Page 62 of Safe With Me
So now I was assembling the fake tree, hating the plastic smell and the cheap texture of the faux fir tips. I missed the flexibility of fresh cedar and the sharp aroma of pine cuttings.
“I thought you were making decorations.” Andrea paused in her door.
I shrugged, trying and failing to fluff out a spindly branch. “I’ve been busier than I thought I’d be.”
“Pity.” Andrea stepped into the reception room, which had once been the living room in the historic converted house. “I saw photos of your work from last year. I was looking forward to them.”
Photos? More like Elizabeth’s videos, where she tweaked a few details and pretended what was mine was hers.
Exactly why I’d refused to look at her channel lately. I didn’t want to see her pretending Tate was hers, and that was exactly where her little scene from a week ago had been headed. He wasn’tmine, but he was mine for now.
“Katie Durham showed me. She was gushing about them.” Andrea lifted a thin strand of cheap, glittery tinsel and grimaced. “She was sad you didn’t take orders this year.”
So was I.
Andrea leaned against the antique credenza, in no seeming hurry to get back to work. “How much time does it take?”
“I can make a wreath in a couple of hours. A little longer for a garland.” I tried to straighten the top of the tree, but the spike insisted on learning sideways. This had to be a Dollar General special. Scott had probably bought it on after-Christmas clearance. “But I collect and dry the florals.”
Talking about it pushed a lump up in my throat. Imissedit.
“If you change your mind, I’d love to have something for the holidays.” Andrea pushed off the credenza and turned toward her office.
Impulse grabbed me. “Andrea?”
“Hmm?” She paused in the doorway.
“I could make one for you.” She’d been nice enough over the weeks I’d been working here. One little wreath wouldn’t kill me.
A slight smile, genuine and rare, tipped up the corners of her lips. “Thank you.”
Delicate excitement unfurled deep inside me, like a fern frond coming to life after a rain. The anticipation stayed with me all day, flourishing with each minute closer to the end of day. Ultimately, I left a little early, turning left out of the drive instead of right, headed for the woods.
Daddy owned thirty-seven acres he’d inherited from his daddy, who’d inherited the land from his daddy. Nestled in the middle was a cypress pond, and pine woods spread out all around it. Daddy kept it maintained for hunting, but I loved a different kind of hunting . . . foraging for greenery and florals. Somehow, I could always breathe better, think better, once I was deep in those towering pines.
Swapping my shoes for the rainboots I kept in my SUV, I grabbed my snips and bucket and ventured into the cool, shaded peace. I spent an hour cutting cedar and fir, adding some magnolia leaves and holly berries as I came across them. While I gathered the freshest, prettiest pieces, my thoughts settled andfocused on Tate. All day Sunday, I’d avoided thinking about him, about what had happened between us Saturday night. He’d gone for breakfast with Jase, and I’d been pleased to see him go because I simply needed some time and distance to sort out my feelings.
I’d thought dialing back the sex would lessen the impact of being with him. I’d been wrong, of course. Dancing with him, being held close to his solid strength had been amazing, and I’d enjoyed the night out as a whole. I don’t know how I’d followed Gracie’s conversation on the way back, my whole being obsessing over his request to spend the night in my bed.
We’d agreed to be together, I told myself, so I couldn’t keep him on the couch forever. I could handle extending the intimacy a little. Having him in my bed didn’t really mean anything.
I’d beencompletelyunprepared for what happened in my bed. The passion didn’t surprise me – we’d already explored that in multiple filthy ways in my living room. But the tenderness in the way he touched me afterward, the emotion in my whispered name on his lips? I didn’t know how to handle that.
He’d stayed the night, but we’d both retreated to our own sides of the bed. I’d rolled away, slept with my back to him.
And now I didn’t know how to maintain the emotional distance I thought I needed. I would have been better off to make it work with Tick or Park or any of the other men who’d never stood a chance against the idea of Tate Edwards.
Because I didn’t think I couldbeemotionally distant with him.
I had no choice except to decide how to live with that, either with or without him. Honestly, the idea scared me silly. If I chose to live with him without that emotional distance, well, that meant I had to trust him to keep me safe, when I didn’t really trust anyone like that, other than Sara and maybe Gracieand Tilda. I trusted Daddy, but the scars from those early years before I went to live with him remained. He’d left us with Mama, and part of me never forgot that.
On the drive home, my SUV filled with the rich scent of fresh-cut pine, I reminded myself no decision had to be made today. We were still new with only the thinnest of promises between us.
At home, I carried the cuttings through to the kitchen and spread out my wreath-making supplies on the table. Sitting with one foot tucked under me, I lifted the first branch and began pruning pieces down to size.
I’d almost finished the whole batch when the front door lock beeped and whirred open, the warm, yeasty smell of Nick’s pizza accompanying Tate’s entrance. He appeared in the kitchen opening, hair damp from a fresh shower and pizza box in hand.
“Hey.” He crossed to kiss me, his eyes landing on my wreath setup. The lines of his face softened, pleasure glinting in his dark eyes. “Glad to see you doing that.”
