Page 68 of Tanner

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When I get to Tanner’s door, I knock. No answer. So, I leave and walk across the street. I take a seat in The Den and wait for him to return from wherever it is he spends his days.

School, I suppose.

Paul serves me a glass of scotch without asking and says it’s on the house. When I see Tanner approach his door, it’s late enough that the sun has set, and my nerves are completely on edge.

I order a second glass of scotch and take my time in drinking it. Now that I know he’s home, I don’t exactly know what I’m going to say.

“You ain’t gonna find the answer in that glass,” Paul says.

He’s right.

“Yeah, but it might make the words come out easier.”

“Or all wrong. It could go both ways.”

I raise the glass in salute. “Here’s to hoping I don’t fuck it up. Again.” I down the scotch and leave a fifty on the bar.

“Your money’s no good here. Besides, that’s Tanner’s bottle.”

I give him a smile in thanks and leave the money there anyway.

“Good luck,” Paul calls out as I leave.

I could use it.

I walk across the street and ring the bell to the loft, but he doesn’t come down. I get the feeling he knows it’s me and doesn’t want the confrontation. I ring again and take a breath. Still, he doesn’t answer. I ring for a third time, and when I still find he’s ignoring me, I contemplate leaving when I hear the lock click.

Chills run up my spine as the door slides open to reveal Tanner in a white shirt and torn-up jeans. His hair is a mess, and his fingers are covered in paint.

His chest is heaving like he was doing push-ups. His lips are full and parted with each breath. Those intense blue eyes are boring down on me. There’s a slight tilt to the ends as he looks at me, almost in a plea as to what I’m here to say.

So, I say it.

“I don’t deserve you. I know … you don’t have to tell me how wrong I was for the way I behaved. I freaked out, and I left you. It was childish and wrong.”

His jaw clenches as he raises his chin. Those eyes though, they’re still hoping for something.

“When I was a kid, I wanted Rollerblades for my birthday. I know this sounds off topic, but bear with me.” I raise my hand and swallow, mustering up all my strength. “We lived on a steep street, so my mom said I couldn’t have them because I’d hurt myself. She told me I could get a bike because it was the safer choice, more appropriate for a girl my age. My dad didn’t listen and got me skates anyway. He said that, if I was willing to take the risk, then I should be able to try. Long story short, I sprained my wrist on the first day rollerblading. I plowed right into my neighbor’s car in front of a group of middle school boys. It was really embarrassing. Anyway, I ended up getting a bike, like my mom said I should, and I really never enjoyed it. I’ve always wondered why I never picked those skates up again.”

“Let me guess … I’m the Rollerblades in this scenario?” He leans into the doorway as I take a shaky breath.

“I think so?” Pulling my coat in, I hug myself. “I’m not a risk-taker. I like order and rules. I like safe. I don’t do well when things fall apart.”

Tanner’s scowl lessens.

I continue, “When my last relationship ended, I was really messed up. I lay on the couch for a month—not just because the relationship was over, but because I didn’t like not having control of my life. I didn’t know how to deal. The night we met, April had pulled me off that couch because she wanted me to live again. And I did. With you.”

His lips smash together as he looks away. I try to pull him back in.

“I never dreamed I’d fall for a man so spontaneous and brave. Someone so talented and charismatic. A man who makes things beautiful with the touch of his hand. Because that’s what you are, Tanner. A man. There’s no plan. The rules are always broken, and yet I’m not worried because, when I’m with you, I feel safe. I’m sorry for ever doubting you.”

He looks back toward me, and this time, I see a burn in his gaze.

“I’m not perfect. I hate large crowds, I make a terrible pot of coffee, and I’m the least creative person you’ve ever met. I’m a sore loser. If we ever play a game and I don’t win, I’ll pout like a five-year-old. It’s terrible, I know. But I like to bake and read, and I can quote any Friends episode, though that might not be a perk.”

There’s a small twitch to his mouth. It makes my heart skip a beat.