Chapter 24
CHIP AND CHASE: LIGHTLY TAPPING THE PUCK PAST DEFENDERS AND PURSUING IT
For the next few weeks, destiny decided I should run into Brennan everywhere I turn.
The first time our carts collided at Cedar Grocery.
He rounded an end cap at the exact moment I was escaping the pasta aisle, boxed linguine lining the bottom of my cart like I’m stashing it away for the apocalypse. The collision wasn’t dramatic—no spilled produce, no jars breaking—but it was enough to jolt both of us back a step.
“Sorry—” came out of our mouths in unison before we realized who, exactly, we had played Demolition Derby—Grocery Store Edition with.
Seeing me, his face transformed. He grinned the way people do when they are thrilled at the way fate intervenes before he tampered his enthusiasm down. “Amy, good to see you.” He said.
“You too. Picking up anything special?”
“Just the usual staples.” He glanced down at my cart and a smile broke across his face. “You still buy pasta like you’re feeding the southern coast of Italy.”
I peruse his before retorting, “And you still shop like a man convinced protein will magically bond with your muscles,” I eye the alarming quantity of chicken breasts and eggs.
“Now, I have an excuse. Concussion protocol.”
I leaned on my cart. “Really?”
He gives me the high level low down on how he needs to increase protein to assist with tissue healing and recovery. I roll my eyes. “You’re just making that up.”
He held his hands in the air. “Four neurologists confirmed it.”
“You mean you’ve been handed a hall pass to avoid eating vegetables?”
His smile widened, familiar. Dangerous. Sparking tingles in all the places where warning signs about the temptation of Brennan should be branded.
For a brief second, we just stood there staring at one another—blocking the on sale canned tomatoes and jarred sauce. I didn’t feel like we were two people forcing a conversation because we needed to play nice. No, this was different.
It was about camaraderie, bantering about everyday topics. It also let me see the Brennan I fell for all those years ago wasn’t a lapse in judgement.
After chatting for a while, Brennan reluctantly glanced down at his cart. “Well, I guess I better check out before my chicken decides to take its revenge.”
“Salmonella Strikes Back, the Irish edition?”
“Something like that.” He eyeballed my cart one last time. “I don’t think you’ll have that problem.”
“Why do you think I always consume so much pasta? I knew it wouldn’t poison me,” I joked.
We both laughed, and the sound surprised me most of all—how easy it was, how it didn’t bring up memories the way I expected it to. I didn’t have flashbacks to angry Brennan who didn’t believe me. I didn’t turn into bitter Amy who can’t let go.
We just laughed and it felt good.
When I shared that with my therapist later that week, she reminded me that beautiful things can emerge from the ashes of destruction.
Maybe that’s what this is. If so, I suspect Cedar Grocery wouldn’t be the last place we were brought together.
The probabilities I estimated were correct. The next week, I ran into Brennan at the dry cleaner.
I was fishing my claim ticket out of my bag while waiting in line. The hum of the overhead lights were buzzing like a hive of bees when the bell over the door chimed behind me.
I didn’t look up. I was too busy mentally reciting the list of things I needed to do before Monday morning.
Then I heard his voice.
“Fancy running into you here.”
Giving myself a beat to prepare for the onslaught of emotions seeing him brings, I paused for half a second before turning around.
Brennan is waiting at the opposite register, jacket slung over his shoulder, hair still damp like he’d come straight from a run. He looked unfairly gorgeous in the effortless way men have that suggest they don’t even try to drive our hormones wild.
“Complete coincidence.”
He lifted a brow. “Twice?”
“Small towns are horrible for statistics. Especially when you keep running into the same person.”
He laughed, low and familiar. The corners of his eyes crinkled causing something in my chest to warm despite my best efforts to keep my heart shielded.
I step up to the counter, hand the clerk my ticket. While she’s in the back searching for my work clothes, a different clerk comes out with a lone sweater with an intricate pattern.
Irish wool. I immediately recognize it and turn my gaze up to Brennan. “Yours?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Why not just wash it?”
“My mother lectured me after mailing me my third clan pattern this year. I’m not allowed to wash it anymore.”
I chuckled. “Your mother scares you.”
He winced theatrically. “That is the absolute truth.”
We stood side by side while my clothes were delivered, while the clerks rang us each up. We were close enough that I could feel the heat of his presence without acknowledging what it stirred. Afterwards, we stepped out onto the sidewalk and he offered to carry my load to the car.
I held out the multiple hangers. “If you’re feeling generous, that would be great.”
The late afternoon sun painted everything gold as he strolled alongside me toward where I parked my car. We were silent for a few steps before he let out a rough laugh.
“What?”
“I’m having flashbacks of the first time I asked to carry your backpack at OPU,” he admits.
I slap my hand over my mouth to stifle the giggle, but the laughter escapes anyway.
Back then, Brennan had made this gallant offer to carry my bag, not realizing the heft of it.
He swings my bag onto his shoulder and fakes staggering three steps before righting himself. “How in the hell do you carry that?”
I tease him, “I carry that and a lot more some days.”
His eyes glinted down at me with admiration then—much as they are now as we reach my vehicle. I undo the locks before transferring my clothes into the back.
He hooked his sweater over one shoulder and shoved his other hand in his pocket. “So, do you still believe in fate?”
I considered his question. For a long time, I thought the world was against me. Now, I realize life and love are what I make of it. Still…“I believe in intersections. Moments where two paths cross and you have to decide whether to keep walking or stop and acknowledge it.”
“What are we doing, Amy?” he asked.
I met his gaze. And even though I had a bit of trepidation about it, I gave him the truth. “Right now? I’m choosing to acknowledge it. Us. As something from the past that’s maybe not as scary as I thought it was.”
His smile was bashful. “That’s…good.”
We stood there a moment longer than necessary, neither of us rushing to leave.
Later, I told the girls, “If destiny keeps squaring us up like this, I have a feeling we’re not over yet.”
They agreed.
The last place we bumped up against one another was at the Willow Creek High School football home game.
As part of the faculty, I try to attend as many home games as I possibly can. School spirit, supporting students, greeting parents, pretending I wasn’t shocked when the booster club charged me ten dollars for a pom pom they spent less than a dollar for online.
The stands were packed since this was with our biggest rivals, Red River. The air is alive with the whip of autumn and the scent of hot dogs. Our marching band sounds like bleeding sheep warming up, but their faces are painted like they’re about to star as extras in Braveheart.
I shouted, “Go Warriors!” as I passed them. Several of my students paused in their tuning to wave.
I had made my way to my seat and was checking out the countdown clock to kickoff when his scent envelops me. Brennan plops down onto the seat beside me. “Tell me we’re not living some divine curse one of my relatives concocted back in the homeland.”
I laughed before I could stop myself. “Finally admitting you have a trace of Wiccan in your blood?”
“Same ole song and dance, Amy.”
“Your father refuses to admit it and your mother seeks it out?”
“Exactly.” He tugged on the end of my braid which was tied off with a festive white and blue bow. “Very school spirit of you.”
“I’ve got nothing on the marching band.”
His gaze roamed over them and his jaw fell open slightly when he realized half of them weren’t wearing clothes—just their skin painted in school colors. “So that’s what happened to all of the face paint in a hundred miles.”
I couldn’t hold my snicker in. “Like you didn’t see worse at hockey games.”
He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “But they were indoors.”
“But was the rink any warmer?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
We’re watching warm ups when I asked him why he was at the game. “I know you normally don’t follow American football.”
He shrugged. “After I spoke with your class, one of the players told the rest of his team about it.”
“And?”
“I was approached by the director of athletics to talk to the student athletes about athletics beyond high school.”
My heart softened. “And you said yes.”
“Of course I did. They need to know what’s behind the news articles.”
Just as I was about to thank him for being kind, the crowd roared as the Warriors made their way onto the field. For a moment we just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, not touching but close enough to feel the heat of each other through layers of fall jackets.
“This feels less accidental—more like divine intervention,” he said quietly.
I wait for his eyes to find mine. “It does.”
The band launched into the Warrior fight song—badly. The crowd roared as the ball was kicked off. Parents embraced the coffee cups like they were manna from heaven.
But I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Brennan.
“You know,” he said, “if this were one of your math problems, I’d say the angle’s widening.”
“And if it were hockey?”
“I’d be lining up for a shot.” He paused and looked down into my eyes. “One that far surpasses any I’ve ever had in my career.”
“That’s dangerous talk.”
“If you’re talking about feelings—I agree.” He turned fully toward me, expression open. “Would you turn me down if I asked you out for coffee again sometime?”
Hope flared beneath the stadium lights that had nothing to do with the game. And I found I have no qualms when I answer, “I’d like that.”
Whatever kept putting us in the same place, I was ready to find out where it would lead us.
But I knew we couldn’t do so without confronting the past.