Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Tennessee

Valentine’s Day dawned like the prior two days—sunny and with a cheerful message from Tate. He’d stayed most of Sunday at my place, helping feed Clifford, baking brownies, and watching movies we remembered from middle school while the treats cooled. Then we’d walked the dog up the street to deliver the brownies to his coworker’s front porch and ordered Thai takeout for an early dinner because we couldn’t live on chocolate and sugar alone. He’d left late in the evening with a promise to text while on duty the next two days, and he’d been true to his word.

Morning! Had a quiet shift. Nothing like doing supply inventory to make me itchy to get back out there. Hope you have a good day saving the world! See you at six.

My stomach fluttered as I placed my phone near the computer on my desk. The birds outside my office window seemed as unusually cheery as I felt. The local CASA office was located near downtown in an older brick building across from the square that housed the county courthouse.

I liked how impressed Tate was with my work for CASA. He appreciated how my job was to advocate for kids in the DHS system. I hadn’t had unconditional support like his in a while. Most of my law school friends had gone on to well-paying big firm jobs, and my love of nonprofit work was a bit of an oddity. My foster parents were great, but they also worried about my choice of a low-salary career path. Tate’s cheerleading was more than welcome, but I was also giddy for his Pal-entine’s Day plans.

Not a date. Not a date, I reminded myself for the hundredth time. But regardless of knowing Tate’s interest was likely purely platonic, a rekindling of an old friendship and a chance to help me out while I was injured, I couldn’t help the spark of hope every time he messaged. And several times on Sunday, I’d caught him staring at me with what seemed like more than friendly intent.

However, I was notoriously bad at telling when someone was interested, and the last thing I wanted to do was make Tate uncomfortable. I’d been trying to avoid flirty comments or unnecessary touches.

By six, I was dressed in a nice blue sweater and thick jeans, following Tate’s orders to dress warmly. I’d also learned since Saturday that clothes with buttons were my enemy, as were shoes with laces. Luckily, my winter boots were zipped up, not tied, and I managed my coat zipper right before Tate buzzed my apartment doorbell.

“You’re ready.” His clear pleasure at my punctuality made my chest expand. He also wore a thick coat and jeans. A hint of a red sweater peeked out from the coat, and unlike me, he’d figured out how to do hiking boot laces one-handed. “You probably won the graduate school attendance award.”

“Almost.” I returned his smile. “Lateness makes me anxious.”

“I know. Which is why Mouse and I are on time.” He gestured down at the dog, who wore a pink quilted coat and an unhappy expression.

“Mouse looks like she’d rather skip whatever outdoor activity you have planned and lounge on the couch instead.” As soon as I said the words, the dog tugged on her leash, doing her best to get over to the couch where Clifford was sprawled, grooming his nether regions, not a care in the world.

“Probably.” Tate frowned before reaching down and unclipping Mouse. “Maybe I should leave her here with Clifford, pick her up after our… thing .”

“That works.” Trying not to dwell on whether a thing was in the same universe as date, I moved a fuzzy throw blanket from the back of the couch to the seat next to Clifford, making a little nest for the small dog. “There. All set.” I returned to the doorway and Tate. “Still not going to tell me where we’re going? Please don’t say ice skating.”

“No, not ice skating, although I do think you deserve a better experience than your one disastrous date.” Tate ushered me out of the house and toward his truck. “I bet you could get the hang of it if I helped.”

“I wouldn’t take that bet.” I wasn’t entirely sure whether he meant ice skating or dating, but either way, my hopelessness would be no match for Tate’s enthusiasm.

“Ha. I’m a good teacher.” He paused by the truck to give me a pointed look that made heat zoom to all sorts of under-used locations. I wasn’t a virgin, but I wasn’t that far off either. However, even I, the walking dating disaster, could hear the flirt in Tate’s voice and see the heat in his eyes.

“I’m sure,” I mumbled, knowing full well I was blushing yet again. My thoughts shifted from whether Tate was flirting to why. Was this all simply part of helping me out post-injury? Was anyone truly that helpful? Or was there something else at work here, something born in that long-ago friendship? My pulse galloped like someone had cranked the carousel downtown to high speed.

“You look warm,” Tate said as we climbed into the truck. “I better turn the heater down before you overheat.”

“Thanks.” Spontaneous combustion was indeed a distinct possibility, but not for the reasons Tate assumed. I adjusted my coat before buckling my seatbelt. I half expected him to head downtown, where most of Mount Hope’s non-chain restaurants were located. Instead, he pointed the truck toward the rural road leading out of town, where scant few houses and orchards gave way to Christmas tree farms before the landscape shifted into what seemed like endless state-owned forests.

I wasn’t as familiar with this part of the Mount Hope outskirts. My parents had lived on the eastern edge of town, where there were fewer orchards and more derelict mobile homes and acres of invasive blackberry vines taking over flood plains for the area’s many rivers and streams. Thus, I didn’t guess our destination until Tate pulled into a deserted parking lot for a state park trailhead.

“We’re climbing Promise Point?” My voice went up a few notches. The weather was clear but decidedly nippy. And dark. Very dark, with only the truck headlights to cut through the forest. “At night?”

“Relax. It’s an easy walk, and I brought a flashlight.” Tate parked with his usual confidence. And he was likely right. A few solar lights dotted the parking area, so it wasn’t as pitch black as it had first seemed. I hadn’t done the trail myself, but it was popular with tourists to the Gorge. Rather than miles and miles long, most of the trail’s difficulty was in the steep steps up the rocky butte to the vantage point at the top. If we weren’t each already sporting injuries, I might be less apprehensive. Tate patted my leg, pitching his voice more soothing. “Trust me. The view of the town is more than worth the steps.”

Tate was, as always, right. Most of the area’s snow was in the upper elevations and surrounding mountains, but the steps were still slick, making for a slow climb. He’d come prepared, though, in sturdy hiking boots and with a high-powered flashlight for each of us. More than once, Tate had to steady me, not that I was going to complain about his hands on me. And after we made it to the top of the incline, I certainly wasn’t going to complain about the spectacular view of downtown Mount Hope twinkling beneath us.

“I’ve never been up here.” I gazed around in wonderment. The flat circular area was ringed by a low stone wall, and a few scattered rustic benches added to the sense of a hidden oasis. We were a scant fifteen minutes from downtown yet a world away.

“I figured as much.” Tate dusted the leaves off one of the nearby benches before gesturing for me to sit with him. The stone was dry but freezing, and I shivered. “Here.”

Tate put an arm around me, pulling me in against him as naturally as if he’d been doing it for years. His cast was a heavy weight on my shoulder that strangely reassured me. This wasn’t just anyone I was alone up here with. It was Tate. TNT. Nothing bad had ever happened with him along for the ride, and all week, I’d felt buoyant, blessed to have found him again in the ER of all places.

“I like this,” I whispered.

“Me too,” he whispered back with a little chuckle. “After dark, when the weather is warmer, this is mainly a teen and amateur photographer hangout, which is a shame because more people should know what a cool night view this is.”

“It really is.” I sat quietly, trying to take in all the glittering details of the valley below us. I also breathed deeply, absorbing Tate’s nearness and warmth, his woodsy scent and soft exhales. The view wasn’t the only thing worth memorizing.

“I forgot how pretty Mount Hope is,” I said softly after a while. “Forgot how much I liked it here. But now I’m so glad I saw that job announcement.”

“I am too.” Tate shifted, turning more toward me. “Welcome home, Tennessee.”

The air was frosty enough that my cheeks and nose stung, but still, I couldn’t look away from Tate, who was suddenly way more compelling than the world-class view. He was close enough now that I could feel his warm breath. Time slowed along with my heart, which threatened to pound out of my chest, a bass drum marking each second of Tate’s approach. He moved with glacial precision, his destination beyond obvious but his pace such that I could easily pull away.

As if.

I’d waited my whole life for this moment without even knowing it.