Page 83 of Fall Love

I chew on my lip. “Just don’t hurt me, Tate.” It might be the most vulnerable thing I’ve ever asked.

His eyes soften. Emotion lands in them then quickly passes before he says, “I’m going to try my best to never do that.”

I nod, offering him a soft smile. “So, Fresh Swill, and then a surprise?”

He taps my nose. “Sounds like a date.”

Is that what we’re doing? Are we dating now?

After a quick shower for each of us, separately, as my shower would never be able to hold the two of us with my current size, we head into town for a black coffee for him and a decaffeinated pumpkin spice tea for me.

I inhale the aroma, and Tate chuckles. “You really love pumpkin spice.”

“Queen of the club,” I state before taking a sip of my tea. “Give me pumpkin spice anything and I’ll devour it.”

But he already knows this about me because he brought me pumpkin-flavored donuts and pumpkin spice muffins. And without me even asking, he orders me another muffin smothered in cream cheese frosting.

We don’t go very far from the coffee shop. Just a quick walk along three blocks and down one until we’re standing in front of the old firehouse. The two-story, two-garage-bay building was officially closed when a larger firehouse was built outside of town to accommodate one more truck.

“Do you remember me asking if you had ever considered opening your own shop?” Tate stares up at the brick building, something rare around here, as cedar shingles and clapboard are more common.

I smile, uncertain where he’s going with his question.

“What do you think?” he waves toward the building.

“Nice building?” I hesitate, taking a sip of my pumpkin spice tea.

“It’s a great location. Easy distance from the house. And⁠—”

“Whoa.” I stop him, holding up a hand. “Just what are you suggesting here?”

“The fire station as a new autobody shop. For you.”

“You can’t be serious,” I snort, getting an extra whiff of pumpkin spice up my nose.

“I’m completely serious. There won’t be an auto repair shop within miles.”

“What about Bucky’s?” I mock.

Tate grows silent, squinting at the brick building. “You could be a specialty shop. Deal with classic cars, if you wanted.”

“I don’t—” But I cut off my own thought. Because I do want. I want to return to the work that I love. I don’t see myself staying home. I can’t. Like I told him, I’m not an heiress.

I also don’t have childcare lined up because I don’t even have a job.

However, I stare at the building, indulging in a little dangerous imagination. Classic cars in a funky, modernized garage. The upstairs could be an office, even a staff room, maybe a playroom.

“Do you really think something like that would be lucrative here?” I ask, my voice as foggy as my thoughts.

“Yes.” His tone is confident, bolstering my imagination.

What if . . . “And you’re not just saying that because you’re thinking like a real estate agent?” I nod toward the giant FOR SALE sign with a number to contact Roz, the local agent.

“I’m not thinking like a real estate broker.” He chuckles, then softens his voice. “But I could help you with the transaction.”

How much would a place like this even cost? I don’t dare to ask. Instead, I flip the script.

“You’re only offering your services because you like my services,” I tease, thinking of last night and two nights ago.