her lips parted, he felt the chant change in his head. But the second he dipped his head, she yanked herself back and almost fell into the couch again. Tate reached out and grabbed her elbow to steady her, but she all but ripped her arm out of his grasp.
"Rachel," he started, feeling like an absolute ass for doing exactly what he knew he shouldn't.
"It's fine, I just ... I have to go ... go do something."
While she hustled down the hallway to her room, or sanctuary as he was starting to think of it, he sank down onto the footstool. He dropped his head into his hands, scrubbing them harshly down his face.
The selfish way he'd handled every second of that made him feel like he was swallowing a pine cone. He had to figure out a way that he could help, could be there for her, could fix things, without making her run.
While he listened to the sounds of her opening and closing drawers in her room, determination filled him.
He knew exactly what he could do.
Chapter Twenty-Five
"Son of a motherf-" Tate bit off the end of that particular sentence, grinding his teeth together and breathing slowly. He could do this. He had to do this. He was a lawyer, for crying out loud. He should be able to put together three pieces of furniture by himself. But the instructions might as well have been written up in Chinese for all the sense they made. Yeah, he'd pitched those suckers across the room after he'd mangled the changing table together.
But this crib, he was seriously considering shoving his foot through the wall just to release the thrumming of anger he felt for this inanimate object. Gripping one of the main posts, he counted to twenty, and then looked back down at the pile.
Rachel better appreciate this. Because after waiting the two hours after she'd gone into her room for the night, Tate had sneaked back upstairs and started the shockingly hard task of unpacking boxes and assembling a crib and dresser without making too much noise, in the middle of the night when he should be sleeping, considering what his next few days of work were like. But he couldn't risk it, her walking into that room, and seeing boxes laying everywhere.
Nope, it had to be done tonight. They'd danced around each other for the last ten days since he almost kissed her, being almost painfully polite to each other. Definitely no more toenail painting. But maybe this gesture could break them past it. No, it had to, for his own sanity.
When he'd called Pottery Barn to order the crib and dresser he'd seen in the store, there had been a little whisper of a voice that made him pause, that he should have at least asked Casey what she thought, but since he already had the woman on the line, and she'd been so accommodating in helping him set up a very specific delivery time when he'd explained what he was doing. So he'd barreled ahead, and now he was cursing himself with words that hadn't passed his lips in years.
It would be worth it in the end, that much he knew. The furniture was stark white, which he figured was a good choice for going with whatever decor Rachel and Casey decided on. Or in all honesty, what Casey decided on. And the front and sides were the typical slats, but the back of the crib arched up in a beautiful sleigh design. In addition, he'd bought the matching six-drawer dresser. They were both so solid looking, a little old fashioned in design. Expensive as hell too, but beautiful nonetheless. Just thinking about the finished product renewed him into a more calm state of mind. He turned his wrist so he could see his watch.
1:36 am. He'd probably want to slit his own throat at the office in a few short hours.
"Alright, let's try this again" he said, and crouched down onto the floor, smoothing out the crumpled instructions.
About two hours later, he stumbled out of the room and face-planted onto the couch, sinking into sleep with a slight smile on his face that he'd successfully conquered the furniture beast for his fair lady.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" Rachel said from somewhere above him, jarring him awake. Tate rubbed at his face, and squinted up at where she stood next to the couch, gripping her coffee mug in both hands. She was still wearing