Page 101 of Perfectly Grumpy

“I know, Sunny,” he whispers, stroking the back of my hair. “If it helps, I like it when you talk about her. It makes me feel like I’m getting to know her, even though she’s not here.”

I smile in the dark, despite my eyes filling with tears. “I wish my dad would still talk about her.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not thinking of her,” Tate says. “Your dad still misses your mom. He’s just learning how to love again. You can love someone who’s gone. It never has to end.”

I breathe in that thought—so much comfort in knowing my dad still holds Mom in his heart. “I know it’s true; I just wish he’d waited until after the reunion to start dating,” I say, feeling a little guilty, even though Tate doesn’t judge me for it.

He stops dancing, his hand stills on my back. “Not everything comes at the right time, Sunny. Especially when it comes to love. Sometimes, it shows up at the worst possible time.”

In the darkness, I can feel his fingers trailing along my back with a tenderness that makes my breath catch. They reach the curve of my neck, his thumb stroking lightly across my collarbone.

“Tate, why do you hate small spaces so much?” I ask, trying to change the subject before I do something I might regret later.

His whole body freezes. “It was when I was eight, before my sister got sick. We were playing in the woods near our house, and she saw a kitten or raccoon or something dart into this storm drain that went under a road. You know the kind, a pipe just wide enough for a kid to crawl into that’s open on both ends.”

My chest tightens, already sensing where this is going.

“She went in after it, but she didn’t go far. A few seconds later, she started screaming. She was stuck, panicking, couldn’t move. I tried to talk her out, but she was too scared. So I crawled in to rescue her, and managed to help her out, but by then, I couldn’t move. I was wedged between the walls, stuck with my arms pinned and my face pressed sideways, and it was dark. I remember every second—how hot it got, how hard it was to breathe.”

He shifts on his feet. “It took the firefighters twenty minutes to get me out. My sister was crying. And after that…I never felt okay in small spaces again.”

“Tate,” I whisper, my hand finding his in the dark. “No one could feel safe after that.”

He shrugs, but it’s a forced motion.Pretend.“The newspaper came out and took a picture. My face was all over the news, and I hated every second.”

My eyes blur with tears. “Which is why…” My voice nearly cracks. “You don’t like pictures.”

“Yeah, Sunny,” he whispers so quietly I almost miss it.

It all makes sense now. His resistance toward the spotlight. How he skips photo shoots. He’s not trying to be difficult, he’s trying to survive. To take someone’s trauma and make a spectacle out of it is the worst kind of PR stunt.

“And then a year later, she was diagnosed,” he says. “Spent the rest of her life in hospital rooms, hooked up to machines. Trapped in her own body. Maybe that’s part of it, too. Sickness is a different kind of trapped…but just as scary.”

My hand slides up to his cheek, where I cup his face. “You are the bravest person I know.”

“I’m not brave, Sunny.” He shakes his head. “I just didn’t have a choice.”

“That’s what brave is, Tate. It means when you face danger, you don’t run. You put yourself in harm’s way, even if it means you get hurt, too.”

I bring his face to mine, resting my forehead against his in the dark.

For a beat, we just stay this way, breathing together in the dark, because this is the only thing I know how to do.

His hand brushes lightly against my waist, tentative, like he’s afraid I’ll pull away.

I don’t.

“You always act like you’re the logical one,” I murmur, “but underneath all that logic, you care more than anyone I know.”

“Only about the things that matter,” he says. “All the facts, all the knowledge in the world can’t replace my sister.”

“I know, but it’s what makes you special.” I reach up on my tiptoes and tip my mouth closer to his. I can feel the hesitation there, the wanting. There’s an undeniable pull between us, as if we’re standing on the edge of something monumental. But if I let myself surrender to it, we can never go back—not to how things used to be. Now there’s more to lose, because we’ve shared a piece of ourselves that no one else gets to see. I’ve cracked the door open to my heart, letting him in, and now all I want is for him to kick it all the way open.

Suddenly, the basement door creaks, followed by a voice. “Tate? Lauren?” Aunt Karen’s calls echo down the stairwell.

“How did she…?” I whisper.

“Shhh.” Tate buries me in his arms, his lips against the shell of my ear. “Stay quiet.”

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