Chapter 18
Hank
I’m a chef,not a painter. My mother always told me to lean into my strengths, and I should listen to her more often.
There’s paint everywhere. On the floor, on the ladder, on me. Not so much on the wall, where it’s supposed to be, but my shoes are trashed. I washed my hands, but I don’t have a change of clothes, so I just walk carefully as I attempt to clean up the puddle on the floor with rags.
“Hello? Hank?”
“Back here,” I call out.
It’s Chastity. I immediately feel better. I wasn’t sure if she was serious about bringing me cookies, but here she is, smiling at me and holding up a couple of bags. She lifts her right hand. “Cookies.” Then her left. “Whiskey.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. I didn’t really expect you to bring whiskey, though. I hope you got the cheap stuff.” I know she’s on a tight budget.
“I don’t know anything about whiskey,” she admits. “I asked the guy at the store to give me something inexpensive but not so cheap it’s like drinking pure gasoline.”
“I’m sure whatever you got is fine,” I assure her. “I just need a couple of swigs.” I take the paper bag from her.
Chastity eyes me up and down. I stripped my shirt off to help mop up some of the mess, so my chest is bare but clean. The rest of me must look like a Jackson Pollock painting.
“Oh, Hank,” she says in sympathy. “You’re covered in paint.”
“Wasn’t exaggerating, was I? Watch where you walk, by the way. The floor is still wet here.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing extraordinary. I just had a five-gallon bucket perched on the top of the sawhorse like an idiot. I bumped the edge of the plywood it was on, the sawhorse shifted, plank fell, down went the paint. I had no idea paint could splatter like that.”
She reaches out and touches the tips of my hair. “It’s everywhere.”
“It might even be in my underwear,” I admit, bouncing on my heels a little. “I have to wait for my clothes to dry before I drive home, though. I’m not ruining my truck seat.” I reach into the bag she handed me and untwist the cap on the whiskey. I take a sip.
“Why don’t you just walk home?” she asks. “It’s not that far.”
Because she told me she was coming over. “I wanted to show you something here.”
“Okay. Do you want a cookie?” She pulls out a plastic container and peels the lid off. She holds a chocolate chip cookie up enticingly.
I can smell they’re freshly baked. Damn, she’s perfect. What would it be like to have her as mine, showing up with a smile and cookies on the regular? Waking up next to her on a lazy Sunday morning?
“I’d love one. Put it in my mouth.”
Her eyes darken a little, and she gives me a look like she knows exactly what I’m doing. But that doesn’t stop her from raising the cookie to me. I open my mouth and draw the whole thing in, her fingers brushing over my lower lip. The sugar bursts over my tongue, and I make a sound of approval as I chew it.
Conway’s words ring in my ears.
You don’t feed your friends.
You sure in the hell don’t.
Chastity is my friend, but she’s much more than that, and I want her to realize it.
It has to come from her. I can’t try to talk her into anything. Sex. Dating. Me.
She needs to be the decision maker, no matter how much I want to just pick her up in my arms and carry her off to my bed.
“What did you want to show me?” she asks, her gaze lingering on my lips and dropping to my bare chest briefly before she looks me in the eye.
“Come here.” I grab her hand.
She digs her heels in a little. “Is this a trick?”
That makes me laugh. “What? No. What would I be tricking you about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you trust me?” I ask it seriously. That would honestly hurt me if she didn’t.
Her expression softens. “Of course I do,” she murmurs. “You’re one of my best friends, Hank.”
It’s everything. Friendship is deep and valuable and trustworthy. But it’s nothing if she meets some man and falls in love. I’ll be tossed aside, just like my brother said.
But she wants me, too. I can see it. It’s written all over her face.
Patience is new to me. It’s hard as hell. But Chastity is worth it.
“Good. Then get your butt upstairs with me.” I tug her hand.
She laughs and follows me.
“Bring the cookies.”
I take her up two flights of stairs and through an old office that I’ve been using for storage. “Look at what I found when I pulled down the seventies paneling that had damp rot.”
“What?” She glances around, her nose wrinkling.
Gesturing, I shove the tall window up. “The access to the gallery. It was boarded up before, but I knew it had to be here because you can see the balustrade from the street.” I climb through it and hold my hand out for her.
It’s a chilly night, but I don’t care. I want her to see Conviction and Porte French from a new perspective.
Chastity takes my hand and ducks, climbing out. “Oh, wow…”
“Cool, isn’t it?” We’re on the third-floor balcony, and we have a view of downtown, the square, the trees beyond Main Street, and the night sky.
“It’s amazing up here.” She takes a tentative step forward. “Is this safe?”
“It is. I had an engineer look over the whole building, and he said this is still structurally sound. It’s built on the roof pitch of the second floor. Technically, I think that makes it a balcony, not a gallery. I love the view, at any rate.”
“I do too.” She puts her hands on the railing and breathes in deeply. “I’m glad I moved back home.”
“I’m glad you did too.”
She glances over her shoulder at me. “What about you? Do you miss New Orleans?”
“I miss certain things. People. My apartment, which I did love. The vibrancy, the laughter. But I’m happy to be back home. I’m ready to be settled.”
Her fingers grip the railing tighter. “About that night…”
“What night?” There are two she could be talking about.
“In New Orleans. That was a crazy coincidence, wasn’t it? Running into each other.”
“It was. I was usually in the kitchen. The odds that I would be in the bar of the restaurant right when you were there is a crazy coincidence.” I take a swig of the whiskey. “Or maybe it was fate.”
She reaches for the bottle. “I don’t know if I believe in fate.”
That makes me laugh. “You believe bad things happen in threes, but you don’t believe in fate? That’s convenient.”
Chastity takes a sip of the whiskey, her eyes bugging out. She chokes a little and shudders. “Oh, God, that stuff is terrible. Why is whiskey so popular?”
“It’s an acquired taste. Like me.”
That makes her laugh softly. “That’s not true.”
“I’m serious,” I say, wanting to push her a little. “How can you not believe in fate? Isn’t that what you said about Josiah? That he was the best thing to happen to you? Isn’t that fate?”
She rubs her chest like the whiskey is burning. “I suppose it is.” She looks at me. “Aren”t you cold without a shirt?”
“No. I told you I run hot.”
“I’m cold.”
“Then come here.” I reach for her. “I’ll warm you up.”
She gives a little shriek. “No! You’re covered in paint.” Chastity takes a step backward, and her foot twists on an uneven board. She stumbles.
In a flash, I have a firm grip on her arm, hauling her away from the railing and up against my chest. “I got you.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares up at me, breathing hard from the scare. For a second, I think she’s going to kiss me.
But then, she pushes past me and climbs back into the building. “I should go. Nevaeh has plans with Parker tonight.”
“Sure. Thank you for the cookies and the whiskey and the company.” I climb in after her.
I walk her downstairs and remind her, “See you at the game Saturday, right?”
She nods, but she won’t look me in the eye.
After she leaves, I go back on the balcony and stare out across town, letting the whiskey warm me from the inside out.