The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)(63)

“But you don’t believe that,” Sabine said.

Foster shook her head. “That’s probably where he’s been all this time.”

“So shouldn’t we go there? Confront him?” Finn said.

“No!” Foster shouted. Then, with obvious effort, she calmed herself before continuing. “At least not until we know more about our powers—and the Fucktastic Four. Right now I can see us walking in there … and never walking out.”

Tate nodded. “I have to agree with Foster. As much as I’d like to face that old man and ask him what the hell’s wrong with him, I know that Cora was scared—of him and of the Fucktastic Four. Scared enough to spend an entire year setting up a safe house for us and teaching Foster how to live under the radar. I didn’t know Cora, but from everything you three have told me, she wasn’t someone who spooked easily. We need to remember that and stay well away from Stewart until we’re sure we can handle him and his Fucktastic Four.”

Foster sent him a look filled with appreciation, which had Tate’s heart skipping happily around inside his chest.

“Okay, I get it,” Sabine said. “So, tomorrow, when I’m at my mind-numbingly boring work-study job in the provost’s office at PU, I’m going to hope that the Internet actually functions. I’ll watch the weather off the coast of North Carolina and Louisiana. Better yet, I’ll head over to the Environmental Studies building. They offer a minor in Water Resources, and I’m almost positive that includes a weather study section. I’ll check with one of the PA’s over there about tracking unusual water weather patterns.”

“Don’t tell anyone why!” Foster said.

“Girl, please. I’m sitting outside your Batcave. I am in league with superheroes. I’m not saying shit,” Sabine said.

“Thank you,” Foster said earnestly. “I really appreciate you.”

“And you trust me?” Sabine prodded, raising one perfectly shaped brow.

“And I trust you,” Foster said firmly.

“Good.” Sabine held up her hand. “Finn, help me up. It’s time to go.”

“Oh, okay babe.” Finn stood and pulled Sabine up beside him.

“Hey, there’s no rush. You two want another s’more or anything for the road?” Tate asked, helping Foster up and using that as an excuse to thread his fingers with hers and hold her hand.

“We live ten minutes from here. We’re fine. And we’re not rushing. We’re just clearing out so that you two can figure out your sleeping arrangements.” Sabine shot Foster a mischievous look. “Which I want to hear all about tomorrow when I stop by for scones before class.”

Tate and Foster walked them to the door and waved good-bye. After Finn’s truck finished bumping down the road and disappeared into the night, they stood out on the porch staring up at the big, starry sky while they held hands.

“Um, so, about our sleeping arrangements?” Foster spoke hesitantly.

Tate looked from the sky to her. Foster was still holding his hand, but she was obviously uncomfortable—nervous even. He gave a little tug on her hand so that she had to turn to face him.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with our sleeping arrangements. I like my room. Do you like yours?” he asked gently, trying to be careful not to spook her.

He saw surprise flash through her eyes, and heard the relief in her voice. “Yes! I love my room. Cora made sure everything from our brownstone was moved here.”

Tate already knew that—knew that Cora had made sure Foster’s room would feel like a sanctuary, and there was no way he was going to trespass there until or unless Foster was more than ready to invite him in—and he didn’t think Foster was the “one date and we jump into bed” type of girl. “Well, good. Then I have no clue what Sabine was talking about, but I’m really tired.” He paused to yawn widely. “You, too?”

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t realize it until you mentioned it.”

“I’m gonna go to bed. Finn and Sabine are always here super early.” He dropped her hand and rested his gently on her shoulders. “Thank you for an amazing date. And thank you for not letting me disappear or crash to the ground.”

“You helped,” she said.

“That’s because we make a great team.” Slowly, Tate bent and kissed Foster—softly, gently, with only a little bit of heat. When he pulled away from her, Tate was pleased to see that she leaned toward him and seemed reluctant to let him go. “Good night, Foster. See you in the morning.” Tate grinned at her and kissed the end of her cute, freckled nose before he retreated into the house, with his mother’s advice echoing from his memory.

The most important thing a woman can give you is her trust. Earn that first and then you’ll earn a love that will last. Trust is based on respect. And if you don’t treat her with respect, you have no business being with her.

“Mom, I think you’d be proud of me,” Tate whispered to the wind as he climbed the stairs up to his room on the second floor of the farmhouse. Somewhere between the porch and his bedroom Tate realized that he felt good—really good—for the first time since that awful night just a couple of weeks ago when his world was torn apart, and the reason for his good feeling wasn’t the memory of Foster’s lips against his or the tantalizing thought that there was a chance that someday in the future he might be doing a lot more than just kissing Foster. The really good feeling came from the way she’d smiled at him when she’d realized he wasn’t going to try to pressure her into something—that she could actually relax around him and trust him to treat her with the respect and common courtesy she deserved.