It was late. The kind of late where the world quiets down—streetlights flickering, city hum softened into the background, and a slight chill clinging to the air.
You were curled up on the couch, hoodie draped over your knees, mentally ticking off the things you’d forgotten to grab earlier.
“I don’t want you going out this late,” Tate said, watching you frown at your phone list. His voice was calm, but laced with a gentle protectiveness.
You glanced up. “It’s not a big deal, really. I’ll be ten minutes.”
“Still,” he countered, standing and stretching, “you’ve had a long day. Let me do it.”
You gave him a look—half amused, half appreciative. “You sure?”
“I’ve got it.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then added with a small smirk, “I’ll even make a list, so I don’t mess it up.”
You chuckled as he scribbled the items onto a sticky note, then grabbed his helmet and keys.
“Be safe,” you called out.
“I’ll be quick,” he said over his shoulder, disappearing out the door.
The store was nearly empty, the air inside cold from overpowered AC. Tate moved efficiently, tossing the essentials into his small backpack: oat milk, the good chocolate you liked, that one brand of chips you swore tasted better than all the others. He double-checked the note, zipped everything up, and stepped outside.
Back on his bike, engine still off, he took a moment under the dim parking lot lights to check the list one last time.
That’s when a car pulled up beside him, engine idling low. The passenger-side window rolled down slowly, revealing a girl in her early twenties. She was smiling—casual, maybe a little too confident.
“Hey,” she said, her voice floating out with a mix of charm and assumption. “Saw you across the lot. That’s a cool bike.”
Tate glanced over, giving a polite nod. “Thanks,” he said, finishing zipping up his bag.
She tilted her head slightly. “You’re also really cute. Can I get your number?”
He blinked, caught a little off guard. “Uh, yeah, no. I’ve got a partner.”
The girl’s smile didn’t fade. “Okay? I don’t see them anywhere,” she said, her tone bordering on smug. “They don’t have to know.”
Tate’s face shifted, a flicker of discomfort moving through his expression. He adjusted the strap on his helmet, speaking a little more firmly this time. “I don’t mean any offense, ma’am. I’m not that kind of guy. I’m really not interested. I love my partner a lot.”
The girl frowned now, lips twisting into something sour. “Oh. Well, I am taking offense. Most guys give me their number when I ask. So why aren’t you?”