“Baby, you did my laundry,” I heard him whisper in my ear.
His words tugged forcefully at the sleep that had hold of me and my body tensed.
“And cleaned my house,” he went on whispering.
I turned my face partially into the pillow and pressed in as the edges of sleep started to separate with jagged little tears that I knew, from experience, would never mend.
“And the fridge,” he continued.
“Quiet,” I muttered, the word muffled in the pillow.
“Fridge is jammed, babe, more food than it’s ever seen.”
This was true. Seeing as I had a full, clean fridge for the first time in months, not to mention a kitchen, a couple of days before I went a little nuts at the grocery store.
“Go away,” I mumbled.
“We got grape Kool-Aid.”
“Go. Away.”
“In a new pitcher.”
I turned my face fully into the pillow and groaned.
His beard tickled my shoulder and then his lips kissed me there.
“Sweet pitcher, babe. Never owned one of those.”
In the window of the little country shop (that happened to be two doors down from the grocery store) they had these adorable, big, old-fashioned glass pitchers with a beautiful shape, dimpled glass and they were tinted pink. Now Tate had this pitcher.
They also had matching glasses. Tate probably didn’t look but the glasses were in the cupboard.
I lifted my head, his body jerked back a foot and I glared at his grinning, arrogant, beautiful face.
“Go! Away!” I snapped and then suddenly I was on my feet by the bed and just as suddenly I was in front of Tate, his hands at my hips, and I was moving toward the bathroom. “Tate!”
“Seein’ as you’re up, time to shower,” he stated, shoving me into the bathroom.
I twisted my head around and gave him a look.
“You think you’re funny but you… are… not.”
He whipped my body around, his arm went around my waist and held me close to his t-shirted, jeaned front and he reached beyond me, opening the door to the shower. He turned on the taps, the water shot down and he looked down at me.
“Curtains,” he muttered.
I glared up at him then muttered back, “Whatever,” turned to the shower, stuck my hand in, found it was hot, yanked off his tee that I was wearing and stepped in, firmly closing the door behind me.
* * * * *
I was still nursing my grudge at all things Tate, (primarily his waking me up, being arrogant, and finding his morning amusing after I had the worst night of my life, a night that contained Brad, Neeta and the unexpected knowledge of ten year old Jonas) when Tate, me beside him, drove his Explorer into Carnal on our way to the mall.
I had been silent all morning as I got ready, something Tate found funny if the amount of times I saw him grin, smile or heard him chuckle was any indication as he came in and out of the bedroom or stood at the counter in the kitchen sifting through his piles of post while I was preparing for my day, making the bed, replacing the be-shammed pillows and getting myself coffee.
I spied the coffee shop and fairly shouted, “La-La Land!”
Tate’s head turned to me. “Come again?”
“Stop. Park. Coffee. Orgasmic bread. Now,” I demanded.
“Orgasmic bread?” Tate asked.
“Tate, you’re passing it!” I cried desperately as we went passed, my head turning to watch the shop through the window. “Park!”
Tate braked and swung into a parking spot three doors down from La-La Land. He barely had the ignition switched off before I had the door open, hopped down, slammed the door and was motoring.
I was nearly there when I was hooked with an arm across my chest and pulled back into the solidness that was all Tate.
“Hang on there, Ace, the shop isn’t gonna go up in a puff of smoke,” he said into my hair as I forced us forward even though we were locked together.
“Unh-hunh,” I said back, pushed open the door to La-La Land and entered, pulling Tate with me.
“Flower Petal!” Shambles cried upon seeing me, his face lighting up behind his blue tinted, round sunglasses then his eyes went to Tate and his face froze.
Sunny’s head popped up down the counter.
“Petal,” she smiled at me and her smile didn’t waiver when her eyes went to Tate and she watched as, still locked together, he moved us to the counter.
“Hey guys, what’s today’s theme?” I asked.
“Who’s that?” Shambles asked, stealthily moving away from the front counter toward the back.
“Ignore him, I am,” I stated audaciously, seeing as Tate still had his arm around me, and I looked in the display case. “Let me guess, chocolate?”
That wasn’t so much a guess as a dream.
Tate’s other arm joined his first wrapped around my chest.
“Lemon,” Sunny answered and came to stand in front of Tate and I at the counter. “Hey dude, I’m Sunny,” she said to Tate.
“Tate,” Tate replied.
“Awesome, Tate. This is my man, Shambles.” She gestured to Shambles.
“Dude,” Shambles muttered, eyeing up Tate and me in a way I didn’t really notice but if I had I would have seen it was like a brother would eye up his sister’s new boyfriend. Uncertain, tentative, holding back and ready to pass resoundingly negative judgment if the new boyfriend gave even a hint of being a jerk.
I ignored this, focused on processing my disappointment that Shambles had yet to hit on a chocolate theme at the same time surveying the case seeing lemon drizzle cake, lemon squares and lemon curd filled cupcakes and wondering what I was going to order.
I looked at Shambles. “What do you recommend?”
“Um…” Shambles mumbled, still eyeing Tate, still not quite certain how his judgment would come down.
“That’s hard,” Sunny put in, “Shambles is a master with lemon.”
After she imparted this knowledge, I stared at her. Then, knowing what it meant, I ordered, “I’ll take one of anything with lemon in it.”
Tate burst out laughing behind me, his arms going tight and his head moved so he could shove his face into my neck where I felt his beard tickle me and his lips kissing me.
Shambles looked at me then he looked at Tate’s head bent to my neck. Then he took two steps forward.
“Dude,” he called and Tate’s head came up.
“Yeah?”
Shambles swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he did.
“You look like you like her but Petal doesn’t look like she likes you. What gives?”
“Petal?” Tate whispered in my ear.
“She’s flowery,” Sunny answered him. “See? At her ears and her wrists and her neck. Flowers. Petal. Get it?”
Tate curved me around to face him and his eyes went from my ears to my neck to mine.
“Flowery,” he muttered and something about his deep, rough voice saying that word slid through me in a way that felt really nice.
Even so, I demanded, “Do you mind letting me go so I can have something lemon chased by coffee?”
Tate didn’t answer verbally but him not letting me go was his answer physically. His fingers came to my neck and I felt one twist a chain there, tightening it. His eyes watched his movements then they came to my face.
“That dick buy you these?” he asked.
“No,” I answered truthfully wondering, if I said yes, if Tate would rip it off which he seemed like he was preparing to do.
Then I realized, outside my wedding and engagement rings, Brad had never bought me jewelry. In fact, he’d not bought me many presents. In fact, even though my college boyfriend remembered my birthday every year, Brad normally forgot it, even though I always made a big to-do about his and spent weeks prior dropping hints about mine. Ditto with our anniversary. At first, I used to remind him. The last two years of our marriage, I didn’t bother.
“You got anything he ga
ve you?” Tate asked as his finger released the chain at my neck.
My eyes slid to the side and I thought about it.
Then they slid back and I answered, “No, except a lot of really bad memories and the knowledge that I was stupid enough to put up with him for ten years.”
“Right,” Tate said then asked, “You done bein’ pissed at me, again for no reason?”
I felt my body get tight.
Then I whispered, “No reason?”
“Babe,” was his response.
“You have a child!” I shouted, trying to pull back but both his arms went around me and he yanked me forward.
“Yeah and you get to meet him next weekend.”
Oh no. I hadn’t thought of that.
I wasn’t exactly good with children. I wasn’t bad with them, as such, I just wasn’t around them much and, because of that, when I was, they freaked me out because I didn’t know what to do with them.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
“He lives with those idiots but he’s a good kid, takes care of his Mom, puts up with that jackass. Patient. Smart. Loyal. Funny. You’ll like him. He’ll like you.”
“Oh my God,” I breathed, not even hearing his words, instead, thinking of a ten year old Tate and wondering what on earth I’d do with him. I didn’t even know what to do with a forty-four year old Tate and I was used to dealing with adults!
“Petal, you okay?” Shambles asked and I turned woodenly in Tate’s arms.
“Tate has a ten year old son,” I told Shambles and Shambles’s eyes shot to Tate.
“Cool!” Sunny shouted. “I like! Kids are awesome!”
I stared at her.
“Kids are awesome, Sunny,” Shambles said quietly.
“Unh-hunh,” I mumbled. “Coffee. Multiple lemon treats. Stat.”
“I’ll get the treats, you get the coffee, Shams,” Sunny said on a grin and looked at Tate. “You?”
“Dazzle me,” Tate invited and Sunny’s grin spread to a smile.
“I can do that!” she cried and turned to get a bag.
Shambles leaned toward me and, with a jerk of the thumb toward Tate, he whispered as if Tate wasn’t right there, “Petal, dude’s into you.”
“Coffee, Shambles,” I prompted.
“I’m a dude and even as a dude I can see this dude is all dude. That isn’t a bad thing, especially with the rumors I hear around town. All of them. You get what I’m sayin’?”
“Shambles, honey, coffee,” I repeated.
“You guys havin’ a tiff?” he asked.
“His ex is a nightmare,” I shared.
“I missed it last night but word on the street is your ex isn’t too groovin’ either.”
This was true. I didn’t admit that because I heard Tate chuckle.
I leaned into Shambles. “His ex is a nightmare’s nightmare, you know, the kind where you wake up and you think you’re safe but then you realize you’re still asleep and you’re still in the nightmare but this one is way worse and finally you wake up with a jolt and your skin is all tingly and you know, you just know someone is in the room and you’re going to be brutally attacked and killed,” I leaned back. “That’s Tate’s ex.”
“She isn’t wrong,” Tate agreed.
“Bummer,” Shambles muttered.
“Unh-hunh,” I mumbled. “She visited last night at about five o’clock in the morning. She woke me up by shouting through the window and banging on it, calling me a bitch. I’d never met her before in my life. There was a lot of shouting and obscenities and then there was more shouting and obscenities but these were liberally mixed with threats. The last thing she told me was to watch my back. And she told Tate she would fight him until she died so he’d never see his son again. Now, I’ve had about five hours of sleep and I need coffee. Can you do that for me, Shambles?”
“Your life is pretty wild, Petal,” Shambles observed.
“Thus my need for lemon treats and really, really good coffee, Shambles,” I replied. “You’re keeping me standing.”
Shambles smiled. “I better get you coffee then.”
“That would be good.”
Shambles shuffled to the espresso machine and Sunny filled his spot.
“Here we go,” she announced, proffering a big bag. “Two lemon squares. Two lemon curd cupcakes. Two slices of lemon and ginger bread with pistachios. And two pieces of lemon drizzle cake.”
I reached forward, took the bag, opened it, yanked out the first thing my fingers touched (lemon drizzle cake) and I took a huge bite.
“Jesus, Ace,” Tate mumbled and I knew by his voice he was smiling.
I twisted to him, lifted the cake to his mouth, he looked at it, looked in my eyes, leaned forward and took a big bite.
Then he chewed.
Then he swallowed.
Then he said, “Gotcha.”
“Unh-hunh,” I muttered and turned back to Sunny, “two more of each, please.”
Tate burst out laughing.
Shambles cried in Tate’s direction, “Dude! Give me a chance, I’ll rock your world.”
I twisted to Tate again, looked up and suggested, “Take him up on that.”
Tate looked at Shambles. “Rock my world,” he invited then he looked at me, his fingers curled around my wrist, he lifted my hand to his mouth and he took another huge bite of my cake.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, pulling my hand back. “That’s my cake.”
“Yeah,” Tate muttered, mouth full, his hand moved to my neck, his thumb at my jaw tilting my head back and his head bent. He swallowed then he kissed me, a kiss that was short but included a sweep of his lemony tongue.
Beautiful.
His mouth left mine and he asked, “You still pissed?”
“I don’t think so,” I answered, still tasting lemon and Tate so, it was debatable, but it might be physically impossible to be pissed.
He grinned. “Give it time, somethin’ll come up.
I turned and rolled my eyes to Sunny who was grinning at the both of us.
Then I took another bite of cake.
Heaven.
* * * * *
We were in the home store and Tate was pushing the cart as only men do. That was to say, he was bent at the waist, his forearms crossed on the handle, his chest leaning into them, the look on his face part glazed, part blank indicating clearly any question I could ask him would receive the answer, “Hunh?”
I was leading the way to the curtain section while realizing Tate’s rabid need to go shopping for curtains was because, with Neeta on the loose, he needed curtains not because he needed to shop. Shopping was the necessary evil that came with owning curtains.
He’d seemed game until I commandeered a cart at the entrance.
“We’re buying curtains, babe, that activity hardly requires a cart,” he noted
“We’re in a home store, Tate,” I replied, thinking my answer said all.
“And?” he returned, stating plainly my answer did not say all.
“A mega home store,” I added.
“And?”
“And, I came here a few days ago to buy you sheets. I ended up buying you two sets of sheets, six new pillows, a down comforter, a comforter cover and shams. That happens in a home store,” I educated him. “You come in needing a spatula and you go out with a spatula, new kitchen towels, candles, candle holders, cool things to seal open chip bags, a variety of frames, a soap dispenser and a new vacuum cleaner.”
After I delivered this lesson was when Tate’s face went blank and, shortly after that, his eyes glazed over. He hijacked the cart so he could lean on it in order to remain standing even as he fell asleep while walking the aisles and we headed to curtains.
“Tate?” We heard and I turned around to see Tate had stopped but hadn’t straightened and was looking over his shoulder at an advancing Stella, the Queen Biker Babe from Wood’s garage. She approached and took us both in, a grin spreading on her face. “Lauren,” she greeted when she arrived.
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“Hi Stella,” I returned, walking back to stand beside the handle of the cart Tate had straightened from.
“You’re at a Deluxe Home Store,” she stated the obvious since we were, indeed, standing in a store called “Deluxe Home Store”.
“Um…” I mumbled, Tate’s arm slid around my shoulders and he hauled me into his side.
“Yeah,” Tate replied. “How’s things, Stell?”
“Hoppin’,” she answered and her eyes moved between the both of us and settled on me. “You okay?”
“Um…” I repeated. “Yeah?” I answered in a question because I was uncertain of her question.
Her eyes went to Tate. “Neeta?”
“Visited Laurie last night,” Tate shared.
“Shit,” Stella hissed.
“She got the papers,” Tate kept sharing.
“Yeah?” Stella asked.
“She’s gonna fight it,” Tate answered.
“Stupid bitch,” Stella muttered.
“Um…” I put in and Tate looked down at me.
“You ever meet Pop?” he asked and I nodded. “Stell is his little sister. I grew up with her too.”
“Practically raised the three of ‘em,” she told me, “even though I was a kid myself.”
“Oh,” I whispered, wondering about this but not having much time to do so.
Stella looked at Tate. “I’ll track down Neet, see if she’s receptive to a chat.”
“Mighta been, if I was livin’ a life where I wasn’t in a fuckin’ home store buyin’ curtains with Laurie. Now, no way.”
“That girl,” Stella whispered. “She never gave away any of her toys.” Her eyes came to me. “And she never shared.”
“I got that from her last night,” I said quietly and cautiously considering Stella might have called Neeta a bitch but she was still Neeta’s aunt.
She read my tone because she stated, “Darlin’, no love lost, trust me. Not a lot of bridges Neeta hasn’t burned.”
“Oh,” I repeated and Stella looked back at Tate.
“Curtains?”
“Don’t have any and Neeta called Lauren out last night through my bedroom window.”
“Christ,” Stella muttered. “How could she be Kyle and Brenda’s?”
Tate made no response so I asked, “Kyle and Brenda?”