Chapter 18 #2
“The bar looks great. Really,” he said as he finally sat back. My chest missed the warmth of his touch. Or was it the towel it missed? I was still pretty wet.
“That was our goal, to create a real neighborhood bar, a place people want to come back to.” I was fiddling with a napkin on the table, folding and unfolding the corner. “So are you? Going to come back?”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Yeah.”
“Three times in one week,” Chase said slowly. “I’m no expert in bar etiquette, but I’m fairly certain that qualifies as ‘regular.’”
“We don’t usually declare someone a regular until they’ve hit five visits. It’s in the employee handbook.”
“You have an employee handbook? For guests?”
“No, but if we did, that would be in it.”
Chase laughed, and his whole face lit up.
Something in my chest shifted.
This was nice.
This was really, really nice.
“So,” I said, “what brings you back? Besides the mediocre beer selection and acceptable atmosphere?”
Chase drummed his fingers against the table like he was deciding something. It was the first time that night he looked out of sorts. No, he looked not in control.
“Honestly?” he said.
“Always.”
“You.”
The word hung between us.
Simple. Direct. Disarming.
“Me,” I squeaked more than repeated.
“You.” Chase wasn’t looking away or retreating into lawyerly professionalism or making a joke to deflect.
“I’ve been thinking about you since I bumped into you on the sidewalk.
And then you were here, and the food was incredible, and I thought maybe—” He stopped and sucked in a breath.
“I don’t do this, the flirting thing. I work too much, and I’m terrible at it, and I usually just avoid the whole guy-dating-disaster situation; but Diego—he’s my best friend—keeps telling me I need to try talking to people instead of just working myself to death.
So, here I am, talking and . . . trying . . . I guess.”
I stared at him.
He’d been thinking about me.
For weeks?
“I’m terrible at flirting, too,” I admitted. “In case that wasn’t obvious from my incredibly smooth ‘so how was your food’ pickup line.”
“I thought that was charming.” Then his brow scrunched. “You were trying to pick me up?”
“No. No! I mean maybe. Not pick you up as in that . . . I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to do .
. . that . . . with a hot guy . . . I mean you .
. . not that you’re not hot because . . .
well fuck a fucking duck. I’m making a total mess again.
” I covered my face with my hands as Chase’s gentle laughter rumbled across the table to wrap me in its warmth.
“I think you’re adorable.”
I peeked from between my fingers. “You’re either very kind or you have low standards.”
“Probably both.” Chase was chuckling again.
“But I wasn’t lying. I’ve been coming back here because—” He gestured vaguely.
“This place is great . . . and for the first time in months, I’ve had somewhere to go that isn’t work or home or Diego’s house for mandatory friendship maintenance . . . and, well, there’s you.”
“Mandatory friendship maintenance?” I latched onto the safest subject I could find.
“He makes me come to dinner once a month so I don’t lose touch with reality—his words, not mine.”
“He sounds like Mark. He’s a good friend, too.”
“Yeah, Diego’s a good guy. He’s annoyingly perceptive, but good.”
Now, I was smiling. This was happening, whatever this was.
We were having an actual conversation about real things, and it wasn’t awkward—well, it was a little awkward, but the kind of awkward that came from two people who cared about making a good impression.
“So,” I said. “You’ve been thinking about me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late. My head’s expanding. I’m insufferable now.”
“I can see that.”
“Mark’s going to be impossible when I tell him about this.”
“You’re going to tell Mark?”
“Like I could avoid it? You know he’s been watching us since I walked over here, right? He’s probably already planning our wedding.” I glanced back at the bar. Mark was indeed watching us with the intensity of someone watching a particularly engaging reality show. “He’s subtle like that.”
Chase followed my gaze and waved.
Mark waved back like a four-year-old waving at his first elephant at the zoo.
“He seems nice,” Chase said diplomatically.
“He’s a holy terror, but yeah, he’s nice.” I looked back at Chase. “So, you’re a regular now. Only a couple of visits away from official status.”
“Guess I’ll have to come back.”
“Guess you will.”
“Finn!” Mark called from the bar. “Stop making googly eyes and get back to work! We’ve got closing duties.”
I felt my face heat up. “I should—”
“Yeah,” Chase said, but he didn’t look like he wanted me to leave. “You should.”
“Are you—” I hesitated. “Are you going to come back? For real?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yeah,” I said, maybe too quickly. “Yeah, I really do.”
Chase pulled out his phone. “Then maybe I should have your number so I know when you’re working . . . and when there are games or special events—” He stopped. “Is this too forward? This feels too forward. We lawyers can be a pushy bunch.”
“It’s not too forward.” I pulled out my own phone, my hands shaking slightly. “Here, I’ll text you so you have mine, too.”
We exchanged numbers. Like adults. Good God, I was adulting.
Me: This is Finn. The bartender with the mediocre beer selection.
Chase’s phone buzzed. He looked at it and smiled.
Chase: Got it. I’ll try to make it to five visits so you can officially declare me a regular. You’re too hard on yourself. The service sucks, but the beer’s not that bad.
I snort-laughed when I read his text. He beamed.
“Five visits,” I said.
“Five visits,” he agreed.
Mark was giving me a look that suggested my break was very much over.
“See you soon?” I said.
“Yeah,” Chase said. “See you soon.”
I walked back to the bar, trying not to grin like a complete idiot and failing.
Mark grabbed me the second I was within reach. “Tell me everything.”
“We exchanged numbers.”
“WHAT?”
“Mark, you’re yelling—”
“I’M ALLOWED TO YELL. THIS IS HUGE.” He was grinning so wide his face might split. “Finn O’Brien has a phone number. For a boy!”
“Can we not make a big deal about this—”
“We’re making the biggest deal. This is the biggest deal that’s ever dealt.” Mark pulled out his phone. “I’m texting Priya.”
“Don’t you dare—”
My heart sank as I heard the “send” tone.