Tate now.
Her reaction had just been a confluence of many things. It would work itself out. She’d be fine. It was all perfectly normal, and, honestly, a very good sign.
She couldn’t—and really shouldn’t—act on any of it, of course, but it meant she was getting there.
Progress was often slow, but it was good, and once she progressed through this stage, the Tate-tingles wouldn’t be an issue.
After so much thinking last night, she hadn’t gotten much sleep, but she was in a good mood opening Latte Dah anyway.
She no longer had to dread her meeting with Tate. It was still going to be a little awkward and uncomfortable, all things considered. But she’d just act as normal as possible, treat him the same way she always had before, and this would pass.
A little after ten, the chimes over the door rang, and she looked up to see Tate.
“Sorry I’m a little late. Crazy morning,” he added with a smile and a shrug of explanation.
There was definitely something residual from last night happening in her veins, but she ignored it. “It’s fine. Is everything okay?”
“Just the usual stuff,” he answered, as if she wassupposed to know what that might mean. She didn’t, but she nodded anyway.
“Can I get you something?” she asked.
“Coffee would be great.”
She waited, but Tate didn’t expound on his order. “Want to narrow that down for me?”
Tate laughed. “Guess I need to. Just plain coffee. Nothing fancy.”
“That’s easy enough.” As she poured, she saw Tate looking around, a little crease forming between his eyebrows.
“Did you paint in here?”
“No. Why?”
“It looks different somehow.”
She looked around, trying to see if anything was out of place, but it was just Latte Dah: sea blue walls loaded with old photos of Magnolia Beach she’d found at a church rummage sale, overstuffed couches, tables with mismatched chairs—also from the rummage sale—all shabby chic and intentionally homey. “I don’t know why,” she finally said.
“Maybe I’m just tired or something.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “How’s Nigel?”
“Grumpy. I think he knew I wanted to check his weight last night and wouldn’t let me pet him.”
He laughed. “They do seem to know, don’t they?”
Tate seemed to be acting pretty normally, not showing any lingering effects of last night’s debacle, but then why would he? He wasn’t the one who’d spent the majority of the evening examining his psyche for cracks. If he wanted to forget the entire evening ever happened, she was good with that.
Tate accepted the coffee with a nod of thanks, and she gestured toward the table where she’d stacked all of Mrs. Kennedy’s notes. “Let’s talk about the Children’s Fair.”
He sighed. “I don’t know why you’re freaking out over this,” he said calmly.
She was not going to dignify that with a list of reasons why freaking out was the exact correct response. Hell, back in Fuller everyone would be in a panic on her behalf. No, in Fuller, no one would dream of putting her in charge in the first place. They knew she was a screwup, too flaky to be trusted not to burn the whole thing down. And while she was trying to think positively, deep down she was afraid they were about to be proven right. There were still plenty of reasons for Molly to be worried. Tate was just obviously one of those people who didn’t freak out about things, which was practically a guarantee he was going to grate across her last nerve very shortly. “Beyond the fact that this is quite an important piece of the weekend’s festivities that needs to be done right if I’m ever to hold my head up in town again, the truth is I have zero experience planning anything like this.”
“Attitude and personality are what’s important. Everything else is teachable,” he reminded her.
“You’re real funny.”
“I try.” At her look, he lifted his hands in defeat. “Okay, joking aside, show me what you’ve
Her reaction had just been a confluence of many things. It would work itself out. She’d be fine. It was all perfectly normal, and, honestly, a very good sign.
She couldn’t—and really shouldn’t—act on any of it, of course, but it meant she was getting there.
Progress was often slow, but it was good, and once she progressed through this stage, the Tate-tingles wouldn’t be an issue.
After so much thinking last night, she hadn’t gotten much sleep, but she was in a good mood opening Latte Dah anyway.
She no longer had to dread her meeting with Tate. It was still going to be a little awkward and uncomfortable, all things considered. But she’d just act as normal as possible, treat him the same way she always had before, and this would pass.
A little after ten, the chimes over the door rang, and she looked up to see Tate.
“Sorry I’m a little late. Crazy morning,” he added with a smile and a shrug of explanation.
There was definitely something residual from last night happening in her veins, but she ignored it. “It’s fine. Is everything okay?”
“Just the usual stuff,” he answered, as if she wassupposed to know what that might mean. She didn’t, but she nodded anyway.
“Can I get you something?” she asked.
“Coffee would be great.”
She waited, but Tate didn’t expound on his order. “Want to narrow that down for me?”
Tate laughed. “Guess I need to. Just plain coffee. Nothing fancy.”
“That’s easy enough.” As she poured, she saw Tate looking around, a little crease forming between his eyebrows.
“Did you paint in here?”
“No. Why?”
“It looks different somehow.”
She looked around, trying to see if anything was out of place, but it was just Latte Dah: sea blue walls loaded with old photos of Magnolia Beach she’d found at a church rummage sale, overstuffed couches, tables with mismatched chairs—also from the rummage sale—all shabby chic and intentionally homey. “I don’t know why,” she finally said.
“Maybe I’m just tired or something.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “How’s Nigel?”
“Grumpy. I think he knew I wanted to check his weight last night and wouldn’t let me pet him.”
He laughed. “They do seem to know, don’t they?”
Tate seemed to be acting pretty normally, not showing any lingering effects of last night’s debacle, but then why would he? He wasn’t the one who’d spent the majority of the evening examining his psyche for cracks. If he wanted to forget the entire evening ever happened, she was good with that.
Tate accepted the coffee with a nod of thanks, and she gestured toward the table where she’d stacked all of Mrs. Kennedy’s notes. “Let’s talk about the Children’s Fair.”
He sighed. “I don’t know why you’re freaking out over this,” he said calmly.
She was not going to dignify that with a list of reasons why freaking out was the exact correct response. Hell, back in Fuller everyone would be in a panic on her behalf. No, in Fuller, no one would dream of putting her in charge in the first place. They knew she was a screwup, too flaky to be trusted not to burn the whole thing down. And while she was trying to think positively, deep down she was afraid they were about to be proven right. There were still plenty of reasons for Molly to be worried. Tate was just obviously one of those people who didn’t freak out about things, which was practically a guarantee he was going to grate across her last nerve very shortly. “Beyond the fact that this is quite an important piece of the weekend’s festivities that needs to be done right if I’m ever to hold my head up in town again, the truth is I have zero experience planning anything like this.”
“Attitude and personality are what’s important. Everything else is teachable,” he reminded her.
“You’re real funny.”
“I try.” At her look, he lifted his hands in defeat. “Okay, joking aside, show me what you’ve
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