Chapter 27
Finn
Iwoke to sunlight slipping through curtains. It was the soft, golden Tampa morning light that turned everything in the bedroom warm and hazy.
For a moment, I didn’t remember where I was.
Then I felt a weight in my arms, a warmth of skin against mine, and the steady rise and fall of breathing that wasn’t my own.
Chase.
We’d flipped sometime during the night. I was the big spoon now, my arms wrapped around his midsection, my chest pressed against his back, and my face buried in the space between his shoulder blades.
I was naked, a morning wood threatening to jab anyone or anything brave enough to come near.
Chase was still in his boxers. I’d wondered about that last night, why he’d put them back on, but now I was grateful for it.
If we’d both tried to sleep naked, I would have gotten zero sleep.
As it was, I’d barely managed a few hours before my body decided that holding Chase Sullivan was more interesting than consciousness.
We’d slept like this most of the night.
Or at least, I had.
With my arms around him, holding him close, I had such a feeling of security and comfort from simple heat of his skin against mine. Chase felt right in a way I hadn’t expected.
Natural and easy.
I propped myself up on one elbow and watched him sleep.
His jaw was relaxed, softer than when he was awake and stressed about work.
I noticed a small scar on his chin, something I didn’t remember catching before; but now that I saw it, I wanted to know whatever story or secrets it held.
His hair stuck up in about seventeen different directions, destroying the careful styling he usually maintained.
And his eyes—even closed, there were little crinkles at the corners, like he was dreaming about something that made him almost-smile.
Awake, he was handsome, striking even.
Asleep, he was Disney-puppy adorable.
I felt myself smiling before I realized I was even doing it.
Chase’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked. I saw the moment when his consciousness resolved.
“You must be bored,” he said, his voice rough with sleep, “if you’re watching me sleep.”
Then his eyes went wide.
He covered his mouth with his hand and launched himself out of bed, stumbling toward the bathroom in his boxers.
“Chase?”
“I’m so sorry,” he called from the bathroom, his voice muffled. “My breath is a crime against humanity. It might even be a war crime. Don’t smell me. Don’t come near me.”
I heard water running, then aggressive tooth brushing, then the sound of someone gargling mouthwash like their life depended on it.
I lay there in bed, grinning at the ceiling, desperate to free the laughter bubbling up from within. This man had been so confident and commanding the night before, reducing me to a puddle with his words and his mouth and his absolute control. Now, he was having a panic attack over morning breath.
The laugh escaped.
The bathroom door creaked opened, and Chase emerged. I could smell mint from across the bedroom. His hair looked even more ridiculous now that he’d splashed water on his face, but his almost-naked body had me forgetting his adorable bedhead.
“Okay,” he said, climbing back into bed with considerably less urgency than he’d left it. “You may now acknowledge my existence without risking imminent death, for which I would bear no legal responsibility and for which you would hold no claim or right of reprisal.”
“How very . . . lawyerly of you,” I said through a smirk. “Your breath wasn’t that bad.”
“I could still taste yesterday’s coffee and regret.”
I snort-laughed. “The coffee I get. What’s the regret?”
“Not brushing my teeth before passing out.” He settled back under the covers, close but not touching, like he was waiting for permission. “Also . . . possibly . . . asking you to stay. That was very un-me.”
“I liked un-you.”
He swallowed, looked away, then looked back into my eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I reached for him, pulling him toward me. He turned so we were back in the position we’d been in most of the night with my arms around his midsection and his back against my chest. “This okay?”
“More than okay.” He relaxed into me, his hands finding mine and lacing our fingers together. “I don’t usually—I mean, I never—” He squeezed my hands. “I don’t do sleepovers.”
“Never?”
“Never.” He blew out a sigh. “Even when I don’t work too much, I’m too tired to deal with people, but this is nice. I mean, you’re nice. I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I stayed.”
We lay there for a long moment without speaking. Our breathing somehow synced, and I tried to catalog the feeling. It wasn’t overwhelming or scary. It was just . . . good.
“What time is it?” Chase asked.
I looked back and glanced at the clock on his nightstand. “Eight-thirty.”
“Are you hungry? I owe you good coffee, and, well, we should get breakfast,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Before I start thinking about work and ruin this.”
“Coffee is life, and breakfast sounds great.”
Twenty minutes later, both of us were showered and walking down 7th Avenue toward the French crepe place. I was dressed in yesterday’s clothes that smelled like bar smoke, while Chase had thrown on a loose-fitting T-shirt and khaki shorts.
This was the same walk we’d taken the night before, but everything looked different in daylight.
Ybor was softer and less chaotic. The street cleaners had already been through, washing away the evidence of Saturday night.
A few early risers were out—people walking dogs or getting their morning exercise.
An old woman stopped sweeping the sidewalk in front of her house long enough to smile and wave.
Tampa was friendly like that. It’s one of the many reasons I loved the place.
Chase’s hand found mine as we walked. Neither of us flinched or even acknowledged it. We just let it happen and walked on.
The crepe place was busy but not packed. Chase led us to a table by the street-facing window, the one he claimed was “his table.” He snatched the menu off the table before I could pick it up.
“I’m ordering for you,” he announced.
“I feel so Pretty Woman all of a sudden.”
He rolled his eyes but chuckled. “You’ll like it. Trust me.”
He flagged down the server. “Two sausage and brie crepes with caramelized onions. Two coffees. Black for me—” He looked at me. “How do you take yours?”
“However it comes fastest.”
“Same for him, but can you bring cream, Splenda, sugar, and a couple of different flavorings?”
My brows rose.
He shrugged. “I thought you might like options. Besides, this lets me see what you like in your coffee.”
“Confident,” I observed. “And inquisitive. Interesting combination.”
“It’s a lawyer thing.”
I supposed that did fit.
“As for the crepe, it’s my regular, and it’s incredible. You’ll thank me.” He was smiling, looking more relaxed than I’d seen him since we’d met a few weeks ago.
“Aren’t you a bold one?”
“Wait and see.”
The coffee arrived first—steaming, rich, smelling like heaven in a cup. I took a sip and nearly groaned. “Okay, fine. You weren’t lying about the coffee.”
“Told you.” Chase wrapped both hands around his mug. “So, we should do the whole getting-to-know-you thing since we sort of skipped that part last night.”
“We did do a lot of skipping . . . and getting to know parts of each other,” I said, raising my mug in salute.
“We did.” He blushed. “So, Finn O’Brien, tell me about you. I could listen to you read an encyclopedia all day in that accent.”
Now it was my turn for a proper eye roll.
“Let’s see. Born and raised in Dublin until I was sixteen.” I took another sip. “My da works in insurance—boring stuff, he always says. Mum’s a primary school teacher. I’ve got two older sisters who still live there. They think I’m insane for moving to the States.”
“They’re probably right, given our political climate,” he said as he glanced down at the table. “Why’d you move?”
“Da got a job opportunity in Tampa. Better pay, better weather, all that. He thought it would be temporary—maybe a year or two—but we never went back.” I shrugged. “I hated it at first. Everything was so different.”
“Different how?”
“For one thing, it’s hot as hell. Dear God, the heat is awful.”
Chase chuckled. “You get used to it.”
“No, ya don’t,” I said, though my eyes were smiling. “Then there’s the people and the complete lack of proper tea. There’s not a Tampan around who knows how to brew a good pot.”
“Tea over coffee? Got it.”
“Oh, no. I love tea, but coffee is a gift from the gods.” I thought a moment, briefly reliving my early struggles adapting to my new country. “It took a few years, but I guess Tampa grew on me. It’s home now, weird as that sounds.”
“Tampa has a way of doing that.” Chase was smiling, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. “What about your parents? Are they still here?”
“Yeah. Over in Seminole Heights. They love it. Da’s retired now, spends all his time working on his boat. Mum still teaches part-time.” I paused. “What about you? Where’s home?”
Something flickered across Chase’s face. It was brief, almost too quick to catch.
“Here, I guess. Tampa.” He raised his mug to his lips. “I grew up in Clearwater. My mom still lives there.”
“And your dad?”
“Not in the picture.” He shook his head, but his hands tightened around his mug. “Hasn’t been since I was eight. He left and moved to Colorado, started a new family. I don’t remember the last time we talked.”
“Chase, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.” His smile was back, but it looked more manufactured now.
“Mom does fine on her own—better than fine, actually. She’s a pediatric nurse.
She raised me by herself, put me through college, the whole thing.
She might be the strongest, most amazing person who ever lived. ”
Chase’s eyes grew distant, as though revisiting some faraway place or time, though the smile never left his lips. I drank my coffee and let that settle.
“You’re close?”