the country as bachelors, now that Tate was out of the picture. Oh, the shenanigans they probably got into together! To get through it, she would probably have to stab herself in the thigh with a fork, but she would suffer through it. For Sanders.
But he didn't. Their appetizers were brought out, and they chatted over normal things. Sanders was an avid horse rider, and Tate had ridden all through school, so they talked about horses and stables, the best places to ride. He complimented her hair and she complimented his suit. He promised that after dinner he would take her to McDonald's, so she could get a Happy Meal with a toy – she should have something to unwrap on her birthday, after all, and she could never resist a milkshake. She hugged him from across the table.
“This was awesome, Sandy, thank you so much for taking me out,” Tate said as she scraped the last little bit of cake off her dessert plate. It was promptly whisked away, and two tiny glasses of port appeared in front of them.
“Of course. I always enjoy our dinners. Which leads me to ask, I was wondering something. You can say no, I won't get mad. It was just an idea I had,” he started, sipping at the dark wine. Her defenses immediately went up. Apparently the conversation from earlier wasn't over.
“Alright. What is it?” she asked slowly.
“I am a fairly accomplished cook. I thought it would be nice to make you dinner one of these nights,” Sanders told her. She raised her eyebrows.
“Of course! Just tell me when, and I'll come over to your place -,”
“I moved out of the hotel,” he said quickly. Her breath caught in her throat. There was only one other place he would go.
“Sandy, I know , I know he's your family, but I can't. I just can't go sit and have dinner with him. I'm not making you choose, really, I just can't be in that house, with him. I can't, I can't, ” Tate was speaking at supersonic speeds. Sanders reached out and rested his hand on her arm, and she was instantly soothed. He never touched anybody, so any display of affection from him was a massive one.
“He's not there. He left the country. He hasn't been home for almost six weeks,” Sanders explained.
Six weeks. Tate had been out of the hospital for almost exactly six weeks. Apparently when she had said she wanted him gone, Jameson had taken her very literally. She was such a stupid girl, her stupid heart had believed him again. So much for seeing her around. Kind of hard to do from 3,000 miles away. Or was Berlin 4,000 miles away? She wasn't sure.
Goddamn fucking stupid Danish beauty FUCK. FUCKER.
“Oh. I just ..., I don't know. Let me think about it? It's hard, Sandy. It's ..., hard,” Tate's voice fell in to a whisper.
Jameson's house had become home to Tate, in the short period of time she had stayed there. It was where she had met Sanders, a soulmate. It's where she had met her match, in Satan. More than her match, it turned out. She had left a piece of herself in that house, imbedded in the structure, buried in the foundation. She wasn't ready to get it back yet.
“Of course, no pressure,” Sanders assured her. She smiled.
“You could always come cook at our place. Nick has a really nice, commercial grade stove,” she told him. His lips quirked to the side.
“May I ask you one more question?” Sanders ignored her suggestion.
“Yes.”
“Will you ever be ready to see him again?”
Sanders just would not stop with the surprises. She wondered how long he had been planning this; Sanders would never do something without extensive planning, especially if it involved him going out of his comfort zone. This was so far out of his zone, he was practically a new person.
“I don't know. I'm ..., he ..., I don't think I can explain it. I thought ..., I told him I felt a certain way. I didn't ask for anything back, but he led me to believe there was something. It was all a lie. A joke. A game. He didn't care about me, he just wanted to hurt me. Me ,
But he didn't. Their appetizers were brought out, and they chatted over normal things. Sanders was an avid horse rider, and Tate had ridden all through school, so they talked about horses and stables, the best places to ride. He complimented her hair and she complimented his suit. He promised that after dinner he would take her to McDonald's, so she could get a Happy Meal with a toy – she should have something to unwrap on her birthday, after all, and she could never resist a milkshake. She hugged him from across the table.
“This was awesome, Sandy, thank you so much for taking me out,” Tate said as she scraped the last little bit of cake off her dessert plate. It was promptly whisked away, and two tiny glasses of port appeared in front of them.
“Of course. I always enjoy our dinners. Which leads me to ask, I was wondering something. You can say no, I won't get mad. It was just an idea I had,” he started, sipping at the dark wine. Her defenses immediately went up. Apparently the conversation from earlier wasn't over.
“Alright. What is it?” she asked slowly.
“I am a fairly accomplished cook. I thought it would be nice to make you dinner one of these nights,” Sanders told her. She raised her eyebrows.
“Of course! Just tell me when, and I'll come over to your place -,”
“I moved out of the hotel,” he said quickly. Her breath caught in her throat. There was only one other place he would go.
“Sandy, I know , I know he's your family, but I can't. I just can't go sit and have dinner with him. I'm not making you choose, really, I just can't be in that house, with him. I can't, I can't, ” Tate was speaking at supersonic speeds. Sanders reached out and rested his hand on her arm, and she was instantly soothed. He never touched anybody, so any display of affection from him was a massive one.
“He's not there. He left the country. He hasn't been home for almost six weeks,” Sanders explained.
Six weeks. Tate had been out of the hospital for almost exactly six weeks. Apparently when she had said she wanted him gone, Jameson had taken her very literally. She was such a stupid girl, her stupid heart had believed him again. So much for seeing her around. Kind of hard to do from 3,000 miles away. Or was Berlin 4,000 miles away? She wasn't sure.
Goddamn fucking stupid Danish beauty FUCK. FUCKER.
“Oh. I just ..., I don't know. Let me think about it? It's hard, Sandy. It's ..., hard,” Tate's voice fell in to a whisper.
Jameson's house had become home to Tate, in the short period of time she had stayed there. It was where she had met Sanders, a soulmate. It's where she had met her match, in Satan. More than her match, it turned out. She had left a piece of herself in that house, imbedded in the structure, buried in the foundation. She wasn't ready to get it back yet.
“Of course, no pressure,” Sanders assured her. She smiled.
“You could always come cook at our place. Nick has a really nice, commercial grade stove,” she told him. His lips quirked to the side.
“May I ask you one more question?” Sanders ignored her suggestion.
“Yes.”
“Will you ever be ready to see him again?”
Sanders just would not stop with the surprises. She wondered how long he had been planning this; Sanders would never do something without extensive planning, especially if it involved him going out of his comfort zone. This was so far out of his zone, he was practically a new person.
“I don't know. I'm ..., he ..., I don't think I can explain it. I thought ..., I told him I felt a certain way. I didn't ask for anything back, but he led me to believe there was something. It was all a lie. A joke. A game. He didn't care about me, he just wanted to hurt me. Me ,
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