Page 79 of Inside Silence

“I should probably have addressed that,” he grumbles.

“Better to let things cool off before you do,” I suggest with a smile. “To be honest, she seemed more upset with the double standard than she was with the fact you were kissing me.”

I catch a flash of humor in his eyes.

“Don’t you mean when you kissed me?” he teases with a smirk.

“Is that what that was?” I play along.

Smiling, he takes my mouth for a repeat, leaving me almost gasping before he lets me come up for air.

“That…was me kissing you.”

Nate

* * *

It’s an unseasonably warm morning.

Perhaps the last one before the temperatures drop. The forecast indicated we might get some snow up in the mountains toward the middle of next week.

Unfortunately, I’m enjoying the morning by myself on my back deck. I just heard the shower turn on in the bathroom upstairs, which means Tate is finally up, and Savvy opted to go home last night, suggesting some one-on-one time might be warranted, given the earlier confrontation in the barn.

Probably a wise suggestion, but as it turned out, Tate—who apparently can hang on to a snit longer than her old man can—froze me out on the way home and shot upstairs the moment we walked in the door.

So, I’m sitting out here on my own, sipping my second cup of java and absorbing as much vitamin D as I can before the sun disappears for the winter. But I am determined to have that one-on-one with Tate before she heads off to meet up with Naomi to check out the parade.

I keep half an eye on the sliding door, not putting it past my daughter to take off before I have a chance to talk to her. To my surprise, she voluntarily comes outside, carrying a banana and a glass of milk, and sits down across from me at the table.

“Nice out,” she comments, peeling her banana and taking a big bite.

“It is. Great weather for the Harvest Fest. I remember this one year we had an early overnight frost and there was a layer of ice on the water in the dunk tank. Mr. Gibbs was my math teacher at the time and he had first shift in the chair. Naomi’s dad, Roy, and I spent all our money for the day trying to dunk Mr. Gibbs in that freezing water before the ice melted.”

I smile at the memory. In a generally miserable childhood, that’s one of the good moments that stands out in sharp contrast.

“Did you?” Tate wants to know.

“Last ball.”

I snicker and shake my head. I can still see the arrogant smirk on that guy’s face and the way his expression changed in an instant when the chair dropped out from under him. The best part was the applause of the crowd that had gathered around the attraction. Apparently, Roy and I weren’t the only ones with a healthy dislike for the man.

It’s good to see Tate hide a little smile behind the next bite of her banana. A good moment I don’t necessarily want to spoil by addressing something that might upset her.

Turns out, I don’t need to. It’s Tate who brings up the subject.

“She’s nice…the sheriff.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s okay with you calling her Savvy,” I suggest, following it up with, “and yes, she is nice.”

“You knew her from before, right?”

“Correct.”

“Was she more than just a friend?”

She studies me, her head tilted slightly to the side.

“She was much more than just a friend,” I admit.