Page 40 of Pucked Up Plans
I have to wipe down my sweaty fingers before ringing the doorbell. As soon as it chimes, another mistake hits me—Aubrey’s probably asleep and the bell will most likely wake her.
Nice work, asshole.Way to start the groveling off on the right foot.
As I’m about to freak out and give up, the outside light turns on. The sound of the dead bolt unlocking incites a jump in my heart. The door opens, and Tate stands on the other side, a shocked expression marring her features.
My eyes scan her. Her black hair’s pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head. Moving lower, she wears anoversized T-shirt with the logo of some construction company and pajama shorts.
“Hey.” Not my best opening.
“What are you doing here?” There’s fire in her tone, an unrecognizable hostility I’ve yet to experience with her.
“I brought dinner.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, highlighting the fact she’s not wearing a bra. “I already ate.”
Both my heart and ego deflate with her announcement.
“Oh. Flowers?” Unclear why I’m not affirmative with the word, I hold them up in front of the door.
Her deep set scowl softens the tiniest bit. It’s the crack in her composure I need.
“I’m sorry, Tate. I was unprepared when you turned me down for a date. Because I wanted to have dinner with you, spend some time getting to know you as more than Aubrey’s mom. But I totally get why you can’t go out. I thought maybe we could have a late dinner together if Aubrey was in bed. Seeing how you’ve already eaten, I’ll just go.” I turn around, but my mom’s words from earlier echo in my head. “Here. My mom would want you to have this.”
After word vomiting, I stand there awkwardly, the lasagna outstretched in my hands, loitering for Tate to make a move. Any move. But she just stands there, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted to the side, most likely plotting how to avoid me at preschool.
I notice a small stool next to the door, so I place the lasagna on it.
With one more look in Tate’s direction, I say, “Enjoy. See you around.”
I turn slowly, my feet heavy as I shuffle away from the door. Three steps away, I’m still holding the flowers. With a palm tomy forehead, I spin around. And come face-to-face with Tate. I didn’t even hear the door open.
Unsteady on my feet, I almost knock her down, but she reaches out to keep me upright.
“Is your mom’s lasagna as good as her chili?”
Her inquiry bewilders me. So does her contrite look. Because if anyone should feel that way, it’s me. Not her. She did nothing wrong.
“Better,” I confirm with a smile.
“Aubrey wanted chicken nuggets for dinner.”
“Okay?” I’m unsure why she’s telling me this. Before we go any further, I thrust the flowers into her hands. “I didn’t know which ones were your favorites. I couldn’t leave the store without these. The colors were just so…”
She reaches for the outstretched blooms, bringing them to her nose to smell. “Vibrant. Fall. Gorgeous.” The last word falls out in a whisper. “The chicken nuggets weren’t what I wanted for dinner.” She looks up in earnest at me.
Again, I don’t know why she mentions this. “What did you want?” I ask without hesitation.
“Lasagna sounds pretty good now. You hungry?”
Finally catching on to what she’s going on about, I exclaim heartedly, “Starved.”
“Aubrey’s sleeping, so we’ll have to be quiet in the kitchen. If she wakes up and sees you, she’s going to ask for Lennon.”
“I have some experience sneaking around.” Tate’s eyes widen, and as the words filter through my brain, they sound horrible. “Being quiet in the house,” I amend. “That’s the only sneaking I do.”
Tate doesn’t respond with words, just actions.
With her empty hand, she interlaces our fingers. Her hand is warm to the touch. With her hand in mine, I’d follow her anywhere.
