There are some mornings that announce exactly what kind of day it is going to be by the way the sky looks. Gloomy skies mean a filter of thoughtful coziness. Blaring sunshine is a day full of heated emotion that can be good or bad. And partly cloudy is that perfect middle. Acting as a calm, soothing balm on an otherwise chaotic world.
Today's sky screamed partly cloudy, leaving me full of jittery excitement as I finished twisting my hair into a loose side braid, strands of black hair falling down to frame my face.
I had just finished pulling on a pair of ripped jeans, and a white crop top before my doorbell rang. Tate was right on time.
I hopped towards the door, yanking on a pair of ankle boots as I went. Coming to a stop, I took a moment to check myself in the mirror, composing myself. Today was different, and I just wasn't sure what to expect.
Pushing a loose strand of hair out of my face, I took in a deep calming breath and opened the door, pulling on my leather jacket as I did.
Tate leaned against the door frame, sporting a white V-neck t-shirt, leather jacket, and a pair of jeans. Several strands of hair had fallen into his face, shading his eyes. But even in the shadow, his bright green found mine, pausing me in place for a beat, like a wild current that threatened to unravel me.
He was a model of perfection, posed perfectly as he leaned against my door frame, his body taking up the entire doorway. The hallway lights backlit him, showing off his build and clothes like a supermodel. He was the picture of a daredevil. The leather jacket and scars that snaked out of his v-neck gave him an edge that didn't exist in his suits.
He felt more approachable and yet at the same time, somehow more dangerous. A strange combination for someone who I had come to imagine as a cinnamon roll, like those adorable second lead guys in Kdramas. Those men that were cute, understanding, and attractive but never stood a chance at sweeping the female lead off her feet because some dark and brooding guy stole her heart first. But now he wasn't just that very adorkable sexy cinnamon roll that I wanted to hug and protect. He was... well a cinnamon roll that I wanted to consume.
I looked away, realizing I had been staring at him like a gawking fangirl without so much as a 'hello.' So far so good Allie. Great start to the day.
"Hi," I said, offering an awkward wave.
Tate smirked, giving my outfit a quick glance. "We match."
I glanced from his leather jacket, white shirt, and jeans down to my own leather jacket, jeans, and white crop top, suddenly embarrassed. It wasn't that we were wearing similar colors, we looked like a full-on matching set. "Oh, I'll go change," I offered, moving to leave.
Tate reached his hand out, wrapping it gently around my wrist, pulling me to a stop, his fingers hot against my skin, sparking fire through my body. "No need. That looks good on you."
I swallowed, still facing away from the door. And this is how I die. Getting set on fire, and combusting into flames by his words and touch.
I was suddenly reminded of our time wearing matching outfits at the photoshoot. A day that felt so long ago. Normally I was opposed to matching outfits. I designed the outfits because I had seen it as a unique challenge. Comfortable clothes that both men and women could enjoy wearing.
But every guy I had ever dated hated matching outfits, so I had just gotten used to the idea of them being silly. As something out of a Hallmark card meant to be laughed at and not considered as something cute that I may want to take part in.
I turned to look back at Tate with a raised brow. "You don't care if we walk around like a carbon copy of each other? A matching set?"
Tate moved to stand next to me and motioned towards the mirror that hung next to my front door, his hand still on my wrist. "What's so bad about that?" he asked, eyes flashing with a challenge.
I looked at our reflection, trying not to smile.
Tate wiggled his eyebrows at me. "I mean, we make this look good." He spun in a circle, the way Michale had taught him, showing off his clothes. Then he lifted my hand again, insisting I spin too. After a pause, I humored him, spinning with flair before coming to a stop facing the mirror.
"What's not to like?"Â Tate asked, his voice soft.
I pulled my hand out of his grip and picked up my purse, trying to keep some semblance of calm and not look utterly flustered by his open flirting.
"Ready?" I asked, pushing him towards the door, trying to regain some power back in this awkward start to the day.
"So eager to start the day with me?" Tate laughed, his tone teasing.
"Whatever gets you out the door faster," I replied, shutting the door behind us.
...
The smell of pumpkin pancakes filled the 1950's diner off exit 34 off the 210 East freeway. Maple syrup glistened as Tate poured an extremely large helping of it on his large stack of fluffy pumpkin pancakes. He swirled the syrup around the top pancake, watching it fountain down the sides like a waterfall.
Holding a hot cup of coffee in my hands, I watched Tate over the rim as he picked up a can of whip cream and sprayed THE ENTIRE CAN onto his twelve stack of pancakes, making the precarious tower so tall that it was nearly up to his chin. Yep. Sounds about right. Then he took a bite, eyes falling closed for a moment, lost to the world.
"HELLO BEAUTIFUL..." he said to his food, like one would to a lover.
After a moment, his dusky eyelashes fluttered and he opened his eyes. "You got to try these." Tate held his fork towards me across the plush booth where we sat across from each other.
I motioned down to my plate with a deadpan expression. "I have pancakes, Tate."
The morning sun fluttered inside the glass window next to us, sending sparks of light across the chrome table, warming up the diner. We had stopped here for breakfast after Tate discovered that I hadn't eaten. Something he had called an 'unacceptable way to start the day.' According to my breakfast-loving companion, the diner which was called, Pancakes For the Win, had the best pancakes in the world.
"You have the classic buttermilk four stack, which are in fact good But these..." Tate motioned towards his tower of sugary goodness. "...are the Pumpkin Fall Twelve Stack Blast." He waved the fork around, threatening to fling syrup on the table. "Which are insanely good."
He held out his fork towards my face. "As a dessert girl, this is right up your alley." I shot him a look, zero desire of being fed.
"Just hand me the fork."
"Just hurry and take a bite before syrup falls all over the table." His eyes went wide with mock concern. "HURRY, IT'S ABOUT TO DRIP!"
Yanking the fork from his hand, I shoved the forkful into my mouth, and couldn't hide my surprise.
It was like fall in a bite. The perfect swirl of cinnamon, pumpkin, butter and sugar melted on my tongue. The blast of flavor sunk deep inside, leaving a warm trail that made my toes curl. "OHMYGOSH," I said through the mouthful. It was the ultimate dessert. The perfect way to start the day.
"You weren't kidding," I said, holding my hand over my mouth so I could talk without spitting all over him. If all breakfast foods were that good, I would probably find the time every morning to eat them.
Tate pushed his tall plate of pancakes across the table. "Help yourself."
Normally I would protest... but it was so good that I sunk my fork into the syrup-filled perfection tower and took another bite without protest. "You must be a food sharer," I said after my third bite.
Tate took my smaller stack of regular buttermilk pancakes and smiled to himself, dimples carving into his cheeks. "Not really."
I laughed. "I find that hard to believe. You've been a food pusher since we met. Always trying to get me to eat whatever new thing you are eating."
He flagged down the waitress asking for another stack of the Pumpkin Fall Twelve Stack Blast pancakes. While he waited for the second stack to arrive, he started in on my buttermilk pancakes which I had completely abandoned to inhale his food.
"Well, there's this saying that my family uses when it comes to my relationship with food." Tate was now on the last pancake. "Tate doesn't share food."
I paused long enough to raise a brow at him. "Seriously?"
Tate finished the last pancake and pushed the now empty plate away, looking up at me with sincerity. "Yes."
I stared down at what was now my stack of pancakes, thinking through what he was saying. What he was implying.
"I like sharing with you, Allie," Tate murmured.
The simple words were quiet, but they may as well have been shouted as a blaring declaration. They echoed loudly through my body like a call booming across a hillside that echoed back just as loudly.
My cheeks flamed, but before I could say a word, the waitress dropped off the second plate of Pumpkin Fall Twelve Stack Blast pancakes at the center of the table and they sat there for a long moment, untouched, no longer the center of the conversation.
"Why?" I asked, my voice too loud. My eyes wide.
He wove his fingers together, a sudden flash in his eyes as he drank me in. Gone was the humor that normally settled across his face, his lips, his eyes. Instead at the forefront sat a raw vulnerability that was rare. A spark like fire, melting his green forest eyes into twin pools that threatened to swallow me whole. "Because I like making you smile and contrary to what you may think, your smile is sexy as hell."
Then as if he had said the most natural thing in the world, he began to eat the other stack of pancakes, done with his explanation.
I stared at him, trying to find the loophole in his statement. Sexy as hell? My smile? The idea was laughable... right? My smile was weird, something I rarely used. Could it really be something Tate would want to see over and over? "You like making everyone smile," I countered.
Tate glanced up, fork hovering an inch away from his mouth. "Have you seen me share with anyone else?" He plucked the food into his mouth, waiting for my response, eyes steady on mine.
"That's an unfair question. I haven't seen you eat with anyone else."
"Is it really so hard to believe that I enjoy making you smile, Allie?"
I shook my head. "The idea that you would be a food hog is."
At that Tate laughed. "Iz would die if she heard that you considered me a generous food sharer."
The waitress walked up, placing the check on the table. Tate dropped his credit card before I could make a move for my purse. The woman smiled and whisked it away.
"Here," I shuffled around inside my purse looking for several bills.
"Don't worry about it." Tate finished off the pancakes.
"Iâ"
"Allie," Tate cut in. I stopped scrounging through my purse and looked back up at him. "Let me pay for you." I pursed my lips, tempted to put up a fight.
Tate leaned forward, eyes serious as he pinned me with his unwavering gaze. "I'd like to make it clear what kind of day I'd like with you. And paying for your meal makes it pretty crystal."
The waitress came back with Tate's card and receipt. I leaned back, letting out an unsteady breath as Tate quickly tucked away his card and added the tip to the receipt. Then he stood up, not waiting for my reply. Walking over to my side of the booth he held out his hand. "What do you say, Allie Winters? Will you go out on a date with me?"
I blinked, finding myself nodding before I realized I had even moved. Like my body knew what I wanted even as my mind lost all ability to process information.
Tate smiled, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet, a wide grin bringing his dimples on full display again. "Good. Because things were about to get really awkward if you said no."
Weaving our fingers together, Tate tugged me towards the door, ready to take on the day, all smiles. And instead of being utterly terrified about the prospect of this being a date, I found myself smiling, because apparently, my smile was as sexy as hell.
---
Thank you for reading chapter twenty-four! I hope you are enjoying the story! Or are at least curious to see where it goes!
UPDATE DAYS - A NEW CHAPTER EVERY FRIDAY!
Allie and Tate are headed out for their date!
Things seem to be going well. But will they hit any snags during their time together?
If so, any guesses on what that will be?
CHAPTER QUESTION -Â Would you ever want to wear a matching outfit with your crush/ significant other? Why or why not?