Page 23 of Christmas at the Ranch
“You aren’t fine,” Tate says quietly, and begins to list the reasons for this on one hand. “I found you in my kitchen last night, standing in a puddle of water and a pile of broken glass—”
“Please, don’t remind me.”
“Then you just took off.”
“Without even thanking your dad,” I say, now joining in on the list of the reasons I’m a mess. “I’m sorry for that.”
He ignores me, keeps going. “You almost hit a moose. Wrecked your car. You were already the number one topic on the group chat, but now—”
“I’m the town pariah and I don’t even live here. You shouldn’t be seen with me. Bad for business.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, pulling up a stool—and something about the tone of his voice causes my heart to do aboom, boom, boom, clap. Great. Now I’m thinking in Charli xcx lyrics. “Even if this isn’t what…” But then he trails off.
He doesn’t have to finish the sentence, though. I can see myself through his eyes. I know what he’s thinking.
Even if this isn’t what I want to be doing.We are nothing to each other. My mind knows this, but my heart doesn’t seem to have caught up to this fact. I saw it in his eyes last night, and it’s all too clear today. Hedoesn’t want to see me. Sitting in a bar with a distant ex who has blown into town like hell on wheels is not his idea of a good time. But he’s a good guy, and he heard I had an accident, so he needed to check if I was okay.
I excuse myself and run off to the bathroom to splash water on my face and try to compose myself. When I return, a steaming mug of coffee sits beside my water glass. I pick up the mug and blow on it, grateful for something to do with my hands.
“Could you please tell Charlie I’m sorry?” I ask him. “He was so kind, and I didn’t even thank him.”
“Don’t worry about Charlie, he gets it. We’re just worried about you.”
I can’t look at him. It’s too embarrassing. I’m a subject of concern, a tragic figure. All the times I imagined seeing Tate again—and I did imagine it, I can’t deny that—it was always in a perfect scenario where I was having a great hair day and wearing my favorite outfit and had just won a National Newspaper Award. I turn my head away from him slightly so the intoxicating blend of pine needles and woodsmoke and saddle soap and leather doesn’t light up quite so many core memory points in my brain and make me feel even worse.
“What really brought you here?” he says, his voice low in my ear. And now my heart sinks. Does he think I came back here chasing after a memory of him?
I clutch the coffee cup, stare into it, looking for a way to answer. Maybe I just need to do it. Tell him everything. What do I have to lose?I drove here because Ineeded to. Because it’s the first place I thought of. The only place that has ever felt like home.
“I think I know,” he says before I can speak. “Charlie told me that you wanted to apologize to Gill.”
“Oh. Right.” I close my eyes briefly.
“That’s not a good idea. I heard Gill is pretty upset.”
“He must be devastated.”
“Actually, I think he’s more embarrassed. He wants everyone to drop it. Which we won’t, of course. No one is going to let him lose the restaurant.”
“I couldn’t stand it if that happened,” I say, genuinely anguished.
“I know that,” he says. He’s staring at me, the moment stretching into something that feels far too intense for mid-afternoon in a local dive bar. It’s almost as if he’s saying,I remember you.There was a time you told me everything.Then he looks away, and I can breathe again.
“Almost done with your coffee?” he says, still not looking at me.
“Close.”
“Good. Because I’m under strict instructions from Charlie to bring you back to the ranch and not let you leave again until you have a legitimately safe way to return to the city.”
“Tell Charlie thank you, but I’ll be fine. I can get myself back to the city.” This isn’t true, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“He figured you’d say that, so he wants to know exactly what the plan is. Is someone coming to get you?”
I think of Lani, with her twin babies. I could neverask her to come get me. I don’t want to ask my mother, either, because I’m still not ready to talk to her. Facing the rest of my friends or colleagues feels overwhelming. And I don’t have enough money to call a driver.
“The bus,” I venture. “And I’ll come back and get my car when it’s ready.”
“The bus route that used to run between here and the city got cut last year. And you know how Charlie is when he gets something in his head. Just come back, Emory.”
