Tanner
He sat frozen in the bed of the truck, his mind struggling to catch up. What the hell just happened?
A long time after Belle’s back disappeared over the hill, Tanner jumped out of the truck and began pacing.
It was perfect. Everything went exactly as planned. No, better than planned. The weather was ideal. His brother actually showed up on time with minimal sarcasm. Belle loved her gift. She was reminded of all the happiness they’d shared together.
And then she left. Ran away.
He landed a left hook on the rear fender of his truck and immediately regretted the decision as pain shot through his hand and the skin split. Shit. He probably broke something.
Just then his eyes landed on the telescope and his anger surged. Break something. He kicked the stand and it crashed to the ground. He was trying. He lifted it over his head and slammed it down with as much force as possible. Pieces of glass and plastic splintered. Dammit, he was trying to fix everything. He stomped on it over and over before kicking it thirty feet away.
She was being stubborn and pig-headed and completely unreasonable. Yeah, he screwed up, but she wasn’t listening and wasn’t giving him a fair chance. He braced both hands on the bed of the truck, the breath leaving his body with a sharp gasp as pain shot through his left hand with the pressure. He barely noticed the blood pouring from his knuckles.
If she would have just talked to him instead of running away. If she would have let him slow things down. If she…
Well, hell.
Tanner’s knees buckled and he dropped to the ground. His forehead rested against the wheel well, and he cursed the unfamiliar feeling of tears streaking down his face. She didn’t do a damn thing wrong.
He wasn’t just a grade A, number one asshole for…that, but here he was promising Belle that he was going to fix it all and prove he could be the same guy she fell in love with, and what did he do? Started blaming her. And losing his temper like a damn kid. Why the hell was she even giving him a second chance? She’d be better off with someone else who wouldn’t forget how special she was. Someone who wouldn’t take her for granted.
Blood began streaming down his forearm, pulling him from his self-destructive thoughts. He wasn’t giving up. He still had thirty-six days and many more dates planned for Belle.
Tanner stood slowly, cradling his hand against his abdomen. Dammit all to hell, he was going to need stitches. Maybe a cast.
He climbed in his truck and guided it carefully around the bulk of the debris left behind from his temper tantrum and made a mental note to come back and clear the field. For a brief moment he debated on asking Belle to drive him to the hospital before dismissing the thought with a stern shake of his head. No, Dean could pull his happy little ass out of bed and drive him.
The entire ride to and from the emergency room in Dean’s absurdly small sports car, and every minute in between while he sat getting ten stitches put in across his knuckles, he rehearsed what he’d say. It had only been a week. What the hell was he thinking?
The first fingers of light were touching the sky as they walked through the front door. Dean pushed past his brother with an added shove. “I’m claiming your bed for the next six hours at least. Don’t disturb me again.”
“It’s not my bed.” He refused to think of it as anything other than the guest room. Even if he slept in there every night.
Dean chuckled as he ascended the stairs. “It is until you get Izzy to forget what an asshole she married,” he called over his shoulder.
Tanner scowled at his brother’s back. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up on the nearest horizontal surface, pop a few of the pain pills they had given him at the hospital, and pass out for several hours. But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. It was Sunday morning.
He pulled out pans and ingredients as quietly as possible. He hoped to hell he wouldn’t wake Belle. When had he stopped making breakfast on Sunday morning? He beat the eggs in the bowl with more force than necessary with a self-derisive snort. She should have kicked him out long ago.
His eyes caught the blood stains that had formed on his shirt and jeans and he sighed. He needed to go shower before Belle saw. She’d worry. His heart stopped. She always worried about everyone else, especially him.
As quietly as possible, he snuck into the guest room, grabbed some clothes, and took as fast a shower as he could, holding his left hand out of the water. Hell, he missed everything he’d taken for granted just a week ago. His wife, his family, and even the damn shower in the master bedroom.
He threw on a pair of athletic shorts and tugged the sleeveless shirt over his head before racing down the stairs. He had to at least get everything started before…
Just as he rounded the corner, he saw Belle filling the coffeepot. His first thought wasn’t for the breakfast that would no longer be a surprise, but on the light streaming through the kitchen window picking up the flecks of gold woven through her dark brown hair. His gaze traveled over her profile unnoticed. Dammit all to hell, when had he stopped noticing that Belle was the sexiest thing on two legs?
“Tanner.” Her voice caught. So maybe she had noticed his unabashed staring. Her eyes followed a similar path down his body as his had done to her, stopping when she saw the stark white bandage. She abandoned the can of coffee and rushed over to pick up his hand, concern filling her face. “What happened?”
Honesty. The word that had repeated over and over in his mind as he thought of what he would tell her while he was focusing on anything other than the searing pain of the doctor sewing his hand back together. “I’m a damn idiot that lost his temper.”
Tears collected in the corners of her eyes as she cradled his hand in both of hers. Her head tilted down and two drops plopped on the cotton covering his stitches. “It’s my fault.” Her words were barely a whisper but managed to pierce his heart.
He hooked a finger under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. Damn those gorgeous chestnut eyes that could see through all the way to his soul. “Sweetheart, don’t you dare. I was pissed because I’m a pathetic asshole who screwed up the best thing in my life. None of it was your fault.”
Belle lifted his hand to her mouth, a stray tear still falling down her cheek. “But I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Dammit all to hell. After everything he’d done to her, she wanted to take care of him. Tanner moved his hand up to her cheek. “Let me keep trying, sweetheart. Don’t give up on me yet. That would hurt more than hitting my truck.”
Her lips twitched, and he could see she was holding in a laugh. “You hit your truck?” Her eyebrows shot up with the words. “So your obnoxious yellow truck has an obnoxious dent in it now?”
Tanner narrowed his gaze, but a smile played about his lips. He captured a strand of her long hair and twisted it around his fingers. “It’s not obnoxious.”
Belle’s teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. “I’m not giving up.”
Relief flooded through Tanner’s body, and he planted a light kiss on her lips. “Good. Now sit down so I can make French toast. It’s Sunday.”
***
Well, hell.
This was not going as planned. Tanner bit the inside of his cheek and tugged the kitchen window open, hoping the smoke would disperse outside before the alarm could kick in and wake Belle. That would be one sorry-ass first attempt at a breakfast in bed.
He dumped the blackened pancakes in the trash and began running the pan under water. If he ruined her cookware, she would be pissed.
With a heavy sigh, he looked at the plate on the counter. The eggs were runny and the bacon was limp. He couldn’t give this to Belle. She served him his favorite meal cooked better than any gourmet restaurant he’d ever been to. The least she deserved was an edible breakfast.
Tanner snorted. She deserved a lot more than breakfast in bed. Hell, she deserved a lot more than him, but for whatever reason she chose to love him. And he needed to make sure every day that she didn’t regret that decision.
Breakfast in bed for Belle on Sunday mornings seemed like a good place to start. Except for the tiny fact he couldn’t cook. The food he thought was so simple confounded him more than Global Corporate Responsibility with Professor Hoover.
This time Belle’s breakfast would have to consist of muffins, bagels, and coffee from the shop on the corner. He tugged on some shoes, grabbed his keys and wallet, and softly clicked the door closed behind him.
Next week he’d make breakfast. Maybe he’d start with frozen waffles, though.
He ran as fast as he could to the coffee shop and back, but his heart fell when he saw Belle scrubbing the pan in the sink. “Dammit, sweetheart, I was going to do that.” He kicked his shoes off and set the bags on the table.
When she turned around to face him, there were tears in her eyes and he felt sick. Shit. He should have cleaned everything before he left.
But instead of screaming at him for ruining her pan or leaving a mess in the kitchen, she jumped into his arms. “You were making me breakfast,” she whispered against his ear, her arms and legs tighter around him than he ever remembered before.
“I was trying, Belle. And I promise I’ll get you a new pan if that one’s beyond hope. I didn’t mean to leave a mess for you, I was just getting—” Her lips found his and cut off his words.
After a long time, she finally released his mouth and he sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t care about the mess, and I definitely don’t care about the pan.” She kissed him again, softer than before. “Baby, you were making me breakfast. I love that.”
Tanner’s chest puffed up. All right then. “Damn straight I was, sweetheart. And you better get used to it because I’m going to make you breakfast in bed every Sunday.”
“Every Sunday until when?”
If he could figure out a way to punch her father and not ruin their relationship, he’d be damn near giddy. This beautiful, loving, caring woman should never have to question how long their relationship would last. If it was one day longer than forever it still wouldn’t be enough for him.
He carried her toward the bedroom, more determined than ever to give her breakfast in bed even if he had to tuck her back in it himself. “Every Sunday until you get tired of me and my attempts at cooking.”
She laughed when he lightly tossed her on the bed. “Since that’ll never happen, it looks like you’ve got a lot of cooking in your future, Mr. Carlisle.”
Her dark brown hair spread out on the pillow around her and her eyes twinkled. He didn’t have words for how much he loved her. As much as he wanted to cover her body with his and give her a little taste of the forever he had in mind, he forced himself to focus on taking care of her physical hunger. For now.
“Stay put.” He pointed at her with mock seriousness as he backed out of the room. “Breakfast in bed requires being in bed.”
She smiled softly and his heart almost stopped beating at the sight. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.”