Page 13 of Fighting Gravity

Rosie’s heartbeat accelerated. Grief lived in his eyes, but so did truth. And desire. Fire flooded through her body at the swirl of emotions in his eyes. Desire had found her, too.

Tate reached a hand toward her slowly, silently asking if he could touch her again. She recognized that the connection wouldn’t be for comfort this time. No, he wanted more. Rosie met his fingers with her own. He pulled her closer at that same agonizing pace, giving her ample opportunity to pull away. She didn’t.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she came to a stop against his hard body. What was she doing? She didn’t let men close to her anymore. She didn’t even know Tate. But she couldn’t concentrate on what she didn’t know or didn’t do as his arms brought her closer. She did know that he was stroking her hair mid-back and the sensation was driving her wild. She knew how high the fire inside her was climbing from his closeness. She felt singed yet safe. That’s what Rosie knew.

“Thank you for being there for me earlier,” he whispered. “Thank you for being here for me now.” She felt his breath on her jaw seconds before his soft lips and rough stubble met the sensitive skin of her neck.

A sigh escaped as she leaned into his mouth. Rosie’s chest arched into his, and her grip on the back of his shirt tightened. Heat pooled low. The kiss was chaste, brief, but it changed her.

He gently released her, running his hands down her bare arms. Rosie stepped back to stare into his perfect face, floored by what felt like an awakening. As if something dormant had been coaxed back to life.

8

Tate went straight from Seattle-Tacoma International Airport to his storage unit in Seattle’s SoDo district. Spring had sprung in Washington, but he barely noticed the late June foliage as the Uber driver navigated them through town.

The trip to Florida had been as hard as he’d expected. Wendy, George’s widow—Tate still choked on the word even in his mind—had been nearly inconsolable. She had clung to Tate and sobbed and said exactly what he’d been thinking: She wished George hadn’t left OrbitAll. But what Rosie had pointed out held true. George had never wanted to be an absentee grandfather; he was a hands-on man with lots of love to give. None of Tate’s offers had tempted him, but he didn’t want to add to the family’s guilt. He stayed for a few days, empathized, paid for the funeral expenses, and promised to visit.

At the gate of the nondescript storage facility, Tate entered the key code into the call box and headed inside. The facility was quiet. He seemed to be the only customer retrieving personal items that afternoon. He pulled the key out of his carry-on and shoved the unit’s door to the ceiling. The sight of his black-on-black Mustang greeted him. Another newer model. The only other items in the unit were two sets of clothes: one casual, one business.

He pulled the Mustang out onto the drive aisle and locked the unit door behind him. His cabin was forty-five miles northeast, nestled along the Skykomish River. He knew he’d spend the entire drive thinking about the noise Rosie had made when his lips had connected with her skin. He preferred daydreaming about her over thinking of George or his bereft family.

Rosie had sent a follow-up email, too. She hadn’t mentioned the fact that Tate had kissed her without permission the second time they’d ever seen each other. No, Rosie had shared that in her hardest times, the Harry Potter books had helped her through.

The admission had taken him entirely by surprise. If Tate had been worried that there was anything artful about Rosie Flynn, architect and stunning redhead—and he hadn’t been—the fact that she found solace in Harry Potter would have convinced him otherwise. He’d ordered the set immediately and had them shipped to his cabin.

He should not have kissed his architect. He knew better. But she’d soothed the dark, lonely place that had cracked open when George had died. Her words, the feel of her, had filled in his broken pieces. He didn’t know why, since they barely knew each other. He also didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that knowledge. With her. With the “legacy over love” motto hanging over his head.

Maybe a few days in the cabin would give him a clue. God knew he needed cool, tree-swept air, a dark sky full of stars, some solitude, and a giant fucking scotch with Donovan. His neighbor was a man who could turn any dark situation brighter.

Fifty minutes later, he pulled onto the fir-lined dirt path that served as the driveway to his cabin. His shoulders dropped and his heart lifted as the simple A-frame home came into view. The place wasn’t much. One bedroom, single bathroom, small kitchen, and a loft. He had shown up on an empty plot of land eight years ago with no idea how to execute the plans he’d printed from the internet. Over those eight years, the entire Case family had pitched in to help. Jennifer cooked, Donovan and his two boys built and bullshitted, while Maisie, their youngest, helped, too. She was handy with a hammer. They’d finished the deck, his favorite feature of the house, summer before last. Many an idle hour had passed there, a luxury for someone like him.

He killed the Mustang’s rumbling engine, grabbed his bag from the trunk, and headed straight to the deck. The sound of birdsong and rushing river filled his ears. Tate closed his eyes and inhaled. His bag dropped from his hand. For a few glorious minutes, all he did was breathe.

When he let thoughts creep back in, he realized he was fucking starving. All the food in the pantry would be expired by now. It had been eighteen months since he’d last visited. Eighteen months since he’d even checked in with the family next door. Still, maybe Jennifer would take pity on him and ask him to stay for dinner.

The familiar smell of cedar assailed his nose as he shoved open the door to the cabin. The air was warm and stale, but his furniture wasn’t dusty. The cleanliness surprised him. But then he spied a can of Pledge and some leather cleaner on the kitchen counter and knew that the Cases, once again, had been looking out for him. They did a much better job being neighborly than he did. With Rosie reminding him of the importance of trust, Tate recognized that some changes needed to be made when it came to the people next door. He’d been holding himself back from the Cases for too long.

He opened all the windows and washed his face before tromping the well-trodden path through thick forest to the Cases’ sprawling home. The portable lanterns were still there, at his side and theirs, meant to be used as they moved between houses in the dark. He knocked on their back door. Within moments, Jennifer answered. She blinked a couple of times, likely processing the face she hadn’t seen in so long, before shrieking and throwing her arms around him. “Oh, honey! I’m so happy to see you!”

“Me too, Jenn. Thanks for taking care of my cabin.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. Come in, come in.” She yanked him into her warm kitchen that smelled like butter and onions.

Their place was spacious, very plaid, and on the shabbier side of shabby chic. The kids had been raised there by the former corporate couple who had wanted something different for their children than city life.

“Maze!” She yelled. “Get down here! Matt’s back!”

And there it was. Eight years ago, OrbitAll had been struggling. Tate had been struggling. His second year of being in charge had been the hardest. When he’d showed up here, he had wanted to be anyone besides Tatum Geier. When he met the Case kids, Maddox, Malone, and Maisie, his brother’s name had just slipped out. The name fit. And then he’d been stuck. At what point do you say, “Just kidding. My name’s not Matt.”

For eight years, Tate had evaded questions about his job and life. The only personal detail they had was his cell number. He knew the time had come to confess. He just needed the right moment.

He noted the strangely empty living room as he moved toward the staircase. Maisie came bounding down, mocha legs on display, curly black hair down to her waist, and looking more adult than Tate had ever seen her. His heart squeezed with a feeling he couldn’t identify. Affection? Pride?

“Matt!” She leapt off the bottom stair into his arms to give him the same warm welcome as her mother.

“Wow, Maze. You’re all grown up.”

Letting him go, she gave him a funny look. “I’m twenty-two. I’ve been grown up for a while. And it hasn’t been that long since we’ve seen you.” She looked him up and down, some emotion flickering there. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

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