Chapter 28
Chance
I stay up most of the night and get up early on Wednesday determined to undo what I’ve done. I can’t remember exactly what I said at the dinner table, but I know it included the word “love.” When I said it, her entire body went stiff and she clutched the table, barely breathing. Bad timing. Really bad timing. I’m a romance newb, but I’ve seen enough movies. You don’t throw that word around after a few weeks. Unless you’re Tivri and Erish. For them it was game-on the moment their eyes met. Why can’t my love life be that simple? Strike that. Why can’t my dating life be simple?
Arranged marriages are easier and they last a lifetime. That’s what Dadi says. Maybe she’s right.
I acted like an even bigger idiot when I changed the subject, anything to make her stop looking at me like I was a fuzzy lizard with silver horns. I showed her my code. Smart. Smooth move. I guess it worked. I distracted her all right.
But now I’m awake at six thirty in my workout gear, peering through my mini blinds, waiting for Danni to go on her morning run. This can’t wait. I have to fix it.
Her front door slams. Seconds later, she appears wearing a tank top and exercise shorts. I don’t let my eyes linger on her tan legs. I need to follow her before I chicken out.
When she hits the bottom step, I dart out of the door and jog after her. She takes her usual route along the edge of the property. It’s already warm out, the air so heavy with humidity it’s hanging on the marsh like fog.
Now or never. I pick up my pace, close the gap between us, and start running beside her. Our feet fall into rhythm. She scowls at me.
“Hey,” I say. She quickens her pace. I don’t let it deter me. “I’m sorry.” Best to get straight to it.
She scowls at me again and then takes off in a full sprint. I’m not a runner but I manage to keep up. About the time my lungs feel like lava and my legs threaten to fling themselves off my body, she slows to a stop. We both gasp at the moisture-laden air, sweat dripping down our faces.
“Can…we…talk?” It takes two pants just to get it out.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She continues at a brisk walk.
“I’m an idiot.”
She huffs out a maniacal laugh. We pass a gazebo on the left, the marsh stretching to the horizon on our right.
“Will you talk to me?”
She whips around. “Why bother? You know everything about everything. Just have a conversation in your head and then re-architect it to make yourself look like a hero.”
The word hits me. That’s what I was trying to be, her hero. Swooping in with my fancy code so she’d think I was her knight in shining armor or something.
Okay, it wasn’t just that. I had to improve her design. I couldn’t help it. It’s like this itch I have to scratch. But the thought of Danni swooning over my code was definitely a motivator. A dumb one, especially after the R&D app debacle. I’m a complete and total idiot. I tell Danni as much.
“You mansplain Chai coding. You mansplain paint colors. You mansplain how to clear off a bookshelf , for the love of marsupials.”
I snicker and she glowers at me.
“That was funny,” I say in my defense.
“What next? Are you going to mansplain running to me? How about walking?”
She does a silly walk, knees half bent, her arms swaying like a gorilla’s.
I laugh again.
“You think this is funny?” she hollers back, deadly serious. “Cause it’s not. My promotion is riding on this app. I’m supposed to be in charge and you’re making me look like a horrible leader.”
Hadn’t thought of it like that. I increase my pace to catch up to her.
“I’m sorry. I get enthusiastic about things, and I don’t know when to stop. I stayed up late last night re-coding everything to follow your architecture. I think I can get it done in a few days because I already know the business rules and I can reuse some of my objects.” I step closer and outstretch my arms.
She looks at me like I’m a day-old gas station hotdog. “We are not hugging this out.”
“Danni.”
“That won’t work.” Her voice is shrill. She waves me off and starts walking back to her apartment.
“Who’s Zane?” I say to her back. Don’t think I didn’t notice when she name-dropped him last night. An old boyfriend, I assume. One she can no longer stand. And she thinks I’m just like him.
She pauses and anchors her hands on her head. I approach her cautiously.
“I thought he was the one. The moment I saw him, I was sure.”
I risk rounding her elbow. She allows me access to her face.
“It was just physical attraction. That’s all that held us together. But I trusted that stupid voice in my head that told me we were going to get married someday, buy a house, have a family.”
“What did he do to you?”
“He rewrote my code, but that was the least of it. He was manipulative, rude, controlling, arrogant, condescending. And because we were both IT contractors in the same city, I kept running into him. He was like a bad dream that wouldn’t end.”
Each word hammers against my chest. I step back. “And you think I’m like him?”
Her breathing speeds up, each exhale superheated, like a dragon’s but without the flames. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she takes off in a full sprint, leaving me in the dust.
I don’t have the energy to follow her. Even if I did, she obviously doesn’t want me to. So, I bend over, rub the sweat from my face, and rethink every minute of the last three weeks of my life.
Danni
As the water pours down my body, erasing the sweat from this morning’s run, Chance’s sad puppy face haunts me, even when my eyes are squeezed shut. His last question rings in my ears.
And you think I’m like him?
When we first met, yes. He seemed arrogant. Overly confident. Self-assured. The antithesis of what I want in a guy.
I want someone who is thoughtful enough to fix me dinner and help around the house, someone who believes in me enough to support my dreams. A sensitive yet confident man who isn’t afraid to show his softer side. A guy with layers begging to be peeled back, who surprises me with his thoughtfulness and humor.
I groan. This warrants a shower-bath. I let the hot droplets rain down, plug the drain, and sit, stretching out as far as I can in the standard issue tub. As the droplets pelt my legs, slowly multiply to cover them, and then drum like raindrops on a pond, I remember Chance’s kisses, how they’re as warm and soothing as this bathwater at times. Other times as hot as solar wind.
Chance can be frustrating, yeah. Oh so frustrating, but Zane lived to one-up me. Anything I said, he said something smarter. Anything I did, he could outdo me multiplied by ten. Zane never let me shine because it would take away from his perceived brilliance.
That night in Cassie and Luke’s pool, when Chance and I raced and he let me win, and we were both out of breath, water trickling down our flushed cheeks and into our mouths as we kissed. It was his first kiss. Ever.
I relive the moment a dozen times, my eyes closed to recapture every detail down to the sound of his breath as we stared at each other in stunned silence.
When my fingers look like Sunsweet prunes, I flip off the shower, unplug the drain, towel off in front of the steamy mirror. No matter what I decide–to forgive Chance or not–I have to go over there. I left my laptop on his dining table.
My cheeks ruddy from the hot shower, my bathroom more humid than a muggy Charleston morning, I opt for a tank top and joggers. Unicorn slippers engaged, I walk over to Chance’s apartment and knock on the door.
He greets me with his head hung low. The sight of him reignites my raw anger and indignation. The nerve of him to ignore my design document. As team lead, I made my expectations very clear. But Chance lives in a world of his own.
I hesitate at the threshold, not wanting to re-enter that world. My feet don’t care what I think. They march me into the middle of his living room. I cross my arms and swipe my eyes up and down Chance’s tall body.
“You gonna work here today?” he asks tentatively. He’s less confident than I’ve ever seen him, his shoulders stooped, his fingers barely in his pockets, making his wrists bend at sharp angles.
“I’m stealing your Wi-Fi.”
I grab my computer and my backpack and march out of his apartment before he can stop me.
I said I’d never entertain another office romance. This is exactly why. Work needs to stay at work. No mingling of the two. I need to be able to leave the office and forget the office. I don’t want it trailing after me saying, “Hey, wait up!”
What was he thinking? He knows he hurt my feelings when he butchered my R&D app. Why do guys have to be so hardheaded?
Code mavericks.
Code mavericks are hardheaded. They’re all the same.
I set up shop on my kitchen table, open my laptop and plug it in even though I have no idea what to work on. I already coded my modules. Heng coded his. All that’s left is un-coding and re-coding Chance’s, which he already started doing. At least there’s that. A small olive branch.
I am so mad.
So, so mad .
I am not at all desirous of Chance’s lips, or his strong muscles, or his black cowboy hat. Or that luxurious bass voice. My body quakes just thinking about it.
No. I’m focusing. A little more unit testing will do the trick.
I pull up BrainyJ and send my code through my automated tests. I’ve already done this. Twice. Third time’s the charm, I guess. Maybe I can break some code first to make it more interesting.
A knock on the door challenges my commitment to not think about Chance. I didn’t order anything from Amazon, so I know it’s him. I can do one of two things. Ignore Chance. Or ignore Chance.
I’m ignoring Chance.
He knocks again.
I continue ignoring. Until he knocks again.
Fine.
I let my unit tests run while I slink to the door. I don’t know why. I just feel slinky. No surprise, it’s Chance, and he looks like a scolded puppy.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I manage to squeak out.
“Danni...”
That’s it. That’s all it takes. I grab his neck and pull him inside. Our lips meet as we fumble with the door, kicking it shut behind us. Chance presses me against it for leverage, his body pinning me in place.
As his fingers trail down my arms, I claw at his hair, pull him closer as we deepen the kiss. He rests for a moment, breathes me in while I run my hands down his back, his muscles tensing under my touch. He moans, a low noise in the back of his throat. I’m the first woman to affect him like this.
We break apart, both of us gasping. Without a word, Chance takes my hand and leads me towards the couch. After we sink into the cushions, he cups my face in his hands, rubs his thumbs along my cheeks, leans in and delivers a soft kiss, teasing my mouth open with his tongue.
He pulls me closer, his solid muscles supporting mine. The thud of his heartbeat vibrates my chest, matches my own dizzying pulse.
But then Chance pulls back, his breathing ragged. He looks into my eyes, and I can see longing there. But I also see restraint. Neither of us are ready to go further. Chance needs to take it slow. We both do.
I press my forehead against his. We stay like this for a moment, our breaths mingling, before slowly pulling away.
“Does this mean you aren’t mad?” Chance asks with a grin.
I pull him back for another kiss. “Oh, I am sooo mad.”
“I like it when you’re mad.”
We trade smiles. His looks delicious.
“Show me,” I say.
His eyes dart around the room, searching for the thing I’ve demanded to see.
“Open up Visual Studio Code and show me what you did.”
“I can delete it all and redo it.”
“I don’t know if we have time for that.”
“It wouldn’t be hard.”
“Because my architecture is so basic?”
“Because I’m familiar with the business requirements and I read your design document backwards and forwards.”
“It’s only meant to be read forwards.”
He smiles, slightly uncertain. “Wanna head over.”
I nod and follow Chance back to his apartment. He offers me his gaming chair. I opt for the cushy side chair, the one he pulled up to his computer last night before our fight.
We settle in and he taps his mouse. Visual Studio Code is still open, the folders expanded, just how he left them. He talks me through his architecture, none of it surprising. It’s similar to his redesign of my R&D app and very close to the example app in the “Streamlining Your UI” session I attended at Chai World.
When he’s finished, he leans back in his chair, props his elbow on the armrest and nervously picks at his bottom lip. “What do you think?”
“It’s fine.”
“Want to see my modified design document?”
“No.”
I drum my fingers against the chair. I don’t have Tourette’s, or OCD, but the thought of two parallel architectures in my benefits portal app makes me want to twitch hard enough to dislocate a knee or a shoulder.
“I can’t stand it,” I say.
“I said I can delete everything and start over. I’ll even use BrainyJ.”
He’d do that? He’d stoop so low?
“I mean, I can’t handle having parallel architectures in the same app. It makes me punchy.”
“I know. That’s why I said I’d fix it.”
“How long do you think it would take for Heng and me to convert our modules to your architecture?”
His eyebrows arch like surprised macaroni noodles.
“Don’t get too excited,” I warn.
“I’m not. I’m just shocked.”
“Maybe you’re right about the architecture. Maybe yours is better.”
His eyebrows arch again, this time like happy little rainbows.
“Stop smiling.”
He wipes his mouth. “I’m not.”
“You’re happier than a marsupial in its momma’s pouch.”
“You’re stuck on marsupials today.”
“It’s a fun word. People don’t use it enough.”
“Danni.” He grabs my hand. “I should have told you I was taking a different direction. I just–”
“You knew I’d yell at you.”
“Well, yeah, and–”
“And you’re afraid of me.”
“No.” He squeezes my hand. “Maybe a little. Remember the day I saved you from the spider?”
“Tomato elbow?”
He nods. “I liked being your hero. I liked it so much that I wanted to be your hero again. But, you’re pretty self reliant, so I had to get creative. Also, I’m thickheaded. And sometimes I can’t see past my own nose.” He leans closer. “Especially when I’m with you. When I see your lips, all I want to do is…”
He cups the back of my neck, pulls me closer, and kisses me so hard I’d fall over if I wasn’t desperately pressing my lips against his. And then his Teams app dings.
We draw far enough apart to smile at each other.
“We’re supposed to be working,” I say.
“You don’t think ‘kissing your coworker’ is in our job description?”
“No, I really don’t,” I say with a laugh.
Chance gently kisses my cheek and then sighs. “Fine. I guess we do have a lot of work to do.” He rests his hand on my knee. “I’m going to need gum for this.”
When he’s rummaging in the kitchen, I say, “How’s your gum-chewing withdrawal going?”
“It was going great until a minute ago.”
I hear drawers and cabinets opening and closing, a “gah” and a “for the love of marsupials.”
“This could be a problem.” He reappears but heads straight to his bedroom.
While he’s rummaging for Orbit Sweet Mint in there, my eyes rest on his task bar, home in on his open Excel application that’s begging me to open it. He’s still throwing stuff around in his bedroom. This will be quick.
I maximize the spreadsheet, and a file called “JustInCase” materializes. The left column is a list of names. Across the top are categories. I scroll down and find my name.
“You gave me a 6 for personality. A 1 for sense of humor? Why am I the only one who has a score in the ‘Racist’ column?”
Chance rushes up behind me. “Why are you looking at that? I told you I didn’t want you to see that.”
“Your callback threshold is 60? I didn’t even meet your callback threshold!”
“You were cranky that night. Listen–”
A knock at the door cuts him off.
“It’s dumb. I don’t know what I was thinking. Women shouldn’t be ranked based on eight categories that add up to eighty with two optional columns that throw off the math. Especially not you.”
More knocking on the door.
He swings around the chair and grabs my forearms. “Hold that thought,” he says, and then he goes to see who is at the door.
“Mom. Dadi,” Chance says. “What are you doing here? Navya?”
I twist around.
A fit and toned middle-aged brunette and two Indian women, both in embroidered sarees are standing just inside the door. The older woman’s hair is pulled back in a braid. The younger one, Navya I assume, is petite, fresh-faced and makeup free.
“Adi,” Chance’s dadi says with her arms outstretched.
He takes turns giving them all hugs. I wonder if I can slide out behind them unnoticed.
“You’ve gained weight,” his mom says.
“All muscle,” Chance answers. He glances at me worriedly as he closes the door. “How did you know I was here?”
“We stopped by your office first,” Chance’s mom says. “Your boss told us you’re teleworking.”
The older women are so busy doting on him that they haven’t noticed me. Navya looks at me and frowns. My cue to exit. If I tiptoe, maybe–
“Who’s that?” Dadi says.
All eyes focus on me. Dadi’s stare is deadly. Chance looks like he swallowed a frog. Navya and his mother regard me cautiously.
“That’s…um,” Chance manages to say despite the amphibian in his throat. “That’s Danni. She’s my…”
Dadi’s deadly stare shifts to Chance.
“She’s my girlfriend,” he finishes. We lock eyes and trade proud smiles.
The women gasp, Dadi the loudest. Navya draws her hand to her mouth. She crumples beneath her ornately decorated saree. Dadi reaches over to support her, but Navya pulls away. She lunges for the door and yanks it open so quickly that it hits her in the face. With a surprised yelp, she stumbles backward, quickly regains her balance, and runs out of the apartment.
“Navya,” Chance says, preparing to follow her.
“Chance,” I say. “I’ll go.”
Relief washes over him, but only for a moment. Dadi’s stern glare quickly has him back at attention. He’s in for a tongue-lashing, and I don’t want to be around to hear it. I spring from my chair and follow Navya’s lead, out the door and into the hot Charleston daylight.