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Chapter Seventeen

T ate

“I think she thought our conversation was over,” I say, pinching the edge of the pie crust for Mimi.

She sits next to me at her kitchen table, studying my every move.

Mimi used to make a pie a week when I first met her.

There would be a freshly baked pie or cobbler every Wednesday when I showed up for our date.

But as time passed, the motor skills required to mix the ingredients, roll the dough, pinch the edges, and prep the filling—not to mention creating the fancy lattice crusts she’s a big fan of—got to be too much.

Instead of letting her feel bad about it, because she knew I loved her pies, I teased her and told her that I knew what she was doing.

She wanted to bake with me instead of for me.

That’s not true, but I think she appreciated me saying it. And I’ve been the baker in our relationship ever since.

“She’ll come around,” Mimi says. “I mean, look at you. You’re hot stuff.”

“I’d have to be hot stuff to pull a stunner like you.”

She smacks my arm and laughs. “She’s probably just playing hard to get, but she won’t last long. God knows I wouldn’t.” She whistles between her teeth. “They didn’t make men like you when I was young, I’ll tell ya that.”

“What do you think about age gaps, Mimi?” I ask, filling the pie shell with blueberry filling.

“What do you mean?”

“Aurora is older than I am. I don’t know by how much, but I don’t care. It’s just a number.”

“That’s right.”

I paint the crust with an egg wash. “She made a comment about being older than me and that it made her feel a certain way, I guess. I’ve been thinking about that a lot because it’s one thing I can’t fix.”

“Oh, honey. That’s something almost every woman thinks about at least once in their life.”

“Fucking a younger man?” I ask, plopping the pie in the preheated oven and setting a timer.

She laughs. “Well, yes, that, too.”

I turn on the tap and rinse the dishes before putting them into the dishwasher, all the while my thoughts are still with Aurora.

I didn’t see her in the office today. Jackson said she and Tally had meetings elsewhere and would be gone most of the day.

Luckily, there was more than enough work to keep me busy—but not enough to keep her off my mind.

“I’d imagine that she’s in a place in her life where she’s been through some shit, survived even more shit, and she’s now looking for a soft spot to land.

But she doesn’t trust anyone because everyone has let her down.

And when she looks in the mirror, she’s no longer young and beautiful in her eyes.

” Mimi’s delicate shoulders lift and fall. “Being a woman can be hell.”

“Try understanding one.”

But as the words leave my mouth, I’m reminded of Aurora’s mention of fuzzy blankets.

“Instead of living my life in survival mode and just getting through each day, I’m trying to craft a life that feels good. Soft. Feminine. Like my life is wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, if that makes sense.”

She laughs. “Women aren’t that complicated if you really want to understand them. This one sounds like she’s not been valued or feels she’s given more in her relationships than she’s received. And she’s going to make you work for it, Tate. You won’t win this one over by pussyfooting around.”

“I just want to be loved, dammit,” I say, fake crying.

This makes Mimi shake her head and chuckle.

“I’m gonna tell you one thing right now,” Mimi says, closing the dishwasher and starting it. “I can’t have you hanging around here every week, moping about some girl. I’ll share you with her, but I’m not sacrificing my Tate time to save hers. You’re gonna have to shit or get off the pot.”

My jaw drops. “I haven’t even known her a week yet. Give me some time.”

“Do ya listen to anything I say?”

“Every last word of it.”

“Then start drawing the connections with that big brain of yours.” She heaves a breath as she sits in her recliner on the other side of the bar. “She turned down dinner and then showed up. She told you it was only for one night, right?”

I nod, unsure where she’s going with this.

“She left you the next morning,” Mimi recalls. “She’s telling you over and over that she doesn’t believe that you’ll continue to be there for her. I’d bet a dime to a donut that she’s felt neglected in her previous relationships.”

“Why do you care so much, Tate? Isn’t this more trouble than it’s worth?”

“Who knew you were a love guru?” I ask.

“You’d be surprised. I was quite the rascal back in the day.”

“Mimi, I have no doubt.”

I take my usual spot on the couch beside her recliner and watch a Western we’ve already seen several times. The weather is beautiful, so I figured she’d want to go on a golf cart ride and terrorize the neighborhood, but she hasn’t mentioned it.

I study her, taking in the bags under her eyes and the spots on her skin. She’s starting to look her age. She’s beginning to look tired.

It scares the shit out of me.

When Jason married Chloe, her grandmother came with the package. Jason moved her into his renovated guest cottage so she could have her own space. Between me, Ripley, and Renn, I think she gets more visitors than our own mother.

If Mom would stay stateside longer than a week every two or three months, we could see her more often, too.

“We got a new security guy,” Mimi says.

“Yeah, I heard that was happening. We received a memo a couple of months ago telling us that Landry Security was hiring new personnel and that we should expect to see new members on our security teams.”

She points a bony finger at me. “Well, I don’t like my new guy, and I told Jason as much.”

“Who did you get?”

“This bastard named Callum.”

I snort. Oh, the infamous Callum . “Say less, Mimi.”

“Say less? What’s that supposed to mean?”

I grab the remote off the coffee table and turn the movie down. “That means that you don’t have to say anything else. I get it.”

“Do you know him?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, pull some strings for your woman over here and tell them I don’t want Callum. I liked Grey. Can I just have Grey?”

“You just think Grey is cute.”

“So? Let me look,” she says, throwing up her hands. “I’m going to die soon. Let me get my kicks in while I can.”

I shake my head and toss the remote back on the table.

“What’s your plan?” she asks, her eyes glued to the television. The actor is her favorite—a baby-faced cowboy who, in real life, supposedly was badass. Mimi made me read his biography one time.

“What’s my plan for what?”

She looks at me, annoyed. “I’d like to see you married and have kids before I kick the bucket. But your lackadaisical attitude is making me think that’s not going to happen.”

“Babe, I’m not being lackadaisical.”

She flashes me an ornery grin at my use of her favorite pet name. “Do you want some tips?”

“Give them to me.”

She twists in her chair to face me, her cowboys getting into a firefight in the distance. She tugs a blanket onto her lap.

“The first tip you’ll be good at,” she says. “You already do this for me.”

I lean back, wide-eyed. “Have you been having dreams about me again?”

“No, you little shit.” She laughs, tilting her head back. “I’m talking about bringing me food.”

“That’s a relief.”

She shakes a finger playfully at me. “Men get it all wrong. Now, I can’t speak for all women, but I will say that a lot of women can be won over through their stomach.”

“Not the body part I was expecting, but I’m listening.”

Mimi groans as she moves, favoring her right hip.

I watch her try to get comfortable and wish there was something that I could do to help her.

I’ve often wondered if she gets lonely in this little cottage.

She’d never admit it if she did—she’s too proud for that.

But I am curious from time to time if she wishes she had a husband or a boyfriend other than me.

“Food can be more intimate than sex,” she says, picking at the neckline of her light blue dressing gown.

“Because it’s not about the food at all.

It’s about the thought and the care—not to mention the time that goes into it.

When you bring me food every Wednesday, it makes me feel so important to you. ”

“Because you are. I love you.”

She beams. “You know I love you, too, charmer.” She rests her head against the chair and sighs happily.

“This is why couples fight about where to eat. That’s not the fight at all.

It’s the woman wanting the man to show her that he cares for her by providing this essential need—even if it’s fast food. Just make the decision.”

“Okay. That makes sense. I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“Then adjust your thoughts because this is already in your wheelhouse. Just make sure you put it into play.”

Whiffs of blueberries and pie crust slowly fill the home.

It’s the kind of smell I’ve always thought a mom’s kitchen should have.

Our kitchen growing up was scented like cleaning products from the housekeeper, and mine now is reminiscent of whatever I burned the night before while trying to make dinner.

But this? This is goals.

I might just have to move Mimi in with me …

“The second tip is to work for it,” she says. “Put in the effort. Be consistent. Show her that you’re passionate and that you mean it. Go big or go home, as they say. Especially with this woman of yours. I think she needs that.”

“Done.”

“Third?” She grins with a hint of mischief. “Women love to see men with babies. It sets off something inside them that makes them start thinking about having babies, which leads to the bedroom for some hanky-panky.”

“Hey,” I say, grabbing my phone. “That’s super smart and, lucky for me, I know a lot of people who have babies.”

“Toss me that remote before you start thumbing that phone.”

I hand it to her and then go back to my messages.

Me: Hey, fam.

Jason: Hi.

Renn: Yo.

Bianca: Hey, Tate!

Me: I have a very serious favor to ask you.

Silence fills the chat. I’m about to try to re-engage them when Ripley responds.