Page 53 of Whiskey and Whispers
“It’s a sort of mix of things I like,” Tate explained. “Mid-century modern, farmhouse, Shaker style. I threw them all in here with a bunch of colors I liked and crossed my fingers that it would work.”
“It works,” Cat said, her gaze running over the kitchen with its simple lines. Tate didn’t like fuss, and he definitely didn’t like clutter. “I think I’m in love. The blue and green palette really pulls it all together.”
“Thank you. I like it, too. I just wish I were here more to enjoy it.”
“You should get someone to help you manage the bar,” Cat remarked. “You work too much.”
Before now, Tate hadn’t minded that much. It had kept his body and mind busy, not dwelling on things it shouldn’t.
But now that he and Cat were giving their relationship a second chance, help at the tavern sounded like an excellent idea. He wanted to be able to devote time to being together, whether it was going out and having fun or staying in and simply relaxing.
In his mind’s eye, Tate could already see Cat fitting right into his home, the two of them fixing dinner together or even sitting on the back patio on a warm summer night watching the fireflies light up the darkness. There was plenty of room in the bedroom closet and on the bathroom vanity. There was even a spot for her car in the garage.
Was he crazy thinking about Cat moving in? They’d only just reunited, but he was thinking that they’d already wasted too many years. If it were anyone else in the world, he would have told himself to slow the hell down. But with this woman, he couldn’t move fast enough.
She, on the other hand, might be spooked if he offered her the other half of his garage and the prime spot on the couch. Living together was a big commitment, and she hadn’t given him any indications that she was looking to do that with him. After all, she was looking to buy her own house.
“You’ve done an amazing job here,” Cat said, walking around the living room and looking out of the front window. “It is quiet out here. How much land do you have here?”
“Ten acres,” Tate replied. “How about I show you the backyard?”
They stepped out of the double doors off the kitchen, and he moved aside so she could get a better look. It wasn’t quiteas impressive as it would be in the summer when the pool was open, but it was still lovely with all the trees beginning to turn bright colors of yellow, red, and orange.
“You have a pool? A pool? Tate, it’s cold eight months of the year in Illinois.”
He pointed to the in-ground hot tub off to the left.
“That’s what the jacuzzi is for,” he replied with a grin. “But the pool is totally worth it on a hot summer day.”
“This house is perfect,” Cat declared. “It has everything. Absolutely everything.”
“It didn’t when I built it. It took time to get it here.”
“Are you suggesting that I might be impatient?” she asked, one brow raised in question.
“I’m not suggesting it, sweetheart. I’m saying it out loud. You lack patience. Now, how about some breakfast? I’m starving.”
“I have plenty of patience,” Cat argued, hands on hips. “There are many examples of me having the patience of a saint.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
Cat was trying to hide her smile, and Tate wasn’t doing much better. They both knew how this debate was going to end.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she finally said, her lips twitching from suppressing her laughter. “I’m a grown woman.”
“Would the grown woman like to take a shower while I cook breakfast?” Tate offered. “It will take a few minutes. If you can wait that long.”
“That would be lovely, thank you. And I’m going to ignore your last comment. I’m taking the high road this morning.”
Tate ushered Cat through his bedroom and into the ensuite bathroom, letting her know she could help herself to anything, before returning to the kitchen. A quick perusal of his refrigerator had him pulling out the ingredients for pancakes with a side of bacon. Breakfast was his favorite meal, and heoften had it for dinner when he was home. It was quick, easy, and always delicious.
When she returned, wrapped up in his blue terrycloth robe, they sat at the kitchen island and ate in companionable silence. The food was delicious, and it felt good and right to be sitting here with her and enjoying it.
It struck him that because they’d been teenagers the last time they were together, they’d never been able to do anything like this. They were two adults making a conscious decision to spend their time as a couple, doing couple things like sharing a meal. There were no parents hovering nearby, making any sort of privacy difficult. They could do anything they wanted to.
It was like when he’d realized as an adult he could have chocolate cake or ice cream for dinner. No one was policing his diet anymore.
“You haven’t said much about it.”
