Page 7 of Revelry (Cowgirls Do It Better #2)

Tate

It had been a month since the pint-sized, raven-haired beauty had come back to Reverence.

I’d seen her and that silly pink Beetle around town and parked next door. Heard her loud, tinkling laughter through the thin walls when I was in my home. Saw her running around in skimpy shorts that gave me tantalizing glimpses of her thighs.

Creating a sense of calm in my life was something I’d worked hard at. I strived to maintain it every damn day and would for the rest of my life. Yet I felt like this woman was capable of shattering all my hard work to tiny pieces.

This morning, as I got into my truck, ready to head to the office for the day, I noticed her car was still parked in the driveway. It was there when I got home that night and the following morning when I left for work again.

It hadn’t moved.

“Isn’t it time she went back home?” I grumbled, sliding the truck window up, then down before settling on half down.

I drove to work, carried out my usual routine of waving at various townsfolk, listened to Harriet’s inane chatter about the Kardashians and Taylor Swift’s new album until it was time for me to visit Raleigh Spa they were nothing compared to other incidents from my childhood.

I lifted weights until my arms were shaking from the strain and my shirt was damp, my glasses fogging up.

I dropped the barbell with a clang and stomped to the shower to rinse off.

I half dressed, still warm from the workout, so pulled on my sweatpants but slung a t-shirt over my shoulder and headed down to cook dinner.

Halfway through sauteing my vegetables, there was a knock at the door. I turned my head towards it and frowned. No one ever knocked on my door, it was one of the things I loved about living here.

Hating my routine being interrupted, I huffed and switched off the burners. I trudged out to the door and pulled it open, my frown deepening when I saw who was standing there.

“Hey neighbor!” Gertrude called cheerfully, a megawatt smile on her pretty pink lips.

They almost matched the color of her Beetle.

The fact I’d noticed had me frowning harder.

Her blue eyes slid over my torso before I remembered my t-shirt still slung over my shoulder.

Her stare continued lazily, lingering here and there before snapping back up to meet my eyes, her cheeks flushing prettily.

I cursed inwardly at the way my stomach clenched at her perusal. “Gertrude,” I responded.

“It’s Gertie,” she replied with a wink.

I pinched my lips together; I refused to shorten her name. I hated that the boys at school used to call her Flirty Gertie, like that’s all she was good for when she was so much more than that.

Her hands were plugged on her round hips, her thick thighs barely covered in her denim shorts, her bare little feet with their pink-tipped toes wiggling for my attention.

I wanted to nibble them.

I bit the inside of my cheek. “How can I help you, Gertrude?”

She pouted at my use of her full name but didn’t say anything.

“Mom wanted me to give you this. She and Cathy didn’t get a chance to see you before they left.

Said you were always out working when they came around.

” She held out an envelope and I looked at it for a long time before taking it from her hand with nails the same color as her toes.

I glanced at the envelope but it only read Tate . I flicked my stare back to her, noticing her bruise was all gone and so was the cut on her mouth.

That damn mouth of hers was flawless.

“Anything else?”

She swayed side to side. “Whatchya doing?”

I fought an eyeroll. “Making dinner.”

“Ooh, I’d love some thanks,” she said then pushed past me into the house. I was so shocked at her blatant invasion that it took me a minute to realize she’d disappeared into my kitchen.

I shut the door and hurried after her, spluttering, “I only have enough for one.”

“I don’t eat much,” she called over her shoulder as she began rummaging in my cabinets. “Where do you keep your plates?”

She opened one cupboard and pulled out some dishes, then not seeing any plates put them back but not in the same order.

My nerves screamed to go and rearrange. “Gertrude, please stop.”

She reached for a wall cabinet, her t-shirt riding up and exposing a smooth slip of her back and the unmistakable ink of a tattoo I was now desperate to see.

Gertrude continued poking around in my things. I hated people poking my things with a fiery passion. From the devious glint in her eye, she was doing it on purpose.

“I’m just messing, Tate. I have dinner at home.”

My body sighed and I’m sure I did too, out loud.

She frowned at me. “You need to relax. And maybe smile more, sugar.”

I balked. “I’ll smile when I see something worth smiling for.”

She unfurled a devilish grin. “That sounded like a challenge.”

Infuriating woman . “It wasn’t.”

“I’ll make you smile, Tate. It’s my new life’s mission.

” As she walked past, she stopped at the stove and dipped her finger through the sauce in the pan and swiped her tongue over the digit.

My body betrayed me, and I felt my cock pulse beneath my sweatpants at the sight of that tongue sliding over her finger.

She moaned. “Yes, Tate, a bit more salt and then that is perfect.”

I stood dumbstruck. She’d waltzed into my house, uninvited, rummaged in my cupboards, upset my order and put her fingers in my food and as well as being horrified, I was turned on.

I was not impressed.

Absolutely not.

I was also speechless.

“G’night, Tatey,” she winked again and finger-waved before bouncing around me. The front door closed, and my house was empty of intruders. I waited for the wave of peace to crash over me, but it never came.

The letter she gave me was still in my hand so I tore it open. It was a note from her mom Lucy, and Cathy, explaining they would be away for six months and thanking me for the help I’d given them over the last few years. It also said that Gertrude would be staying to watch over the house.

Fuck.

She would be here for six months at least.

Closing my eyes, I counted back from ten. Then crumpled up the letter. I needed to get out. To get away from her sweet scent that was lingering in my kitchen and driving me insane.

I grabbed the pan and dumped it into the sink, then changed my clothes and went to Tony’s for pizza, refusing to glance next door at that silly car or see if I could glimpse its silly owner through the drapes.

The smell of dough and tomato sauce hit me as I pushed open the door to Tony’s Pizzeria, taking me back fifteen years.

I warred with myself over Tony’s. Part of me hated the memories of feeling left out as a teenager and the jealousy over the other kids enjoying life.

Part of me was nostalgic for the times I managed to escape and be on my own, working hard, and my chats with Tony.

He was the only person I spoke to in any social capacity. I didn’t like socializing, but Tony usually forced me into it.

“Tate!” Tony cried when he saw me. He came out from behind the counter and clapped me on the back, his wrinkled facing creasing deeper with concern. “You look tired. Too old for only your thirties, you need more fun in your life.”

I rolled my eyes. I heard that a lot but I was fine, I honestly didn’t know how to have fun so you couldn’t miss what you’d never had. What even was fun anyway as an adult with bills to pay and two jobs to hold down?

“Hey Tony, how’s business?” I asked, looking around and seeing a packed restaurant, just like usual.

“It’s good. These kids though, they’re always filming their TikToks and never pay attention or talk to each other.” He shook his head, and I followed his gaze to a table where the teens were glued to their phones. I wasn’t a fan. I didn’t have social media. My phone was for work and emergencies.

“Are they at least advertising where they are?” I asked.

Tony scoffed. “No! The restaurant is always in the background but the name is covered.” He gestured to a seat at the counter. “Please, sit.”

Not much had changed about Tony’s over the years except he’d added a counter by the kitchen with three swivel chairs for people who wanted to eat quickly without socializing then go. My favorite kind of meal.

It may or may not have been me who bombarded the suggestion box with that idea.

I talked to Tony while he fixed my usual pizza, just about work and business. We didn’t get too personal. We hadn’t since that night years ago when we’d awkwardly hugged and I’d cried on him. I cringed whenever I thought about it.

I was halfway through the pizza, munching on a burnt corner which tasted delicious, when Tony asked the dreaded question. “How come you never bring a girl here?”

He asked me this a lot and I always deflected. “How do you know I wouldn’t bring a guy here?”

Tony scoffed, gesturing with a pizza cutter. “You can bring whoever you like here as long as you bring someone .”

I shook my head and bit into another slice, the cheese stringing perfectly. God, cheese was good. I loved anything dairy. “Why are you so interested in my social life, old man?”

He quirked a bushy salt and pepper brow at me. “I didn’t realize you had one.”

“Touché. You’re my social life,” I quipped, and he snorted. He thought I was joking but I wasn’t. I spoke to people all the time, Kat, Duke, Harriet and Tony. But I didn’t have friends, and I liked it like that.

“That’s what worries me,” he said, turning back to the oven, taking out the big pizza peel and swapping the pizzas over. I glanced over my shoulder, looking at the booths of kids laughing and joking, couples kissing.

I wasn’t missing out.

I’m sure I wasn’t.

“As long as you’re happy Tate,” Tony said, turning back to me and folding his arms over his chest.

“I am,” I replied, not as confident as I would have been ten minutes ago.

“Then that’s all that matters. Lord knows you’ve been through enough; happiness is the least you’re owed.”