“Sweet pitcher, babe. Never owned one of those.”

In the window of the little country shop (that happened to be two doors down from the grocery store) they had these adorable, big, old-fashioned glass pitchers with a beautiful shape, dimpled glass and they were tinted pink. Now Tate had this pitcher.

They also had matching glasses. Tate probably didn’t look but the glasses were in the cupboard.

I lifted my head, his body jerked back a foot and I glared at his grinning, arrogant, beautiful face.

“Go! Away!” I snapped and then suddenly I was on my feet by the bed and just as suddenly I was in front of Tate, his hands at my hips, and I was moving toward the bathroom. “Tate!”

“Seein’ as you’re up, time to shower,” he stated, shoving me into the bathroom.

I twisted my head around and gave him a look.

“You think you’re funny but you… are… not.”

He whipped my body around, his arm went around my waist and held me close to his t-shirted, jeaned front and he reached beyond me, opening the door to the shower. He turned on the taps, the water shot down and he looked down at me.

“Curtains,” he muttered.

I glared up at him then muttered back, “Whatever,” turned to the shower, stuck my hand in, found it was hot, yanked off his tee that I was wearing and stepped in, firmly closing the door behind me.

* * * * *

I was still nursing my grudge at all things Tate, (primarily his waking me up, being arrogant, and finding his morning amusing after I had the worst night of my life, a night that contained Brad, Neeta and the unexpected knowledge of ten year old Jonas) when Tate, me beside him, drove his Explorer into Carnal on our way to the mall.

I had been silent all morning as I got ready, something Tate found funny if the amount of times I saw him grin, smile or heard him chuckle was any indication as he came in and out of the bedroom or stood at the counter in the kitchen sifting through his piles of post while I was preparing for my day, making the bed, replacing the be-shammed pillows and getting myself coffee.

I spied the coffee shop and fairly shouted, “La-La Land!”

Tate’s head turned to me. “Come again?”

“Stop. Park. Coffee. Orgasmic bread. Now,” I demanded.

“Orgasmic bread?” Tate asked.

“Tate, you’re passing it!” I cried desperately as we went passed, my head turning to watch the shop through the window. “Park!”

Tate braked and swung into a parking spot three doors down from La-La Land. He barely had the ignition switched off before I had the door open, hopped down, slammed the door and was motoring.

I was nearly there when I was hooked with an arm across my chest and pulled back into the solidness that was all Tate.

“Hang on there, Ace, the shop isn’t gonna go up in a puff of smoke,” he said into my hair as I forced us forward even though we were locked together.

“Unh-hunh,” I said back, pushed open the door to La-La Land and entered, pulling Tate with me.

“Flower Petal!” Shambles cried upon seeing me, his face lighting up behind his blue tinted, round sunglasses then his eyes went to Tate and his face froze.

Sunny’s head popped up down the counter.

“Petal,” she smiled at me and her smile didn’t waiver when her eyes went to Tate and she watched as, still locked together, he moved us to the counter.

“Hey guys, what’s today’s theme?” I asked.

“Who’s that?” Shambles asked, stealthily moving away from the front counter toward the back.

“Ignore him, I am,” I stated audaciously, seeing as Tate still had his arm around me, and I looked in the display case. “Let me guess, chocolate?”

That wasn’t so much a guess as a dream.

Tate’s other arm joined his first wrapped around my chest.

“Lemon,” Sunny answered and came to stand in front of Tate and I at the counter. “Hey dude, I’m Sunny,” she said to Tate.

“Tate,” Tate replied.

“Awesome, Tate. This is my man, Shambles.” She gestured to Shambles.

“Dude,” Shambles muttered, eyeing up Tate and me in a way I didn’t really notice but if I had I would have seen it was like a brother would eye up his sister’s new boyfriend. Uncertain, tentative, holding back and ready to pass resoundingly negative judgment if the new boyfriend gave even a hint of being a jerk.

I ignored this, focused on processing my disappointment that Shambles had yet to hit on a chocolate theme at the same time surveying the case seeing lemon drizzle cake, lemon squares and lemon curd filled cupcakes and wondering what I was going to order.

I looked at Shambles. “What do you recommend?”

“Um…” Shambles mumbled, still eyeing Tate, still not quite certain how his judgment would come down.

“That’s hard,” Sunny put in, “Shambles is a master with lemon.”

After she imparted this knowledge, I stared at her. Then, knowing what it meant, I ordered, “I’ll take one of anything with lemon in it.”

Tate burst out laughing behind me, his arms going tight and his head moved so he could shove his face into my neck where I felt his beard tickle me and his lips kissing me.

Shambles looked at me then he looked at Tate’s head bent to my neck. Then he took two steps forward.

“Dude,” he called and Tate’s head came up.

“Yeah?”

Shambles swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he did.

“You look like you like her but Petal doesn’t look like she likes you. What gives?”

“Petal?” Tate whispered in my ear.

“She’s flowery,” Sunny answered him. “See? At her ears and her wrists and her neck. Flowers. Petal. Get it?”

Tate curved me around to face him and his eyes went from my ears to my neck to mine.

“Flowery,” he muttered and something about his deep, rough voice saying that word slid through me in a way that felt really nice.

Even so, I demanded, “Do you mind letting me go so I can have something lemon chased by coffee?”

Tate didn’t answer verbally but him not letting me go was his answer physically. His fingers came to my neck and I felt one twist a chain there, tightening it. His eyes watched his movements then they came to my face.

“That dick buy you these?” he asked.