Chapter Three Chase
Chapter Three
Chase
Three weeks later, May
She hasn’t texted. It’s been all day.
My fingers tap the metal countertop in the kitchen of my restaurant before I break and pick up my phone for the three hundredth time in the last ten minutes to wait for bubbles or an answer.
Me: Heard from the cops. They found some kids breaking into the theater. Said it’s them. Punks. But it was a prank for sure.
Noah: Great news.
Goldie: Thank god. You’re the best Chase.
I thought she’d be happy with the news. I know I was.
It wasn’t that I thought shit was hitting the fan again. Lightning never strikes twice, so they say. But you don’t get chased by a fucking psychopath through a creepy old summer camp and not end up leaning into paranoia. I mean, the unbelievable happened, so now anything is literally possible.
Which means when you find a heart staked to a wall, there’s a call to investigate. Duh.
Plus, she was scared. I could hear it in her voice. So, I really wasn’t letting those cops go without answers. Or at the very least a promise of one.
I’m chewing the inside of my cheek, rereading the message again like that’s going to change the outcome.
What the hell. I even texted the family chat so she’d be forced to answer. Come on, throw me a bone.
“Chef?”
I glance over my shoulder, pulled back into the present by my new sous chef, Eddie, or Prince Willy as we call him because he has a British accent.
“Where’d you come from? What’s up?”
He looks at me expectantly, but I can’t remember what the hell I was just doing other than obsessing over Evie Monroe.
What is wrong with me? Lock in, Beckett.
Like a toddler, I need context clues, so my eyes immediately shift between the phone in my one hand and the spoon in my other. Which is hanging suspended in the air. Oh shit . . . with food on it. Got it.
“Sorry,” I breathe out before I shovel it into my mouth, immediately spitting it out. “Jesus. What the fuck is that?”
“Whoa.” He blanches, jumping back and wiping the Jackson Pollock of black from across his chest.
But I mumble, trying to wipe what tastes like possible shit from inside my mouth. “What kind of nasty garbage was that?”
His brows draw together as he flicks what’s smeared on his fingers to the ground, and I toss the spoon on the counter.
“It’s the anchovy paste for the sauce . . .”
I blink, suddenly remembering I was making pasta for the crew dinner. Shit. No, double shit.
The butter.
I reach out in a rush for the saucepan that now holds very burned butter before he pushes my hand away and wraps a towel over the handle, moving it off the heat.
“Chef, are we feeling unwell?”
I shake my head, chuckling to myself as I tug my apron over my head.
Jesus, this woman has me off my game. I’m a mess. A complete fuckup, and not in the usual way because in here, in the kitchen, I’m infallible.
She’s managed to conquer a god.
I’ve been reduced to a mere mortal who’s crushing so hard on a girl that I don’t know if I should wind my ass or check my watch . . . that’s not right . . . check my ass or wind my watch? Why would somebody need to check their ass?
Jesus. I blow out a harsh breath, putting my hand on Eddie’s shoulder.
“Eddie, there’s this woman . . .” I grin. “And she’s leaving me on read . . .”
He cuts me off. “Say no more. Women are the nectar of life, and if you’re not careful, you’ll drown in them. Let’s go for a smoke.”
I nod before he turns, and we walk out a side door that opens to the back parking lot. He’s already got his pack in his hand, pulling out his fancy UK cigarettes as I jump up onto a concrete pony wall and plop my ass down before I run a hand through my hair.
“Here’s the thing,” I level. “She fucking hates me. But she’s a goddess.”
He sucks in a drag, standing far enough away that I don’t smell it. “Everyone hates you until they know you.”
I raise my brows, and he adds, “Not me. I fell in love months ago on day one.”
My grin’s ever apparent. “She does know me.”
He exhales a plume of smoke and cocks his head. “Interesting twist.”
I put my head in my hands, tugging my hair a little and groaning before I look back up, all askew.
“Come on,” I bark, shooting my hands out in front of me. “Give me something better than ‘interesting twist.’ You come from the land of Shakespeare and Gordon Ramsay.”
He flicks some ash on the ground, his shoulders bouncing. “What does Gordon have to do with romance?”
I shrug. “The way he cooks gives me a woody.”
“That may explain why she hates you.”
I growl frustratedly, turning my face up to the sky, and stare at the smog for a long beat of silence.
There aren’t any stars in LA. It’s weird.
A frustrated breath leaves me as I look back at Eddie. “I’ve known her for a year and a half, and it wasn’t until six months ago that I even thought I had a real chance. But how do I convince someone who wants to hit me with a mallet to let me tenderize their meat?”
When I look back at him, he’s staring at me, half-amused. “Who needs Shakespeare when you can tell her you want to tenderize her meat? Which sonnet is that from?”
“Shut up,” I bellow and laugh. “You’re not helping.”
He takes another drag and blows out little rings, seemingly deep in thought, before he points the two fingers holding his cigarette at me.
“I hate to state the obvious in your moment of hysteria, but have you thought of just calling and telling her how you feel?”
I cross my arms and draw my head back.
“This is why you lost the war. The problem is, we’re never in the same place. Evie was in LA, working on a movie, and I was in Boston . . . then I came here, and she was back there. I tried to text a few times, but I didn’t know what to say, so I left it.”
My phone buzzes, so I reach into my pocket far too quickly to be cool before I look at the screen, not knowing the number. I immediately decline to continue with what I’m saying, but it starts buzzing again, making me roll my eyes seeing the same spam call.
“Get fucked,” I grunt before turning my attention back to Eddie. “Here’s the thing—this fucking chemistry between us. A buzz. I can tell by the way she looks at me that she wants me as bad as I want her.”
I drop my eyes to the asphalt as our dirty little secret comes to mind. If I’m honest, the memory is more of a constant thought, easily pulled to the front of the room anytime I want to revisit the happiest night of my life.
She grips my hand hard as I press the back of it to the wall, holding both of them above her while kissing the delicate indentation on her throat, where her clavicle meets. Fuck, she’s even more beautiful this close up.
I’ll never be able to stay away.
I gently make my way up her neck, kissing her skin in slow, lazy movements.
“Chase,” she purrs. “We have to hurry. Someone might hear.”
I palm her throat as our eyes lock.
“Evie, I’ve been waiting for this moment for-fucking-ever. I’m taking my time.”
Eddie’s chuckle pulls me back into the present, making me blink and rub a hand over my jaw, hoping my smile doesn’t betray my thoughts.
“I hate to say this to you because you’re just crazy enough to fire me, but telling by the look on your face, I think you’re fucked and on the way to a restraining order.”
I’m about to cuss him out, but my goddamn phone buzzes again. I scowl, pulling it back out from my pocket, and jump off the wall. “If you’re not Evie, stop fucking calling me.”
But the moment I look down, I recognize the name on the screen.
“You’re right,” I toss out to Eddie, obviously full of shit as I answer the call. “You are fired. Now, go back to work. My real best friend is calling.”
He smirks and gives me a salute before he walks back inside, letting the metal door bang closed behind him.
“Who are you talking to?” Noah mumbles.
“I know people. What’s going on? How’s the Adlers’ European vacation? Did you guys have a threesome yet?”
“Dude,” Noah levels, making me chuckle.
“You’re in France and you didn’t think I’d make an Eiffel Tower joke? To be seen is to be loved, Noah. I see where I stand.”
The lovebirds finally decided to take a honeymoon and left yesterday. I made them promise to be back in time for the opening, or I’d never forgive them.
“Cool the jokes. It’s 4:00 a.m. here, and I’ve got shit news.” I frown, listening more intently. “Your apartment lady called. Apparently, you weren’t answering.” I raise my brows, connecting the dots to the spam call. “Since I’m your emergency contact—”
“Spit it out.”
“A pipe busted—correction, pipes. Your ceiling is now your floor.”
“Goddammit.”
Annoyance strikes me hard. It’s not as if I’m losing any valuable items. The apartment came furnished. But this is not the hassle I need when I’m a month out from opening this damn restaurant.
“Yeah,” he yawns. “They’re estimating a month before you move back. She said it looked like someone took a sledgehammer to them. But you could go by in a few hours and see what’s salvageable.”
“All I had were my clothes . . . fuck.” I jump through some mental hoops, trying to remember if I brought anything important. I didn’t.
“Chase,” Goldie’s voice chimes in, and she sounds sleepy. “Just go stay at our place. You can wash your clothes, and if they’re ruined, you can wear Noah’s stuff. We’re not back for three weeks anyway, so you can stay until after the opening. I’m sure Evie won’t care. She’s staying with us.”
God, is that you? A smile breaks out on my face. I didn’t know she was staying with them while working in LA. Noah’s getting a strongly worded letter tomorrow regarding my disappointment.
“Are you sure?” I say completely disingenuously, pouncing before my ex-best friend can take Goldie’s offer back. “You’re my favorite Adler, G-Money. Don’t tell your sister. What’s the code for the door?”
Goldie softly giggles before Noah rattles off the longest sequence of numbers in history, but right now, I’m more locked in than the guys with the nuclear codes. It’s never leaving my memory.