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I took Jimmy out for a thank you dinner earlier in the week, and he’d helped me prepare a concrete plan to show I’d changed.
By Friday, I felt ready, nervous, and on the edge of euphoria. Read-nerv-phoria. Look it up. It’s a thing. Or it should be. Opening up communication with Tamra had been what I’d hoped for when I dedicated the book to her and outed myself. But part of me never thought I’d hear from her again. Waiting for our night together kept me on a knife edge of pleasure-pain at the possibilities.
My plan’s beauty was in its simplicity. Step one: show up. Very important, that step one. I figured I had that one nailed. My new habits made missing commitments a thing of the past. Step two: prepare something delicious for us to enjoy. That played to my strengths, and I chose a recipe that I could mostly make ahead, to enable step three: shower her with my love and attention. Jimmy had advised me to “Woo the shit out of her.”
Wooing meant sharing my best self with Tamra, and I prepared everything for our date with care. It took most of the day, and I could feel the cursor on my laptop blinking in silent accusation for missing writing time, but I managed to resist the lure. I had temptation of a whole other kind headed my way tonight.
I opened the door to Tamra with a smile that lit up my entire face. She showed. A small part of me had thought it would be the perfect revenge to stand me up and blow me off for good. Instead, she was giving me a real chance.
Tamra wore form-fitting jeans and a red top that took my breath away. Her dark curls and eyes popped against the red color. She returned my smile, and I immediately made it weird, moving in for a hug. As my hands made contact to pull her in close, my brain fired distress signals. This was not the wooing plan! Too fast! Too fast! Abort! However, her face remained open, and she stepped into my arms to return the hug.
“If you’re going to charge me to let me go, I warn you, I didn’t bring any cash tonight. You might have to hold me forever.”
I relaxed into the embrace, laughing softly. “I’m feeling pretty deprived; don’t tempt me.” With a last second of firm pressure, I released her and stepped back. Residual tingles spread through my body.
Step one complete. Time for step two.
“Please, come in. Can I get you a bottle of wine?” I asked. Shit. That hadn’t come out right.
Tamra smiled mischievously. “A bottle, huh? You’re pulling out all the stops. I’d love a glass though.”
That tilt of her bright red lips was destroying my brain synapses. Words were hard. I swallowed, imagining those cherry red lips along the edge of a glass or wrapped around something warmer. I wasn’t smooth at the best of times, but at this rate, a functional MRI would show the pleasure centers of my brain lit up like fireworks if she so much as laughed. I’d been reduced to the conversational skills of a toddler. Mine. Now.
Tamra followed me into the kitchen, where I poured each of us a glass and focused on the golden liquid. I couldn’t rush this. Tamra deserved my time. She deserved my attention. I met her warm brown gaze as I handed her the glass.
“What’s for dinner? The fatted calf? A pork shoulder roasted in the tears of my enemies?”
She caught me as I was taking a sip, and I snorted wine, the sting in my sinuses making my eyes water. Coughing to clear my airway gave me time to think about my response. “Wrong script. How about a very manly, ‘I’m sorry’ quiche Lorraine, or in this case a quiche Tamra, with an ‘hugs and kisses’ salad, followed by cupcakes with heart-shaped messages for dessert?”
Her eyes widened. “Too much?” I asked innocently.
It was too much. But I didn’t want to risk her missing my point.
She squinted one eye at me. “Really?”
I hadn’t spent most of the day in the kitchen for nothing. Again, “wooing the shit.” I nodded. “Truth. Are you hungry? I chose these dishes so we could eat whenever you’re ready in case you want to relax first.”
She shook her head. “I’m not hungry, but now I am dying of curiosity to find out what a hugs and kisses salad is.”
I stroked my chin. “Then my evil plan is working. I want to make sure you stick around long enough to hear me out.”
She was silent, and the awkwardness lingered. Tamra shifted in her seat and took a sip of her wine before her gaze met mine. “When Jimmy came to see me, he claimed you’ve spent a lot of time working on changing. Tell me more about what’s new with you.”
I took a deep breath. Woo. The shit. I showed her my new organization tools and alarms. The habit tracker I’d diligently filled out, each day showing my writing time and other activities. I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or only being polite. Tamra wasn’t saying much at all. When I finished, she was quiet. Her dark curls rioted around her head like a bevy of question marks. My stomach sank. I hadn’t convinced her. “What do you think? Is it enough that you’ll give me another chance?”
“Another chance at being my wedding date?” Her head tilted. “I’m all out of family weddings,” she said.
My gut clenched and I blurted out, “What about yours?”
“That one’s not happening anytime soon,” she said gently.
Right. Too fast. But not a no.
“So, you’re telling me there’s a chance? Nope. Don’t answer that. I want to enjoy the possibility.” I cleared my throat, plowing ahead, “I know I wasn’t a good friend to you, and all of this may look more like theater than reality.” I gestured to my work planner and schedule. “I believed the only way to prove that you were constantly in my thoughts was to publish our book, but I also wanted to make sure you knew how sincerely I missed having you in my life.”
I moved to the drawer of my desk, pulling out a large document-sized envelope and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
Making it weird since the nineties. That was me. I took a deep breath and nodded at the envelope. “Proof. You don’t have to read it now, but I’m hoping you’ll take it with you tonight. There’s an apology letter. You know, in case I screwed this up in person. It’s been known to happen.” I cleared my throat again, shifting my weight. “I’m going to step into the kitchen and put together our plates. Can I get you another glass?”
She nodded and handed me hers, then stood glancing down at the envelope in her hands. I couldn’t watch. I moved into the kitchen to focus on dinner. I meticulously cut her a slice of quiche, careful not to ruin the “I’m sorry” spelled out in the crust on her piece. Next, I artfully arranged carrot matchsticks and radish rounds in an XOXO pattern over the top of her mixed greens salad. If I was going over the top, then I was doing it in style. My goal was to erase all doubt in Tamra’s mind about her importance in my life.
I glanced up. Tamra still sat on the couch, reading the my daily editing plan. Most people wouldn’t find the equivalent of weeks of timecards romantic. Maybe it helped that every day was filled with doodles and notes of things I’d wished I could have told her about, interspersed with the proof that I’d changed. Found balance. Missed her terribly, mostly. But I hadn’t fallen into the panacea of work to the exclusion of all else. I’d shown I could be more for her and for myself. Her eyes were shiny, and I didn’t know if that meant I was on the right track or had totally sunk my battleship. She wiped her eyes discreetly and pushed the letter back into the folio before approaching me at the table.
“Chase.” She sighed, running her hands over the envelope. I felt that sigh to my toes. Disappointment crashed through me, and I did my best to control my expression before she caught me. “I feel this is an appropriate time to mention that I’m not wearing any underwear.”
She cleared her throat and the sound ricocheted through my brain, lighting up the lustful dreams I abandoned when I thought my plan had failed. “Not to be sexy; just to be safe. I like my underwear and don’t want it torn.” She caught my confused expression and clarified. “Aaand I’m kidding,” she said.
I laughed and felt the tension bleed out of my shoulders. Her twinkling good humor reassured me.
“Does that mean that I’m forgiven?” I asked softly as I tugged her to her feet and into the shelter of my arms. “I’m truly sorry I hurt you.”
Tamra tilted her head back until I could see the liquid warmth in her dark eyes. “I’ve never had such a thorough apology.”
That wasn’t a yes, but the way she leaned into my body gave me hope. I cleared my throat. “Why don’t we eat while we talk?”
She smiled and took her seat at the table.
“This looks delicious.” She caught sight of the lettering on her piece and laughed. “Chase, I’m sensing a theme here.”
I shrugged sheepishly, grabbed the utensils, and joined her for dinner. I picked at my own food, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Her blissed out face after her first bite of quiche helped me focus on my own plate.
I opened my mouth to ask her about her week, or her sisters, then reconsidered. I didn’t want to pick at any old wounds. She caught me staring.
“What?” she asked. “Do I have egg on my face?”
I forced a smile. “Nope. Pretty sure that’s me.”
Tamra tilted her head, and the dark curls cascaded over one shoulder. Her expression was serene. I cleared my throat. “Do you think you can forgive me?”
She pushed a bite around before making eye contact with me.
“I’m through being a quitter.”
I couldn’t mask my confusion. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She shrugged and pushed an O shaped radish round in circles. I scowled. “Tamra, I’m the asshole here. If we need a panel of the finest strangers to testify on your behalf, we can post it as a question online, but I think we both know the answer.” I held a hand to my chest. “I’m the screw-up.”
She shook her head and refused to look at me. “Hey. Hey,” I said, wrapping my hand around hers where she gripped her fork. She finally looked up, and what I saw in her eyes had me letting go immediately. She didn’t believe me. I shook my head. No. My letter was supposed to make her feel better, more confident in my feelings for her. Not gaslight her into something she didn’t want.
If she truly didn’t want me, then I needed to walk away. I took a sip of wine to ease the tightness in my chest. Yes, I wanted to convince her to give me another try, but make her feel like a quitter for refusing me. She had to want it too.
I swallowed down the ache. The last thing I wanted was to lose this chance. So why was I giving it up without a fight? Her brown eyes told the story. For Tamra. I’d do anything for her. If I wasn’t what she needed, then it was better to realize it now.
As much as it pained me, I forced the next words out. “I think we should be friends.”
Her bewildered expression had me blowing past the bullshit clogging my throat and serving it up like the finest fudge. “Until I can prove myself. This way, if I screw up, you’re free to move on. No quitting required.”
Tamra gave her head a shake, as if she heard me wrong. I wanted to backtrack. Pull the words back in and smash them down into my burning gut. As much as I wanted her in my life, I didn’t want her manipulated to be there. She had to want me, not fear what leaving me said about her.
“What is it you think is happening here?” she asked.
“You said it yourself—you’re tired of being a quitter. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay with me.”
Her brows arched. “Oh, yeah? Then why should I stay?”
I swallowed. Hard. Did I argue for what I wanted, or what I thought she needed? Sensing my indecision, she pushed forward. “Should I stay because I feel special, seen, and accepted for maybe the first time in my life? Or because you cook a mean apology meal? How about because I can’t stop thinking about you, and I want to be with you?”
I swallowed again and nodded. Relief flowed through me at her words.
“Yeah? Which one?” she asked softly.
“Any of them, but I’m hoping it’s for more than my cooking.” I swallowed and forced a smile. “There’s always takeout.”
Her lips tilted up, and my smile became more genuine. I reached out and clasped her fingers in mine, enjoying the elegant arch of her knuckles and the short nails. “So, you’re ready to try this. Us? For real?”
I didn’t hold my breath, but I wanted to. She nodded. “Chase, I’m ready.”
“You know I’m going to mess up again?”
“So am I.” Her eyes met mine and she shrugged. “I didn’t have to take it so hard when you stood me up. You forgetting about me reminded me of all the times my own family showed how easy it was to ignore me. Like nothing had changed, and I was still the easily overlooked one.”
I shook my head. “No. Never forgotten. If anything, I was thinking of you too much—would Tamra like this scene? Will she laugh here?”
“So, you’re saying that in addition to my nursing career, I can tell my family I’m also a full-time muse?”
I couldn’t hold back my grimace. “Maybe not your sisters.”
Tamra’s brows rose in question, and I shivered theatrically. “I think we’ve given Jennifer more than enough gossip material for one lifetime.”
Tamra laughed, and we settled into an easy rhythm, talking like we hadn’t had a gap in our time together. Like I hadn’t almost ruined everything. Again. After dinner, we settled on the couch.
Every brush of our hands built like static in my bloodstream. I was afraid touching her again would zap me, but at the same time I wanted to feel the burn. Tamra peered through her lashes. “You know what would help make this apology stick?”
“No, but I’m all ears.”
“Can you be all tongues?”
She surprised a laugh out of me. My head nodded like a bobblehead toy and she smiled in response.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re direct?”
Tamra smiled. “It’s the new me—going after what I want. Taking risks. Not giving up.”
My heart beat heavy in my chest.
“And what do you want most right now?”
Say me. Say me.
“To make your words reality.”
Close, but not quite. I swallowed, trying to push down the lump in my throat. “Which ones?” I asked.
She leaned in and ran a finger down the open throat of my collared shirt, tracing the pulse beating a tattoo in my throat. Tamra advanced to straddle my lap, and I groaned as her warm weight settled over my groin. Sweet torture. Her dark eyes met mine.
“I’m partial to the steamy ones.”
I swallowed. Words. She was talking about words. Now if only I could find some.
“I take it you’re a fan of the pool table scene in my book?”
She wrapped her hands around my neck and leaned back, pushing her hips into mine. It was her turn to become a bobblehead. “Oh, yeah. It’s just a shame you don’t have one.”
My grin spread slowly across my face. “Have I ever mentioned my game room?” She shook her head, and I bit back a groan as her body rocked on mine with the motion. “I converted my spare room into a gaming space. I have a pool table, gaming consoles, and a TV.”
She released her hands from behind my neck and pushed to her feet with a saucy grin.
“Do you want to grab supplies and show me this fabled game room of yours?”
Assuming supplies was code for condoms and lube, I responded with alacrity. “Yes.” I stood and grabbed her hand, tugging her gently behind me as I stepped into my room for provisions from my bedside table. I nodded toward the bed, gesturing with our clasped hands.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather spend time together in here? It’s definitely more comfortable.”
“Later. You owe me a happy ending first.”
She tugged on my hand, pulling me toward the door, and I didn’t argue. I was dumb, but I wasn’t that dumb. In wooing, what the lady wanted, the lady would get.
