Page 31 of Fighting Gravity

Later, much later, Rosie helped him in the kitchen. She shared how learning to cook had been an unexpected part of her healing, how it had replaced yoga, though she missed that part of her life.

She giggled with Quinn during dinner, mostly as Quinn told stories making fun of Tate. Even with himself as the butt of the jokes, Tate couldn’t help but love what Rosie brought into the house. She shed light everywhere she walked.

Quinn tactfully retreated after dinner.

“What’s your drink?” he asked Rosie after they were alone again in the kitchen.

She was smiling. She hadn’t stopped smiling since her first orgasm. Tate’s stomach soared with the knowledge that he’d achieved his goal for her weekend. Still, he wanted Rosie to embrace being his whole world.

“I’m not picky. I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Straight bourbon?”

Her face crinkled in distaste.

“I’ll open another bottle of wine,” he offered, chuckling.

He poured their drinks while she watched. When his hands were free, she sauntered up to get her glass, purposely pressing her body into his to reach for it. Smirking, she moved to take a sip, but Tate snagged her free wrist, drew her against him, and placed her arm around his neck. “You teasing me,ma belle?”

“Maybe.”

He nipped her bottom lip before assuaging the spot with his tongue. His hands spread across her ribcage as she hummed in his mouth. He delighted in her moans and the hard nipples against his chest. Their tongues tangled and teased as they fought to see who could get closer. Finally, Tate broke away.

“Now we’re even.”

She pursed her lips in mock annoyance.

He gestured with his head toward the corridor that led to his patio. Rosie followed him. He flicked off the lights as they went. Outside, darkness and cool air swallowed them. Tate switched on the red lights that would allow them to see both their surroundings and the stars. Rosie chose a chair and snuggled up, wrapping the chenille blanket over her body so only her face was exposed. He smiled, his heart squeezing.

“Fire or no fire?”

She chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll warm me if needed.”

“You’re right.” He settled into his own chair and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light and the sight of Rosie in his favorite space.

“What do you do out here?” she asked.

Tate tipped his head up to the sky. The moonless night was perfect for stargazing. A blanket of bright stars covered them. “This. It’s my dreaming spot. I just let my mind run wild. All my best ideas for OrbitAll have come from sitting here and staring at the sky.”

“A dreaming spot. I love that. I might have to work one into my next design.”

Would she still love it if she knew what he’d been dreaming about lately? “What do you dream about, Rosie?”

She smiled at the stars. “Oh, nothing big. Just solving the homeless crisis.”

Tate chuckled. “Yeah, no biggie.”

“Indeed.” They were silent for a while. Then she said, “I do have an idea, though. Well, a wall of ideas, of drawings, at work.”

Tate was intrigued. “Drawings that solve the homeless crisis?”

“Only regulatory changes, serious organization, and massive amounts of funding can solve the homeless crisis, but I have an idea for modular housing that might help. My big dream is to finalize a prototype and start pitching the design to municipalities. San Diego, San Francisco, Portland, Seattle. I’d gift the solution, of course. Abode doesn’t need to make money off the idea. We just want to help meet a community need.”

The parallel to his own line of thinking when he had been handed OrbitAll struck Tate in the gut. Rosie was fucking perfect—in general, and for him. Beautiful inside and out. They could have a partnership unlike any he’d ever seen in his family.

“I dream about you sometimes,” he told her.

Like now.

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