly adorable.
“Are you laughing at me?” He chuckles, too. “Men can like fuzzy blankets, you know.”
My cheeks ache from smiling. “Men can absolutely like fuzzy blankets.”
“And candles,” Tate says. “I love candles.”
I bet you do.
“I really like vanilla and amber,” he says. “My colognes usually have those scents.”
He grins like the cat that ate the canary.
I’m not sure what he’s doing, but it’s entertaining, nonetheless.
I sit back and take a deep breath, acknowledging how comfortable I am with him. The openness in Tate’s eyes erases some of my nerves, and my shoulders soften as I relax. Like he did on the plane, he whittles down my walls without trying. Although sharing things with him is easy, I need to maintain some boundaries.
“Are you from Nashville?” he asks.
“No.”
He waits for me to expound, but I don’t.
“What about you?” I ask instead. “Are you from Nashville?”
“Yes. I grew up there. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. All my siblings, except my sister, live close to me.”
My heart pulls in my chest from the look in his eye. “Family is important to you?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s everything.”
He doesn’t blink or laugh or crack a smile. Somehow, that might be the sexiest thing about him so far.
