hallway, he let out a heavy breath, not at all sure why he suddenly felt like he'd just set himself up for a huge test. And failure was not an option here. Because failure meant Rachel would run so far and so fast that he'd never catch her. Not in the way he wanted to.
While she was a surprisingly easy person to live with, considering the pregnant mood swings, she still carried herself with a touch of wariness around him. He could see it in her eyes, sometimes more than others. But whenever they touched, it was brighter, sharper, like a vivid armor she kept around herself. After it would flash around her, she'd retreat to her room or her office. And he let her, knowing that this was exactly what Dylan had been talking about. Tate wasn't going to push her, not yet. He'd just keep doing what he could for her, taking these opportunities when they presented themselves.
A small bottle of light pink nail polish appeared next to him, and he glanced up at Rachel, taking it from her outstretched hand. The color was soft and feminine, which surprised him, but he liked it. He flipped the small bottle over and looked at the name. Hearts and Tarts. Definitely fit her.
Rachel had settled herself back on the couch, and tossed a towel at him.
"What's that for?" he asked as he pulled a footrest from the deep reading chair next to the slider, placing it so that he would face Rachel.
"Well, unless you don't care about possibly getting pink nail polish on the carpet or your clothes, feel free to not use it."
Tate laughed. "Oh ye of little faith. Now I have to go towel-free just to prove you wrong."
They were both quiet when he looked at her, reaching down to lift her right foot, placing it on his knee that he'd lowered so she wasn't uncomfortable. She had small feet, even though they were a little swollen-looking, and he went about the task of moving the small brush back and forth, back and forth until he reached her big toe. Rachel hadn't spoken a word, and he felt her gaze on the top of his head like a laser beam. He wrapped one hand around the top of her foot so he could shift it at a better angle to paint her big toe, and he let his fingers drift across the soft skin, quite purposefully, just to see if she'd say anything, or maybe threaten to kick him in the head.
She didn't. She was completely and eerily still. Tate set the finished foot back onto the floor, and picked up her left foot. This time he moved slower, making sure he held her foot in place this time, not because he needed to. Because he damn well wanted to. Tate wasn't a foot guy, but at the moment, he had to pretend he was anchored in place, so that he wouldn't lean forward and kiss each toe. It was a slightly disturbing impulse, and he almost let out a hysterical laugh.
Man card, officially gone.
When Rachel slowly pulled her foot back, Tate realized that he was finished, but he kept his grip on her.
He shook his head, then stood to help her up, offering her both hands. It took more of an effort for her these days, to get up from the low-slung couch. He could see a difference in the two short weeks she'd been living there. Normally she waved him off, but this time she barely hesitated before putting her hands into his. Her fingers were cool compared to his, but strong as they wrapped around his hand. He stepped back, pulling her up easily.
She still hadn't said a word since he'd sat down in front of her, but instead of making him nervous, it made him feel like he'd breached a great, hulking wall to get to her.
Her head was tipped down, looking at her feet, and when she looked back up at him, he was expecting a smile, but she didn't give him one. Her look was searching, and he realized that she was still holding onto him.
Don't kiss her, don't kiss her, don't kiss her. He chanted it through his head, screaming it at the impulse that charged through him to do just that. Her chin tilted up, just a scant inch, and his heart thundered until he was sure she could hear it.
Don't kiss her. Don't. Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her.
When