Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
As Tate sets his coffee, bag, and keys down on his desk in the corner, I take in the small space. Despite the building being new, his office is cozy. Rather than using stark paint, the office is decorated in wallpaper that’s a throwback to another time period. I definitely approve of the selection and Dad would too. Instead of a leather couch like in all the movies or stiff chairs like at Dr. Wynn’s, Tate’s office has two plush chairs that sit in front of a plug-in fireplace.
“Can I offer you water or anything?”
“I’m good.”
I take a seat in one of the chairs and then fiddle with the fireplace to see what kind of heat it puts out. I’m impressed when it immediately starts blasting me with warmth. Maybe I need one of these in my shop. My little space heater sucks…when I actually remember to turn it on.
Tate eventually joins me with his coffee. I note that he doesn’t have his laptop or notebook. Dr. Wynn loved to write things all over her yellow notepad when I’d visit.
“Where’s your stuff?” I ask, gaze darting back to his desk. “Don’t you, like, need to record everything to report back to Dad?”
Tate brings his coffee to his lips and takes a sip that makes him do a giddy dance in his chair. “Coffee is all I need. And everything we talk about is between us. Your dad doesn’t get a report. If you want to tell him, you’re more than welcome to.”
I give him a sharp shake of my head. “Nah, I’m good. How old are you?”
“Everyone always asks me that,” he playfully grumbles. “I just turned twenty-eight. Getting married in the fall, too.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait for him to hit me with a thousand questions. Nothing comes. Just sips and smiles. Awkwardly, I root around in my jacket until I find a lone butterscotch. I unwrap it and pop it into my mouth.
Still waiting.
“Park’s Peak has a butterscotch latte. I’ll bring you one next time. It’s to die for.”
I want to tell him there won’t be a next time, but the drink does interest me, so I nod in approval. Maybe just one other time. The guy seems nice.
“Your dad says you’re a bit of a historical restoration buff. That sounds super cool. My Jeep, er, my fiancé’s Jeep, is a classic. Was that your Land Rover out front? Sweet ride.”
I grin, unable to stop myself. “Finally. Someone who appreciates that damn vehicle besides me. Just today, some bratty girl at my school called it a hunk of junk.”
He gasps. “Rude!”
“That’s what I thought too.” I move the butterscotch around my teeth, enjoying the clackity sound it makes. Tate doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Dad says I’ll get cavities from eating these things, but I’ve never gotten one.”
“Good genes,” Tate says with a chuckle. “I just had yet another root canal last month. Merry Christmas to me.”
I bristle at the mention of genes. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know. I’m adopted.”
“Boy, I wish I were,” he tosses in. “My dad was a shit parent. Mentally fucked me up, too. It’s why I’m doing this here and now.”
“You’re allowed to cuss to your patients?”
“I can do whatever I want. This is my practice.” He takes another sip. “Your adopted dad seems nice. You like him?”
“I love him and Pops more than anyone in the world.”
“My heart.” He pats his chest. “Jude wants kids. I know he does. I’m hoping we make our children feel as loved as your dads do you.”
“Yeah, they’re great.”
Tate sits his coffee down on the small table beside him. “I’m sensing a mood shift.”
I bristle, my hackles rising. “Your spidey senses are wrong.”
“Nope. They’re never wrong.” He beams at me. “I won’t push, but it does help to get things off your chest every once in a while. We’re not meant to bottle everything up inside. My fiancé did for a long time. He’s just now in the past year beginning to heal. Healing isn’t a one and done, either. It’s a long, torturous journey.”
“I’d rather take the shortcut.”
“You and ninety-nine percent of the world, including me. Some of us run from our problems.” He raises a hand. “Guilty as charged. But when you stop running and face them head-on, something miraculous happens.”
“What?”
“They’re not as terrifying as we give them the power to be.”
Knowing my dads could have had Gemma Park but got me instead is pretty damn terrifying, especially when I consider that there was so much disappointment and grief they must have felt. My dads are strong men, though, and put on a brave face to do the right thing by giving me a home. I hate that they must’ve felt so awful and devastated. I’m not exactly the best consolation prize.
“Listen, Two,” Tate says gently, “I love helping people find peace and joy. It’s something I never had growing up, so it soothes something deep in my soul. I’m not here for a paycheck—though money does help pay for my coffee addiction—or some other nefarious reason. I’m here because I want to be.”