Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Her breath brushed his ear—warm, teasing—and for a split second, the whole bar went quiet in his head. Trouble, she’d said. Hell, she wasn’t wrong. Trouble in heels and with a silky voice that could make a man forget his own name.
When she took a step back, their gazes met again. “You have no idea,” he murmured before he could stop himself. Smooth, Sawyer. Real smooth.
Marie didn’t back off. If anything, she seemed amused by his boldness, that faint, unreadable smile tugging at her lips again.
She took another sip of her wine, then glanced toward her friends.
He could tell she was pondering something—maybe how far she was willing to take this, or how much she could trust him. He hoped it was the latter.
He didn’t say anything. He’d learned long ago that silence sometimes worked better than a hard sales pitch. Let her think, let her wonder. He was patient when it mattered. And he knew deep down that she mattered.
“Tell me something,” she said at last, her tone casual but her gaze sharp. “Do you always flirt with women, or am I just tonight’s lucky exception?”
He tilted his head to the side, studying her.
He could say something light and keep the teasing banter going, but something stopped him.
For reasons he couldn’t quite name, he didn’t feel like hiding behind his usual charm this time.
“Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve flirted with anyone.
Work and some family issues have been eating away at my social life.
In fact, this is my first night out with friends in ages. ”
“I know what that’s like.” Her voice was softer now, the teasing gone.
The flicker of understanding in her eyes surprised him. Something told him her story ran parallel to his—long hours, no time to relax, and the job always coming first. He could see it written in her posture, in the tired edge she tried to hide behind that upbeat smile.
“Then you get it.” He tipped his head toward her glass. “So maybe a change of scenery would do us both some good.”
Her brow lifted, cautious but intrigued. “A change of scenery?”
He gestured toward the crowded room—the haze, the noise, and the laughter that was starting to sound the same. “There’s a diner a block up. I could use some coffee, pie, and conversation you don’t have to shout over. What do you say?”
She hesitated, and his pulse kicked a little. That hesitation told him everything—she wasn’t the type to make careless decisions. She probably had a mental checklist for situations like this. Smart woman. Maybe too smart for him, but damn if that didn’t make her more appealing.
“Coffee,” she repeated slowly. “Just coffee?”
He grinned. “And pie. Don’t forget the pie.”
That earned him a quiet laugh—light, musical, and just self-conscious enough to tell him that she wasn’t immune to him. But her eyes still carried that glint of caution. Then she said something that nearly made him laugh out loud.
“I’ll go, but only if I can see your driver’s license.”
He blinked, sure he’d misheard. “My what?”
“License. ID. Whatever you keep in your wallet.”
He let out a short laugh, shaking his head before her no-nonsense expression registered. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Completely,” she said, deadpan. Then she gestured toward the group she’d been with. “If I’m walking out of here with a stranger, my friends are writing down your information. Safety first.”
For a second, he just stared at her—then grinned, slow and genuine. Well, I’ll be damned. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.” Her tone was flat, but her eyes danced.
“I like it.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open, handing her his North Carolina driver’s license. The paper card with his picture on it was a little worn, the corners bent, but it did the job. “Knock yourself out.”
She took it, her fingers brushing his, and walked back to her table.
He couldn’t help watching her go—her stride confident but unhurried, the hem of her dress swirling around her toned calves, and that dark hair shimmering under the bar’s soft, atmospheric lights.
As she spoke to her friends, two studied him with the kind of scrutiny reserved for high-end loan applicants, not late-night coffee dates.
The third jotted his info down on a cocktail napkin.
Chuck leaned against the bar, enchanted. He’d met plenty of women, but none like Marie. She was careful, deliberate, and the kind who didn’t hand out trust to just anyone. And he liked that. Hell, he respected it.
When she came back carrying a purse and a wool coat, she handed over his license with a faint, knowing smile. “All clear, Mr. Sawyer.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said, tucking it away. “So... ready?”
“Lead the way.”
He took her coat, easing it over her shoulders before glancing toward his buddies and giving a quick nod that he was leaving.
They just waved in acknowledgment and continued their conversation with two women who’d joined them.
Threading through the crowd, Chuck made sure Marie had space to move beside him, then pulled the door open for her.
The December air was brisk and damp, carrying just enough bite to remind him winter was close.
It had the scent of wet asphalt, exhaust from passing cars, and something warm and sugary wafting from up the block.
As the noise from the bar faded behind them, he glanced over at her. She slipped her hands into her coat pockets, the gesture easy and unbothered, like she wasn’t in any rush to get where they were going. Her heels clicked on the sidewalk, steady and sure.
He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “You realize that was the most thorough background check I’ve ever been through for a cup of coffee.”
She gave a soft laugh without looking at him. “Consider it a family habit.”
He glanced at her, curiously. “Family habit?”
“My dad’s a police officer. He taught me to be careful.”
Impressed, he nodded. “Smart man.”
“That he is,” she said lightly. “Greatest man I’ve ever known. And my mom is right up there with him. She’s the best.”
It sounded like they had a good relationship, and Chuck was glad.
His own father passed away when he was eight, and it had been just him and his mother ever since.
They were close—always had been—and when she was diagnosed with cancer three months ago, he’d moved back in with her to help out.
Most of his free time lately had been spent at home, making dinner, driving her to appointments, or just sitting with her while she dozed in front of the TV.
The only reason he’d gone out tonight at all was that she’d insisted.
Have some fun for once, she’d said, waving him toward the door. I’m sick, not dying.
They both knew that was a lie. While her brain tumor had been removed and she received radiation, the survival rates for glioblastoma were dismal.
According to the doctors, she had another three to six months left, and Chuck wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.
But if it made her happy for him to go out for once, he would obey her order.
At least he didn’t have to worry about her being alone—his aunt had also moved in to help care for her sister and was staying in the guest bedroom.
So, for a little while, he could focus his attention on the beautiful, fascinating woman beside him.
They walked the next block in an easy rhythm, their footsteps echoing off the brick buildings.
Small talk filled the space between them—favorite local spots, the city’s Christmas lights, and how quickly the year had flown by.
Nothing heavy, but it flowed effortlessly, like they’d known each other longer than over the course of one drink and a bar’s worth of cigarette smoke.
When the diner came into view—a narrow place with neon lights buzzing OPEN—he felt something tighten in his chest. He hadn’t expected the night to go anywhere, not really. But somehow, meeting Marie felt like the start of something worth remembering.
He pulled open the door, warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk along with the scent of coffee and frying bacon. “After you,” he said with a grin.
She gave him a sidelong look. “Gentlemanly and bold. That’s a rare mix.”
Chuckling, he stepped in behind her as the door swung shut and the bell above it jingled.