Page 23 of Whiskey and Whispers
“Give me a minute,” Tate said, hopping up from his seat. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not even sure why you brought me here.”
It had been an impulse. She’d needed someone, and he’d stepped in. Whether she’d wanted him to was certainly up in the air.
He and his chef carried the dishes from the kitchen and placed them on the table. It was simple fare, and he didn’t have a clue as to how Cat was going to respond.
Grilled cheese. Tomato soup. Chocolate brownie. An ice-cold soda pop.
How many times had they eaten the exact same meal in the kitchen of his childhood home? About a million.
Emily had always sat the two of them at the island, chatting to them about anything and everything. She’d had the patience of a saint, and always seemed to listen, even when they weren’t talking about something that would be interesting to a grown-up.
In the summer, they would have had popsicles instead of a brownie—grape for him, and an orange or a banana for Cat. In the winter, it was mostly brownies, although Emily had occasionally thrown in some variety. Cake on a birthday, for example.
The chef bustled back into the kitchen, and Tate sat down. Cat’s brows had pulled together as she surveyed the meal in front of her. She looked at him and then down at the plates again before darting back up.
“I haven’t thought about this in years.”
Her voice was so soft and low, he could barely hear the words. To his horror, her eyes filled with tears, and a few even slipped down her cheeks.
Shit, he’d wanted to make her feel better, but he’d only made it worse. Now she was crying, for fuck’s sake. He’d messed this up.
“Damn, I’m sorry?—”
“Stop,” she commanded, holding her hand up. “It’s okay. I’m not upset. Well, I am upset, but not because of this. I’m just upset in general. And now you’ve made the one meal that used to make everything better. I haven’t had grilled cheese and tomato soup since… I don’t even remember the last time.”
“I thought it might help.”
It sounded so lame. He still wasn’t sure that he’d done the right thing.
“You even remembered the brownie.”
“Emily didn’t make it. Piper did. She’s an amazing baker. She has a YouTube channel, and she’s working on a cookbook.”
“She used to want to be a detective,” Cat replied, picking up her spoon and dipping it into the creamy tomato soup.
“I wanted to be a cowboy. Some things don’t work out.”
They didn’t speak while they ate, simply enjoying the delicious food. The tavern staff came by once with freshsodas, but otherwise left them alone. Luckily, the place wasn’t crazy busy, and the bartender on duty was one of his more experienced employees who didn’t need Tate’s help constantly.
“That was exactly what I needed,” Cat said with a sigh when the food was mostly gone. “What is it about grilled cheese and tomato soup that makes everything better? Plus the chocolate, of course.”
“Chocolate makes everything better,” Tate said. “Cheese doesn’t hurt, either.”
“Yes, cheese has magic powers,” Cat agreed. “Tate, do you think we can be friends again? I’d like that.”
Friends. The word was short and simple, but his feelings about it were anything but. He wanted to be her friend - he truly did - but it wasn’t that easy or straightforward.
There was no way they’d ever be a couple again. That ship had sailed. They were older and hopefully wiser. While they may have loved one another, the universe had made other plans.
But friendship didn’t seem like a no-brainer. They both carried baggage from the past, and other than their history, did they even have anything in common? Perhaps all they’d ever had was this small town.
“Yes, we can be friends.”
He wasn’t sure it would ever work out, but it was simply one more request from this woman he couldn’t refuse.
Friends.
