Tate’s parents stayed for breakfast and then they were off to catch their plane to San Francisco. The second they were out the door, Tate told himself he needed coffee, but he knew once he left his house and pointed in the direction of the café, he’d drive by Hayden’s once more.
Damn.
The closed sign was still hanging on the door of the yoga studio. This was the third day in a row.
At the risk of being accused of being a stalker, or at the very least a heartsick moron, he decided to park and try knocking on her front door.
Last night he’d told Marion everything about Claire. About Hayden. About the trip to London. As the old black-and-white gangster movies his dad liked to watch were known for saying, Tate had sung like a canary.
It bubbled out of him in one messy, winding story, and by the end he was mortified to find himself hunkered over his drink, his eyes burning with unshed tears and his liquor untouched.
But his mother had never expected him to ignore his emotions, so he didn’t.
“It’s too much to handle. I just need time,” he’d said in frustration, finally taking a burning swallow of the whiskey his father had poured for him.
His mother’s hand rubbed his back as she hummed thoughtfully to herself.
“That’s what you’ve got for me?” he asked. “A thoughtful hum?”
Knowing he was teasing her, Marion’s mouth curved at the edge. “I’m not sure if you want me to tell you you’re wrong or not. Should I agree instead?”
He’d had to admit he could use some female insight, so he answered his mother’s question with one of his own.
“How am I wrong?” The question came out with a frustrated edge, so he took another swallow from his glass. “What the hell was I supposed to do when everything was thrown at me in rapid succession?”
Another thoughtful hum came from Marion. “Be honest with yourself, and then be honest with Hayden.”
“I was!”
“You weren’t. You acted as if you don’t know how to feel.” Marion shook her head. “That’s bull, Tate. You know. You’re afraid to admit it, but you know.”
He’d opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t.
She was right.
Last night he’d gone to bed and had slept three, maybe four hours on and off. He’d tossed and turned and rationalized and thought through, around and over everything he and his mother had talked about.
He was in love with Hayden. Of course he was. She’d taken as much of him as she’d given of herself, and when she’d been vulnerable, he’d offered a lame excuse about timing.
He woke with a panicky feeling, an unease unlike any he’d felt before. He knew what he had to do, and for once, making the decision to confess how badly he’d fucked up seemed easy.
Upstairs, at Hayden’s apartment door, Tate ignored the fullness of his heart, now lodged in his throat, and knocked. He waited. Knocked again. No answer.
“Hayden? If you’re in there, I just need a few seconds.” He braced his palms on the doorframe and waited. Nothing. “I have something to say and it has to be in person. Sixty seconds, tops.”
He needed her to listen to what he had to say. He couldn’t let another moment pass with her believing that he’d prioritized everyone and everything in his life over her—over the woman he loved.
“How about thirty seconds?” He could work with thirty. He just needed her to open the damn door.
Pulling his phone from his pocket, he called her and heard the distinct jingle of her ringtone inside the apartment about one second before he heard the outside door close and the sound of someone coming up the stairs.
“She left her phone at home. She’s not here.” One of Hayden’s friends, the one with the short hair, not the bawdy blonde one, regarded him coolly. “I’m here to water her plants.”
“Where is she?” He stepped aside so she could unlock the door and let herself in.
“I’m sure if she wanted you to know that, she would have told you.”
She started to shut the door but he stopped it with one hand. “Is she safe?”
“She’s safe.” Her eyes warmed slightly. “She’s with Arlene.”
“Arlene. The blonde one.” Tate offered a smile, but the brunette only scowled. “Thank you...”
“Emily.” She sighed.
“Emily. Thank you. Can you tell me when she’ll be back?”
She pressed her lips together.
“Ballpark?” he tried.
“Tomorrow, unless they decide to stay in...wherever they went.”
“You know though. Where they went.”
“Of course I know where they went.” She frowned. “I also know that she’s seriously considering buying herself out of the lease and leaving Spright Island because of you. Do you know how much she loves it here? Can you even fathom what she did to move here? What she gave up? She doesn’t own a car, Tate. Not because she’s trying to save the planet but because she sunk every dollar she had into her yoga studio. When Hayden goes in, she goes all in. Her friends are lifers.”
Her lips twisted in consideration as she considered him, and his position in Hayden’s life.
“I know I screwed up,” he said, still wrapping his head around the idea that Hayden might leave Spright Island because of him.
“You think?” Emily propped her fist on her hip, not ready to let him off the hook.
“I know. I’ll do whatever it takes for her to stay.”
“Like what? Buy the building?” she snapped.
He smiled, not denying that buying the building was his first instinct. But he wouldn’t trap her into staying. He wouldn’t trick her into sticking around. She deserved to have the life she built, and he’d honor that.
“No. I’m not going to buy the building. But I promise, I won’t be the reason she leaves.”
Some of Emily’s skepticism fled from her face, compassion replacing it. “This community is better because of her.”
Emily was right. He’d seen residents interact with Hayden, the smiles at the café or the restaurant whenever she was around. She was contagious and beautiful. Incredible, really. How had been so obtuse not to see what was right in front of him. Of course Spright Wellness Community was better because of Hayden.
“We all are,” he told Emily. And then he turned to leave.