Page 50 of Fighting Gravity

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Rosie’s second weekend at his villa had somehow outshone the first. Tate hated letting her leave Sunday afternoon.

He had found small reasons to fall in love with her all weekend, like the way she chewed on her lip as she read his copy ofHarry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkabanas if she didn’t know what was going to happen. How she insisted on playing sous chef when he cooked. How she knew more constellations by sight than he did. The fact that she kissed him every single time she walked by. The way she breathed his name in gratitude after she came.

Rosie nestled into the villa all weekend had shown Tate how much she belonged there. How badly he wanted her there all the time, not just on sporadic weekends. But she had her own firm in San Diego and he had his business in Victory.

And he had an even bigger problem than distance to face. They still weren’t official. They were missing a label and one half of the “I love you” equation. Those holes dug deeper into his heart every day.

Days later, Tate was grilling in his outdoor kitchen, pondering the growing ache, when Quinn joined him, beer in hand. A lime stuck out of the neck.

“For me?” he asked, smiling. “What for?”

“Always cooking for me. I don’t think I’d eat otherwise.”

She took a seat at the picnic table under the covered patio and opened her iPad. Still in slacks and a blouse, she looked out of place on the unstained wood bench. Though Tate supposed he looked just as incongruous in his work attire behind the grill. At least he’d donned an apron. Carne asada could get messy.

Tate flipped the thin steaks as he hummed to himself. He had just poked the lime into the beer and took a long drink of the ice-cold lager when a bell-like peal reached his ears.

Quinn looked up. “What’s that noise?”

Tate paused. If the noise hadn’t come from one of her dozens of devices, he wasn’t sure. They looked at each other as the sound rang through the house again.

“Is that adoorbell? I didn’t even know we had one of those.”

“I didn’t, either.” All their deliveries went to OrbitAll, and Maria, their housekeeper, had a key. “Can you handle the door? I don’t want to ruin these steaks.”

Nodding, Quinn took off and Tate turned back to the grill. He wasn’t sure what kind of solicitor committed to visiting houses as remote as theirs, but he had to admire their tenacity.

He heard Quinn’s clicking heels approaching a few minutes later. He repositioned the sizzling meat before turning around to ask if the person had been lost or out of gas. But his words stuck in his throat. When they barreled through, all he could say was, “What the fuck?”

Maisie stood there. Maisie Case. His neighbor from Washington, a thousand miles away from home and clad in a belly-baring tank with shorts and flip-flops. Her hand went to her hip as she stared back.

Tate tore his eyes away from the strange spectacle of Maisie Case at his house to look at Quinn. He couldn’t even imagine what was going through her head, or what Maze had said to gain entrance. His cousin looked to be literally bursting with questions. Her fingers were pressed to her mouth like she was struggling to keep them at bay.

He voiced the most obvious one. “Maze, what are you doing here?”

“Taking you up on your offer. I need a place to crash for the rest of the week.”

Tate shook his head to clear the crazy. “Excuse me?”

Maisie burst out laughing. “Oh, my God. Your face. You look like you just got hit with surprise paternity on a daytime talk show. Calm down. I start grad school at UNLV in the fall. I’m moving to Vegas. My apartment won’t be ready until Sunday.”

Flustered, Tate switched off his grill. “So, you somehow found out where I lived and drove all the way out here?”

“Turns out you’re famous and so is your house. You weren’t hard to find. You said to let you know if we ever needed anything. I need a place to stay, and I figured you owed me. What’s another two hundred miles out of my way to see my friendTate?”

“Okay, I need to know: Who exactly are you?” Quinn cut in.

“His neighbor,” Maisie answered.

“Where?”

“At his cabin on the Skykomish River. Washington.”

“I see.” Quinn drug out the word like she’d just won the lottery. She didn’t know about his cabin. She just knew he had a secret refuge somewhere that he didn’t like to talk about. Quinn turned his way, hazel eyes dancing. Clearly gloating, she said, “A cabin in the woods is where you’ve been disappearing all these years.”

Tate rolled his eyes at her triumphant smirk. He brought his attention back to Maze. “You’re right. I owe you many times over. Stay. It’s not a problem.”

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