Bobbi

There weren’t many patterns that Tate followed in the stories he wrote, but there were a few he seemed to follow in structure. His male characters were very family oriented. If there wasn’t blood family in the hero’s life, he always had a close bond with someone else that he considered family.

The heroines, however, all seemed to have suffered some type of loss and were left to live with that loss. Be it a parent, a friend, or even a sibling, they all suffered significant loss. In the end, the heroines had the hero to act as their foundation for a solid future. I wondered if the heroines expressed loss was indicative of Tate’s belief that women made sacrifices in life that men didn’t.

In real life, a woman’s sacrifice in a relationship was lifelong. In the absence of a man cheating or becoming an entirely different person, a woman rarely – if ever – divorced her spouse.

A man, however, seemed to be willing to leave his respective other at the mere thought of something existing that might better serve his needs or desires. The woman always got the short end of the stick in real life.

Always.

It seemed Tate not only recognized that as being true, but expressed it in the background and backstories of his heroines.

His heroes didn’t cheat. They were all faithful to their heroines, protective of them, and never abused them. From what had become the norm in romance writing today, it was a refreshing change to see heroes be just that, true heroes.

I set my Kindle aside. His men – all his men – lived by a moral code that every man could benefit from adhering to. Through their course of travels in the books, if they encountered others who seemed to have lost their moral compass, they redirected them, often using violence or the threat of such as leverage.

The real world would be a better place if it were filled with the men of Tate’s books. I couldn’t help but wonder if the men in Tate’s life – the men he rode with – were similar to the men he wrote about. Intrigued by the thought of such men existing, I gazed at the ceiling and considered the notion.

After a few moments, I decided it was wishful thinking. Real-life men didn’t actually possess such qualities. The books were fiction for a reason. They were nothing more than fairy tales for adults. It was nice to think about such things, but the heroes in many books were custom-tailored for the stay at home wife that had nothing better to do than read and dream.

A dull thud of a knock my door brought me out of my subconscious slumber. I gazed across the room and grinned.

“I’m coming.”

I peered through the peephole. Holding a plastic bag in each hand, Andy rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Wearing a grin, I opened the door. “Good afternoon.”

He ducked underneath my arm and headed straight for the kitchen. “It’s still morning. I wanted to get here before lunch,” he said. “To make sure you had plenty of points.”

“I’ve only used five, so far.”

“We’re going to use seven, and you’re going to love it.”

I closed the door and turned toward the kitchen. “Seven, huh?”

He nodded. “I looked it up.”

Considering his sweet tooth, I was curious as to what he had planned. He had only good intentions, but his snack suggestions often left me telling him no due to the caloric content.

“What are we going to have for seven points?” I asked.

He waved his hand toward me and then brushed the bags to the side with his other arm, as if to hide them. “Go sit down. Don’t bother trying to peek in here, either. This is a surprise.”

I gave him a look.

“I’ll tell you when I’m done,” he said.

I let out a sigh and walked to the living room. “Fine.”

Facing away from the kitchen as he prepared the snack made the wait a little more interesting. The sound of silverware and pans clanking around only added to my curiosity. Soon, the faint aroma of peaches found its way into the living room. My mouth salivated at the thought of eating a peach. It seemed I’d all but forgotten they existed.

In five minutes, he walked into the living room holding two bowls. He handed me one of them. “You can thank me later.”

I looked at his seven-point masterpiece. Ice cream, a halved peach that had been cooked and drizzled with caramel, and a decorative spritz of whipped cream stared back at me.

Seven points my ass.

“This is not seven points.”

He sat across from me and wagged his spoon toward the contents of his bowl. “A cup of Halo Top ice cream. Four points, and it’s infused with protein. Fat free Cool-Whip, 0 points per two-teaspoon serving, but they call it a point if you double that, and I did. So, one point. Two teaspoons of brown sugar, two points. Four, plus one, plus two is seven.”

He scooped up a bite with his spoon, raised it to his mouth, and ate it. “Dear Lord. This is heavenly.”

With slight reluctance, I took a bite, making sure to get a piece of peach, ice cream, whipped cream, and the melted brown sugar all at once.

Upon tasting it, my eyes went wide. I hadn’t tasted anything so heavenly in years. I swallowed it, looked at the bowl, and then at him. “Holy crap.”

He raised his spoon. “I told you.”

“What did you do to it? It’s…” At a complete loss for words, I gazed down at the bowl of creamy caramel peach goodness. “It’s…”

“I halved two peaches, cooked them face down in a skillet for a few minutes, and then flipped them over. Then, I added a little brown sugar. The heat rising from the skillet melts it. Add the ice cream and the whipped topping, and voila!”

“This ice cream doesn’t taste like it’s good for you.”

“It most certainly is.” He leaned forward. “One of the editors for GQ went on a ten-day Halo Top diet. He was in his late twenties, and he was physically fit when he started. He ate five pints of ice cream a day, and nothing else. At the end of the diet, he’d lost fifteen pounds, two percentage points of body fat, and an inch and a half off his waist. At the end of the article, he measured his chest, and he’d gained two inches of muscle mass.”

I took another bite. It was better than the first. “Seriously?”

“After I read the article, I decided I better try it. It’s good, isn’t it?”

Previously, I’d starved myself from all sweets on every diet I’d been on. Eventually, my sweet tooth got the best of me. I then binged on them, always gaining three or four pounds in a matter of days. At seven points, I could eat the peach ice cream delight every day and not worry about a thing.

“It’s better than good.” I lifted my spoon. “This will be my new nightly snack. Seven points of heaven.”

I savored the fruity ice cream treat, becoming more skeptical of the points total for the dessert with each bite. After I’d finished, I grabbed my phone and walked into the kitchen.

Using my Weight Watchers points app, I scanned the ice cream’s empty container. Andy was right, a cup was only four points. Then, I scanned the brown sugar. Much to my surprise, Andy was right, again. I didn’t have to look the value of the peach up; unaltered fruit was zero points.

I decided I was wrong about the heroes in Tate’s books. If the dessert I just devoured could be as satisfying as it was, and only seven points, anything was possible.

Anything at all.