“Hey!” I exclaimed, pulling my hand back. “That’s my cake.”
“Yeah,” Tate muttered, mouth full, his hand moved to my neck, his thumb at my jaw tilting my head back and his head bent. He swallowed then he kissed me, a kiss that was short but included a sweep of his lemony tongue.
Beautiful.
His mouth left mine and he asked, “You still pissed?”
“I don’t think so,” I answered, still tasting lemon and Tate so, it was debatable, but it might be physically impossible to be pissed.
He grinned. “Give it time, somethin’ll come up.
I turned and rolled my eyes to Sunny who was grinning at the both of us.
Then I took another bite of cake.
Heaven.
We were in the home store and Tate was pushing the cart as only men do. That was to say, he was bent at the waist, his forearms crossed on the handle, his chest leaning into them, the look on his face part glazed, part blank indicating clearly any question I could ask him would receive the answer, “Hunh?”
I was leading the way to the curtain section while realizing Tate’s rabid need to go shopping for curtains was because, with Neeta on the loose, he needed curtains not because he needed to shop. Shopping was the necessary evil that came with owning curtains.
He’d seemed game until I commandeered a cart at the entrance.
“We’re buying curtains, babe, that activity hardly requires a cart,” he noted
“We’re in a home store, Tate,” I replied, thinking my answer said all.
“And?” he returned, stating plainly my answer did not say all.
“A mega home store,” I added.
“And?”
“And, I came here a few days ago to buy you sheets. I ended up buying you two sets of sheets, six new pillows, a down comforter, a comforter cover and shams. That happens in a home store,” I educated him. “You come in needing a spatula and you go out with a spatula, new kitchen towels, candles, candle holders, cool things to seal open chip bags, a variety of frames, a soap dispenser and a new vacuum cleaner.”
After I delivered this lesson was when Tate’s face went blank and, shortly after that, his eyes glazed over. He hijacked the cart so he could lean on it in order to remain standing even as he fell asleep while walking the aisles and we headed to curtains.
“Tate?” We heard and I turned around to see Tate had stopped but hadn’t straightened and was looking over his shoulder at an advancing Stella, the Queen Biker Babe from Wood’s garage. She approached and took us both in, a grin spreading on her face. “Lauren,” she greeted when she arrived.
“Hi Stella,” I returned, walking back to stand beside the handle of the cart Tate had straightened from.
“You’re at a Deluxe Home Store,” she stated the obvious since we were, indeed, standing in a store called “Deluxe Home Store”.
“Um…” I mumbled, Tate’s arm slid around my shoulders and he hauled me into his side.
“Yeah,” Tate replied. “How’s things, Stell?”
“Hoppin’,” she answered and her eyes moved between the both of us and settled on me. “You okay?”
“Um…” I repeated. “Yeah?” I answered in a question because I was uncertain of her question.
Her eyes went to Tate. “Neeta?”
“Visited Laurie last night,” Tate shared.
“Shit,” Stella hissed.
“She got the papers,” Tate kept sharing.
“Yeah?” Stella asked.
“She’s gonna fight it,” Tate answered.
“Stupid bitch,” Stella muttered.
“Um…” I put in and Tate looked down at me.
“You ever meet Pop?” he asked and I nodded. “Stell is his little sister. I grew up with her too.”
“Practically raised the three of ‘em,” she told me, “even though I was a kid myself.”
“Oh,” I whispered, wondering about this but not having much time to do so.
Stella looked at Tate. “I’ll track down Neet, see if she’s receptive to a chat.”
“Mighta been, if I was livin’ a life where I wasn’t in a fuckin’ home store buyin’ curtains with Laurie. Now, no way.”
“That girl,” Stella whispered. “She never gave away any of her toys.” Her eyes came to me. “And she never shared.”
“I got that from her last night,” I said quietly and cautiously considering Stella might have called Neeta a bitch but she was still Neeta’s aunt.
She read my tone because she stated, “Darlin’, no love lost, trust me. Not a lot of bridges Neeta hasn’t burned.”
“Oh,” I repeated and Stella looked back at Tate.