CHAPTER 11
The Alderton-Du Ponte lobby felt so sleepy on Wednesday night.
It always did this time of evening, though.
Most of the golfers here came in the morning, and there were only a few gym-goers going in and out while I’d been sitting in the lobby.
The only other person with me was the receptionist, and every few minutes, I could hear the quiet flick of her magazine page as the soft piano music played through the fixed speakers.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Five minutes until six-thirty. Thirty-five minutes until Jamie’s book club would be finished. An hour and thirty-five minutes until Alderton-Du Ponte closed.
The automatic doors slid wide, and Carter Pembleton hurried through them. He wore his signature outfit of chinos and a polo, with his hair neat and tidy. He had a bag slung over his shoulder.
“You’re late,” I told him, keeping my voice light. By twenty-five minutes.
“Maybe these can save me?” Carter pulled out a five-flower bouquet from behind his back, wrapped in a couple of pieces of tissue paper.
It wasn’t elaborate by any means, but the flowers were at least vibrant.
He gave me a remorseful smile. “I had to stop at a few places, and these were all I found. I swear I wanted to bring you better ones.”
I took the bouquet, torn between amused and uncomfortable. At least they weren’t roses. “You shouldn’t have let Jamie bully you into buying flowers.
“I—I wanted to get them.”
The receptionist had lifted her head from her magazine, clearly thinking she’d find us more entertaining.
“Come on,” I told Carter, squeezing the plastic-wrapped stems in my hand. “This way.”
Readjusting his bag strap at his shoulder, Carter matched my pace easily. “I’m glad you invited me to keep you company.”
“I’m glad you were available.” I glanced at his bag. “And that I can be a special guest.”
He grinned.
I led him down the hallway and into the small game room.
There were a few tables with boxes of board games stacked up at the ends, a few bookshelves along the far wall, but the spot I beelined for was the chess table underneath the windows.
There was a pretty view of the sunset beyond it, since it was a west-facing window, and it’d make for the perfect backdrop.
The only problem was that it overlooked perfectly out into the serenity garden—the one I refused to even glance at.
“This is going to be perfect.” Carter set his bag down on the table beside the chessboard, unloading it. He pulled out a black tripod and then an even smaller bag—his camera bag. “With the sun setting, and the bright lights in here, the quality should be really good.”
His voice was the strongest I’d ever heard it.
“It’s cool to see this side of things,” I told him, watching as he twisted his camera onto the tripod.
I knew nothing about cameras or equipment, but Carter’s fingers moved deftly around it, the sign of someone who’d spent years dedicated to a craft. “I kind of want to geek out over it.”
“If you think this is cool, how cool is it going to be to be taking part in it?” Carter lifted his eyes to mine, the blue soft. “Miss and Mr. ASMR.”
I couldn’t help it—I snorted. “People will wonder who this mystery girl is,” I murmured as I sat down at one side of the chess table. I turned the bouquet over. “They’ll wonder about the flowers in the frame. They’ll think you’re on a date.”
Carter came over with a small microphone, setting it on the opposite side of the chessboard, out of view of the camera. “Aren’t I?”
“Is this a date?”
“Oh, uh. Is it not?”
“I thought dates made you nervous.” I arched a brow. “Besides, do you normally go on dates where you can’t talk?”
Once he’d start recording, we’d have to be silent, letting the atmosphere around us speak. That was part of what made Mr. ASMR’s channel so comforting: he never spoke. He’d softly sigh, or sniff, or swallow, but he’d never speak.
Carter’s smile was sheepish. “Touché.”
I continued watching him set up. He hooked another small microphone on top of the camera, plugging it in. Anything to distract me from the view right out the window.
“I’m not very good at chess,” he told me.
“Then your loyal fans will watch me win.”
Carter slipped into director mode, asking me to sit down and to move a few pieces so he could see how the sounds picked up.
This led to some microphone adjustments—he added another one to the backside of the chessboard, closer to his side of the table.
He angled the camera lower, and once he became satisfied with the frame, he stood back.
“The chessboard is the main focus,” he said.
“Your hands are in frame, and a bit of your upper arms, but nothing else about you. So your—our—anonymity should be safe.”
I smiled at the humor in his voice.
Carter pressed record, taking his seat across from me, checking the levels that he had pulled up on his phone. Once satisfied that everything was in working order, he lifted his gaze to mine. “Ready?”
I tipped my chin. “Your move.”
And then we fell into silence.
Carter at least knew how each chess piece moved, so that was a roadblock out of the way. He pressed the pawn firmly into the board, so the soft thud was audible to the camera. I mimicked him, picking up my gleaming white pawn, gently thudding it down.
There was something about having to be quiet that made me want to laugh.
That, and the fact that Carter’s face was clearly concentrated on the game as he blindly moved his pieces.
If he had a strategy, it wasn’t one I’d ever seen.
Within four moves, I had a clear path to capture his bishop, if I wanted to.
My eyes flicked up, finding him biting down on a sliver of his bottom lip, focused.
I stole his bishop without mercy.
Carter let out a sigh, one that I wondered would be loud on his video.
Within five minutes, I had his king set for a capture. I looked up, whispering, “Checkmate.”
Carter sat back in his seat with a defeated sigh. We reset the board, the little thuds comforting. I thought he’d use this for his ASMR video until he spoke. “How did you learn chess?”
“My dad taught me when I was little.” I still kept my voice small. “He tried teaching Jamie. I liked it better.”
Dad was bad at chess; he couldn’t plot out a strategy to save his life. But he loved playing, and I’d picked up that same love. Something we shared—until we didn’t. Like a lot of things.
Carter scratched the side of his neck. “I’m more of a checkers guy, myself.”
I laughed. “You don’t say.”
Our second game started, and we fell into silence once more.
“Not very good” wasn’t the right descriptor for Carter and chess.
“Abysmal” was better. I won the second round almost as quickly as the first. The third, he lucked out with his flippant strategy a bit more.
He captured two of my pawns. I examined the board.
It was easy playing with someone who was offhand with their strategy, but I actually had to tell myself not to overthink any potential moves.
But, ultimately, I was left rolling his king in my palm. “Another round?”
“I can just read the comments now,” he grumbled as we reset the board. “Show him mercy.”
“There is no mercy in chess.”
“This next time, you’ll hope so.” He rubbed his hands along his thighs. “I’ll get you this time.”
He did not, in fact, get me that time. Nor the time after that.
It was funny, though, that Carter’s spirit remained unbreakable.
His determination still shone through the gleam in his gaze, even though his viewers couldn’t see it.
All they could see was him getting assassinated, time and time again.
“We should’ve played out in the garden,” Carter mused suddenly, even though we were mid-game and should’ve been quiet. I jumped at the sound of his voice, wholly wrapped up in the game he was about to lose. “The sun is setting so beautifully. The outdoor sounds would’ve been nice, I think.”
I didn’t look out the window. “Maybe next time.” He didn’t need to know I didn’t mean it.
“Eleanor.” Carter’s tone changed enough that I looked up at him. His eyes were shifting around the board, as if he’d forgotten which spot to put his bishop in. “There’s something… I’d like to be honest with you about.”
“Even though we’re being recorded?”
“I’ll edit this part out.”
My interest was piqued. “Okay.”
“You might think I’m weird.”
“Not any weirder than calling yourself Mr. ASMR.”
My attempt at a joke had worked; Carter let out a sharp laugh. “I guess that’s true.” He let out a soft breath. “My parents. I told you about how they’ve been introducing me to all the girls at the club. Trying to find me… well. Someone.”
He hadn’t told me that, not exactly. He’d said they’d used it like an entrance into society. Ms. Jennings, though, had said, I have heard they’re looking for their eccentric son someone to settle down with. “O-Oh?”
“Well. So. I—I just wanted to put feelers out on something. You’re different from everyone else. I get this feeling that… you’d understand.”
I focused on the board in front of me, my mind rapidly trying to figure out his strategy before he spoke. “Well, I’m all ears, then.”
“When you first DM’d me, I kind of thought… it was fate.” Carter leaned forward into the stretch of sunlight coming in through the window. “I know I said that already, but I really mean it, Eleanor. Maybe not in a super grand way—but then again, can you really talk about fate in an ungrand way?”
I blinked, taken aback. “Fate.”
“Eleanor,” he began softly. “How do you feel about me?”
Now my stomach turned over on itself. How did I feel about him? I liked Carter. I liked how awkward he was at times, how happily he talked about ASMR. Carter was steady, safe. My thoughts were perfectly calm when I was with him, almost peaceful enough that I could’ve fallen asleep.
My thoughts eerily sounded like Beck’s voice. How boring.