Chapter Thirty-Eight
Blake and Izzy
7:45 a.m.
Blake: You home?
Izzy: Yep. Just got here.
Blake: And my car…?
Izzy: Totaled.
Blake: Thank you for taking such good care of it.
Izzy: I’m seriously obsessed with it. All I want to do is drive.
Blake: You can, y’know.
Izzy: I fear I might accidentally commit GTA and disappear from the area if I spend any more time with him.
Blake: HIM?
Izzy: That car is a sleek, fast, sexy bastard. TOTALLY a dude.
Blake: Agree to disagree.
Izzy: How’s work btw?
Blake: Fine. I think I might miss you (either that or I need some Tums).
Izzy: Can’t you miss me AND need Tums?
Blake: I miss you and need a Tum.
Izzy: I can bring you one.
Blake: Without GTA temptation?
Izzy: Hmmm…
Blake: It’s only been 30 minutes since you dropped me off. I say we hold off on the Tum delivery.
Izzy: LMK if you change your mind.
Blake: Will do. I have a meeting in a few minutes so I should probably go.
Izzy: I think I’m going to miss you. Or need a Tum.
Blake: Not “think,” Iz—you KNOW. Try it again—all together this time.
Izzy: I know I’m going to miss you, Phillips.
Blake: Ditto, Shay.
11:15 a.m.
Izzy: You should come over for lunch. I’ll make you something with the ketchup, soy sauce, and American cheese in my fridge if you’re nice to me.
Blake: Damn, girl, you really know how to tempt a guy.
Izzy: Right? And I’m wearing my grandma’s housecoat at the moment, so I’ll even look sexy AF while I cook.
Blake: SO tempting, but I have no car, remember?
Izzy: I could come get you…
Blake: I have a meeting at 1:15, so there isn’t really enough time.
Izzy: What if I make you ACTUAL food and I wear ACTUAL clothes? Then would you be interested?
Blake: Baby, you could wear any-fucking-thing, serving any-ass-food, and I would be frothing-at-the-mouth interested.
Izzy: Ooh—I’m “baby” again. Will you say it NOW?
Blake: NO.
Izzy: Pleeeeeeeeease?
Blake: What do I get if I say it?
Izzy: My mouth on your…
Blake: …my what?? My WHAT, SHAY????
Izzy: Say it and I’ll tell you.
Blake: SIGH. Ahem. “Are you lost, baby girl?”
Izzy: Gawwwwwwwwd. Get your ass over here, Chest.
Blake: No car and meeting at one, remember?
Izzy: Yes, that’s right. Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, Phillips, but I can’t wait to see you at 5. I’m literally counting the hours until I can pick you up. Weird, right?
Blake: Absolutely bizarre, yet I feel the exact same way. I think we might’ve eaten spoiled meat or something.
Izzy: For sure. This whole thing is either love or spoiled meat.
Blake: Well, then—I spoiled meat you.
Izzy: I spoiled meat you, too.
Blake
11:45 a.m.
I pressed the buzzer and waited.
And waited.
I knew she was home because my car was parked out front, but she wasn’t answering the door.
I texted, What are you doing?
Izzy: Job applications.
Blake: Aren’t you going to answer the door?
Izzy: That’s you??
Blake: Yup.
The door opened and there she was, looking at me with a crinkle between her eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”
I straightened from my doorway lean and held out the bouquet of daisies. “My one fifteen meeting was canceled, so I decided to take the afternoon off. Pizza’s on the way.”
She kept squinting at me. “Who was the meeting with?”
“Brad,” I said.
“Why did he cancel?”
“He didn’t,” I said, wondering what she was thinking as her blue eyes moved all over my face. “I did.”
“You canceled your meeting.” Her face changed then, morphing from confusion to straight-up fucking sunshine. Her nose crinkled and her eyes squinted and her lips slid into a huge grin. “Get your ass in here, Chest.”
She grabbed the flowers and went inside. I followed.
“I’m going to get a vase for these,” she said, walking toward the kitchen. “Be right back.”
I started to follow, but she stopped, put out a hand, and said, “You can turn on the TV or something. I’ll be right back.”
“Oh- kay ,” I said, watching as she disappeared into the other room.
I paced around the living room for a minute, but I couldn’t ignore the noises from the kitchen. It sounded like she was chasing a mouse or something, like she was running and bumping into walls and knocking things over.
I quietly approached the doorway, and then I got that feeling in my chest again, the pinch, only it was the hardest it’d ever pinched. That fucking pinching feeling nearly brought tears to my eyes as I watched her try to hide…everything.
“Iz,” I said, and she froze.
“This, um, is just…” She looked around at the kitchen, obviously trying to formulate some logical explanation. “Like a cleanup effort—”
“Did you go get all of this?” I asked, not meaning to sound so gruff.
She looked at me like she didn’t want to admit it, but also like she knew I already knew. “I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”
“Why?” I walked toward her, at her, crowding and stalking and just needing to be closer . She took a step backward, but I didn’t stop until her back was against the counter, her front pressed to mine. “Did you actually get in the dumpster?”
She gnawed on her lower lip and shrugged.
I took her chin in my thumb and forefinger, raising her gaze, loving every expression that crossed the expanse of her face. “Is that the bottle of wine? And the pizza box?”
Some of the things I’d brought her yesterday—the wine, the gallon of ice cream, the flowers—had apparently been rescued from the dumpster.
The flowers were wilted and shredded and limply bending over the sides of a vase she’d put them in. The bottle of wine was in the sink, the label soaked because she’d clearly washed it; there was still a soap bubble on the dark glass. The ice-cream container, the pizza box—they were each sitting on the counter, scrubbed and drying.
Izzy sighed and looked embarrassed. “I just wanted to be able to save them, okay?”
That pinching feeling— fuck , it was going to kill me. Because it threatened to drop me as I looked at my dream girl, surrounded by my gifts that she’d dug out of a dumpster because she wanted to save them. Because I had gotten them for her.
God help me.
“Isabella Clarence, I love you so much that I can barely breathe. Please never change, okay?”
Her mouth curled into the sweetest smile and she said, “I won’t if you won’t, Blakey, um…shit, I don’t even know your middle name. What’s your middle name?”
“Clarence.” I looked down at her face and tried counting the constellation of freckles on her nose. One. Two. Three. Four —
“Shut up—you are lying!”
That made me laugh, because I was still shocked by our shared middle name. I watched her excited eyes and knew I’d never get sick of the wild animation of her face. She gaped at me, her pretty mouth wide open, and I said, “Swear to God.”
She blinked fast, then gave her head a shake, then wrapped her hand around my tie and gave it a tug. “This is, by far, the most shocking thing I’ve ever heard. Do you believe in fate, Mr. Chest?”
I swiped my thumbs over the soft skin of her cheeks— five, six, seven— and said the absolute truth that I felt in the very center of my soul. “I didn’t until I met you, Scooter’s Amy.”