Chapter 2
TWO
There was no surprise. My sister really did get engaged, and my mother was fully focused on getting a Pinterest board set up for the upcoming nuptials.
They discussed wedding dates at one point, and my sister lamented the fact that they couldn’t get married on the date Billy proposed, since then they’d have to wait four years. They discussed leap years ad nauseam, and even then, no one remembered my birthday.
I felt incredibly hurt, and a little bit pathetic for it.
Not a single person remembered my birthday without prompting. No one got me a present or a cake or even a card. After my breakup, I deactivated all my social media accounts, so there weren’t even any messages from distant acquaintances or old flames.
By the time I make it back home, my shoulders are rounded and I feel a hundred years old. Even the sight of my perfectly curated foyer console table doesn’t cheer me up, though I do hang my purse on its designated hook and drop my keys in the pretty, rust-colored porcelain bowl I keep near the door for that exact purpose.
The darkness in my house wraps around me like a hug. My beautiful suede boots get kicked off and flung into the hall closet, and then I’m padding to the kitchen to stuff my face with whatever I can find.
But when I open the refrigerator, it’s oddly dark. Frowning, I try to jiggle the lever at the top of the fridge to get the light to work. Nothing happens. Then I head for the kitchen light switch and hit it so I can figure out what’s going on.
Nothing.
I flick the switch down and back up again, then let out a long, dramatic groan.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
This is the worst birthday ever. Thank goodness it only happens once every four years, because I cannot handle this kind of rejection and hurt on an annual basis.
One person! That’s all I want! I want one single person to think about me. Is that too much to ask? Am I really that invisible?
My mood is darker than the lightless kitchen. I pull my phone out and find my boss’s number.
“Hi, Saul,” I say when the older man answers. “Sorry to bother you on a Saturday.”
“What’s up?”
“My power doesn’t seem to be working.”
“Have you checked the fuse box?”
“Um, yeah,” I lie. “I can’t tell what’s wrong.” I may work for a contractor, but I don’t know the first thing about electrical work. Do houses even have fuses anymore?
“All right. I’ll send Ed over,” Saul says, just as the sound of children laughing and screaming fills the background. “I’ve got to go. These little monsters want to play with Grandpa.”
“Thanks, Saul. And sorry again for bothering you.”
“No problem at all, Katie. Shouldn’t be long,” he assures me, then hangs up.
Staring at the dark screen, the crappiness of the day hits me like a slap across the face. Before I know it, I’m sobbing in my dark house, with nothing but the creaks of the house and the whistling of the wind to keep me company.
Letting the tears fall down my cheeks, I have a pity party in the middle of my kitchen, since it’s apparently the only type of party I’ll be having today.
I know I’m being horrible. I can’t help it. I feel soggy and deflated and hurt.
And then the doorbell rings.
Wiping my eyes, I check my reflection in the hall mirror and fix a bit of mascara that smudged into the wrinkles that seem to have sprouted beneath my eyes sometime in the past year or two when I wasn’t paying attention.
Stop it, I tell myself. It’s just a birthday. You’re acting like a toddler .
The fabric of my sweater dress rasps against my shoulders as I straighten them. I give myself a nod in the mirror, and then rip open my front door.
And I die right on the spot.
Because standing on my stoop isn’t Ed, the elderly electrician I expected to show up.
It’s Ed’s son, Chase. Also known as my high school crush, or the man who didn’t realize I existed. He’s tall, with a wealth of chocolate-brown hair that’s cut short on the sides and longer on top. He’s wearing a quilted workman’s jacket that’s a black-and-red plaid with a tool belt slung over his shoulder. His legs are clad in dark jeans, with worn brown boots on his feet.
“Hey, Katie,” he says, and his voice is like melted chocolate, which is why I don’t immediately realize that he remembers my name. “My dad said your power was out.”
“Um,” I answer. “Uh-huh.”
His brow arches, light twinkling in his eyes. “Can I come in and check it out?”
“Of course!” I exclaim a little too brightly. I stumble over myself to open the door wide for him, then get a whiff of his scent: the outdoors, subtle cologne, and man. Wow.
Head spinning, I use every scrap of sanity to try to compose myself. My emotions have tossed me around all day, like a dinghy trying to survive an ocean storm.
I close the door, take a deep breath, and turn to face him. “Thanks for coming over on the weekend.”
His wide shoulders shrug. “It’s no problem.”
Then he reaches toward me, and I stand rooted to the spot. What…what’s going on? Is he going to touch me? Is he reaching for my face?
I waver on my noodle-like legs. His scent envelops me, sending warmth spiraling through my core. His hand is broad with a fine dusting of hair on the back of his palm and long, strong fingers. He’s reaching for me like he wants to stroke my arm, or maybe my cheek, and I’m so shocked I can’t move. It happens in slow motion. His arm extending, his dark eyes shifting from my face to my shoulder?—
And he flicks the light switch that happens to be just beside my arm.
Nothing happens to the lights, but I jump about three feet in the air, like some sort of startled cat. Air escapes my lungs in a wheeze as I fall back against the door.
Chase's brows arch. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, patting my dress for no reason at all. “You want something to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee?” I pause, and before I can stop myself, I add the drink that Chase used to drink every morning in high school, which I remember because I’m a complete loser who is still attracted to the guy she was crushing on twenty-five years ago. “Hot chocolate?”
Chase's eyes light up. “Hot chocolate would be amazing.”
“Sure. Right away. Cocoa for two,” I babble, then hop up the three steps that separate the foyer from the kitchen/living room area.
That’s when I remember my power is out. I spin around to let him know and crash right into his broad chest.
Chase catches me by the biceps, but he doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t pull me closer, either, but this is the nearest I’ve been to a man in two years.
My heart rattles.
Gulping, I let my gaze climb up to meet his. “I can’t make hot chocolate without power.”
His grin is devastating. “I was wondering how you’d manage that.”
“You must think I’m an idiot.”
“I’ve never thought that about you, Katie.”
Something in his voice makes me pause. Is he saying that he’s thought about me before? When?
As I stare into his eyes, Chase's thumbs make a slow sweep over my shoulders. Then, all at once, he releases me.
“Is the power out in the whole house?”
“Yeah,” I croak, then clear my throat. “Yes.”
“Where’s your electrical panel?”
“The basement,” I tell him. “I’ll show you.”
Feeling Chase's presence at my back all the way down the stairs, I lead him to the furnace room, which also houses the electrical panel. With complete confidence, he sets his tool belt down at his feet and opens the panel. Then he grunts, and flicks one of the big switches on the panel.
The house hums to life as my power comes back on.
Chase arches a brow and glances at me. “Breaker tripped,” he explains.
“Ah,” I answer, like his words make sense when said one after the other.
“Your main switch was off. If it ever happens again, just make sure all the switches are up.” He points to the panel, where one of the switches is helpfully labelled “Main Switch.”
Pinching my lips, I try to tamp down the feeling of utter stupidity that washes over me.
“So…it’s fixed?” I ask.
“Seems to be. But I’m not sure what made it trip.”
“Right.”
“How about you make that drink and we see if it trips again?”