Chapter 40 Chase
Chase
Istood in my backyard, staring at a grill I didn’t know how to operate.
What had I been thinking, offering to host?
“Just have everyone over,” I’d said. “We can grill. It’ll be casual and comfortable.”
Casual and comfortable.
Those were two words that didn’t apply when you were about to be interrogated by your boyfriend’s—were we using that word yet?—entire friend group and you couldn’t even figure out how to light a goddamn propane grill.
I checked my watch for the fiftieth time.
Finn was supposed to arrive in ten minutes, everyone else in an hour. I had ten minutes to figure out how fire worked.
The doorbell rang.
“Well, shit,” I said, glaring at the stubborn device mocking my every effort.
I tossed the lighter on the patio table and headed inside, opening the door to find Finn standing there with two grocery bags in his arms and an amused expression on his face.
“You’re early,” I said. “And you brought groceries?”
“I figured you’d need help.” He stepped inside and headed straight for the kitchen, setting the bags on the counter. “And based on the panic in your eyes, I was right.”
“I’m not panicking.”
His eyes practically rolled out of his head, onto the floor, and out into the Tampa sunlight. The laugh that followed was easy and free.
“Oh, my sweet, beautifully ignorant attorney, you’re absolutely panicking.” He started unpacking the bags—potato salad, coleslaw, buns, condiments. “What have you done so far?”
“I bought meat and vegetables and beer. Lots of beer.”
“Okay. And?”
“And I tried to turn on the grill, but I think it might be broken.”
Finn blinked up at me from across the kitchen island. “Chase Sullivan, please tell me you didn’t just say the grill is broken.”
“It won’t light,” I mumbled like a kid caught stealing candy.
“Did you check if the propane tank is connected?”
My brow bunched. “The what?”
Finn’s smile was equal parts amused and fond. “Oh, honey. You’re hopeless outside an office, aren’t you?”
“I’m a lawyer. I went to school. I can argue the Constitution and crime and . . . fuck me . . . I just can’t—”
“Operate basic outdoor cooking equipment?” Finn was already heading toward the back door. “Come, show me this ‘broken’ grill.”
We went outside. Finn crouched down next to the grill and checked the propane tank connection. Two seconds later, he turned a valve, and I heard gas start to flow.
“It was connected, just not turned on,” he said, standing up and dusting off his hands. “Try it now.”
I pushed the ignition button.
The grill roared to life.
“I hate you,” I said.
“No, you don’t.” He kissed my cheek. “Now go inside and clean up whatever disaster you’ve created in the kitchen. I’ll handle the grill and the food prep.”
“But this is my house. I’m supposed to be hosting—”
“Chase.” Finn turned to face me, hands rising to rest on my shoulders.
“You’re great at many things like the law and being supportive and looking delicious in a suit.
But cooking? Or grilling?” He shook his head.
“Those are not your strengths. Go inside and make sure the living room is presentable. The others won’t be here for a while yet. Let me handle this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He kissed me again, this time on the lips. “Now go. Shoo. You’re in my way.”
I went inside, tail between my legs, and started cleaning things that were already clean.
Mark arrived first, right at noon.
I opened the door, suddenly very aware that this was the first time I was meeting any of Finn’s friends outside the bar without the safety of being a customer in a booth.
“Hey, Mark,” I said. “Come in.”
“Thanks for having us.” Mark stepped inside, looking around with an appraising eye. “Nice place. Very . . . lawyer-y.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Just an observation.” He smiled. “Finn’s in the back?”
“Yeah. He’s taken over the grill because I can’t be trusted with fire.”
Mark laughed. “Finn’s weirdly competent at all things domestic. It’s annoying.”
We went outside, and I watched Mark and Finn fall into easy conversation—the kind that came from years of friendship. Mark asked about the bar’s revenue. Finn asked about Mark’s family. They discussed the Lightning’s playoff chances like they’d had this exact conversation a hundred times before.
Finn and Mark were together almost every night at the bar, but the conversation still felt like old friends catching up, like a comfy old pair of shoes you just found in the back of the closet and slipped on for the first time in years.
I stood there, feeling like an outsider again, until Mark turned to me.
“So, Chase,” he said. “Finn tells us you’re a family law attorney.”
“That’s right.”
“You any good?”
“I like to think so.”
“He’s very good,” Finn interjected from the grill. “He just won a big settlement last week.”
“I didn’t win. Both parties agreed to terms.”
“After you convinced them that going to trial was a bad idea,” Finn said. “That’s winning.”
Mark was studying me with interest. “What made you choose family law? Most law students go for corporate or criminal.”
“I—” I paused, deciding whether to give the polished answer or the real one, finally landing on the painful truth.
“I watched my parents’ divorce destroy both of them when I was seventeen.
It was ugly and expensive and nobody won, especially not me.
I thought maybe I could help other families not go through that. ”
Mark’s expression softened. “That’s a good reason.”
“The good guys don’t always win, but I try.”
“Finn said you negotiated a modified partnership track at your firm. That’s impressive. Most associates don’t have that kind of leverage.”
I was a bit stunned; not that Finn would’ve told Mark about my track, but that he knew what a modified track meant. “I got lucky. Guess my bosses didn’t want to lose me.”
“Or you’re just that good,” Finn said, not looking up from the grill.
I felt my face heat.
Mark’s grin was instant. “He’s defending you already. That’s so sweet.”
“I’m not defending him,” Finn protested. “I’m just stating facts.”
“Sure you are,” Mark chuckled.
We fell into easier conversation after that, with Mark asking about my work, whether I enjoyed family law or if I’d consider switching practice areas, and a dozen other questions. He was smart and direct, asking questions that felt genuine rather than performative.
And through it all, Finn kept glancing over from the grill, checking on me, making sure I was okay.
“You know,” Mark said at one point, following my gaze to where Finn was flipping burgers. “I’ve known Finn for years, worked with him every day since we opened Barbacks, and I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Like what?”
“Happy. Really, genuinely happy.” Mark took a sip of his beer. “He loves the bar, but there’s always been this edge to him—this stress or worry that it might all fall apart. But lately? That’s gone. He’s lighter, and I think that’s because of you.”
I was so stunned I didn’t know what to say. “He makes me happy, too.”
“Good, because if you hurt him, Priya’s not the only one who knows how to hide a body.”
He said it with a smile, but—
Thank God, the doorbell rang.
Finn called from the grill, “Chase, can you get it?”
I headed inside, Mark following, and opened the door to find the gang’s massive barback—easily six-foot-two, broad shoulders, the build of someone who’d played serious football—standing there holding a six-pack of craft beer and looking almost comically nervous.
“Hi,” he said, raising a hand and waving as though we weren’t standing two feet away.
“I brought, uh—” He held up the six-pack.
“I didn’t know what to bring, so. Beer. Everyone likes beer, right?
Or is that too basic? Should I have brought wine?
I don’t know anything about wine. Benji said to bring wine, but I was like, I’ll just look stupid trying to pick wine, you know? So, beer.”
“Beer’s perfect,” I said, stepping aside so the gentle giant could make his way inside. “Just drop that on the kitchen counter. Finn’s out back.”