Chapter 3
THREE
I’m halfway through hot chocolate preparations when I realize why I’m so nervous with Chase sitting at one of the stools on the other side of my kitchen peninsula: I’ve never had a man in this house, other than my father, a couple of furniture delivery men, and the real estate agent I hired to help with the purchase.
Any dates I’ve been on since the end of my last relationship have ended on the front stoop. I’ve been too afraid to let another man inside. This house has been my space from the moment I stepped through the door. My sanctuary.
But now Chase Matthews is here, looking around at my plants and my paintings like he can read meaning in their placement. He left his tool belt by the front door along with his plaid jacket, so now he’s sitting there wearing a black tee that clings to all the hard planes of his chest in a way that’s probably illegal in some states.
I don’t blame the shirt; I’d touch that chest too if I had the right. My gaze drifts down to his bare forearms, all tawny skin and corded muscles. Good grief.
I turn back to the stove, where I’ve got a pot of milk warming. My cheeks feel warm. So there’s a big, brawny, impossibly handsome man in my kitchen? Who cares? I’m just making him hot chocolate as thanks for getting my power back on, that’s all.
There’s no need to feel so lightheaded about it, though my hands do tremble slightly as I get my cutting board out and hunt through my cupboard for my stash of emergency chocolate.
“You got plans for tonight?” he asks.
I turn around, my big chef’s knife hovering above the rich chocolate I’ve just chopped into tiny pieces. Meeting his gaze, I shake my head. “No. I’m having a quiet one.”
“Really? No family dinner? No girls’ night?”
The way he worded that is…strange. I frown, then say, “No. I’m a homebody. Although I just got back from my parents’ house.”
“I see,” Chase replies, nodding like I just cleared up an important question. Seriously weird. He tilts his head, eyes flicking down to my lips for a brief moment. “Fun?”
Heat flares below my navel, and I make a mental note to spend some time with my vibrator when Chase leaves. Clearly, I am too tightly wound to function when an attractive man is looking in my direction.
What did he ask me again? Oh. Right. Whether I had fun at my parents’ house.
“Eh.” I tilt my head from side to side. “My sister just got engaged so everyone’s in a tizzy about that.” Worried I sound entirely too bitter, I add, “I’m happy for her, obviously. I’m just…not a wedding person,” I finish lamely.
I scoop the chocolate into a small pot and stick it in the microwave for thirty seconds. When it beeps, I grab a spoon and stir gently until the chocolate melts. It needs a bit more time, so I pop it back in the microwave.
“Your sister was always one to dominate the spotlight,” Chase notes as he watches me take the chocolate back out again to inspect and stir the partially-melted chunks.
I stop stirring and glance at him again. “What do you mean?”
“Just…in high school. You were quiet, and even though she was younger, she demanded lots of attention.” He straightens. “Not to be rude. She’s a great girl. I’m happy for her.”
“Yeah, me too.” My spoon clanks on the side of the bowl as I stir the last chunks of unmelted chocolate until they disappear, and then I turn around again. “You remember me from high school?”
Chase laughs. He looks so good doing it that he should be sent straight to jail. People shouldn’t be able to wield those kinds of weapons out in the open. When his laugh dies down, his eyes are still full of warmth. “What do you mean? Of course I remember you.”
“Yeah but you’re…you.”
“I’m me, yes, that’s astute.”
“Okay, okay.” I click my tongue. “No need to be a jerk about it.”
Chase's smile is still clinging to the corners of his lips. “We had forty-two people in our graduating class, Katie. It would have been pretty hard not to notice you.”
His words make me blush, even though he probably means there were so few people that he noticed everyone. Still, I narrow my eyes. “Fine, but you’re Chase Matthews. You were the bad boy who didn’t care what anyone thought. I didn’t think you noticed anyone.”
Chase snorts. “‘The bad boy who didn’t care what anyone thought?’”
A giggle slips out of me. “You had a leather jacket! And a car!”
“I saw a leather jacket hanging on the hook beside your front door, and I’m pretty sure those were car keys in that little bowl. Does that mean you’re a bad girl who doesn’t care what anyone thinks?”
I stick out my chin. “Maybe I am.”
Something like heat flashes in his eyes. “Really.”
Suddenly my sweater dress is far too warm. I turn back to the chocolate and give it one last stir. It’s fully melted, so I scoop the melted, creamy chocolate into a waiting pot of warm milk. Then I switch to a whisk and stir the whole thing until the scent of wonderful hot chocolate fills the kitchen.
Pouring the concoction into two mugs, I shuffle to the fridge—now lit up and working, thankfully—and grab whipped cream in a can. I lift it in Chase's direction, arching my brows, and he nods.
Both mugs get topped with perfect spiral mounds of whipped cream, and then I push one across the counter toward him.
He takes a sip and lets out a deep groan. “This is really good.”
A small, victorious smile steals over my lips. “Using real chocolate makes a big difference.”
“A man could get used to hot chocolate like this.” He licks his top lip, where a bit of whipped cream had smudged.
My heart gives a violent lurch. Needing to put my mug down before I slosh hot liquid all over my hand, I cast about for a safe topic that will not have me feeling like a sixteen-year-old girl with a bad crush. I need to remind myself that this man is not for me. “You got married a few years back, right? How’s”—I snap my fingers, trying to remember—“Becca?”
The ultimate evidence of my ridiculous crush is that when I found out Chase got married, I actually felt a pang of disappointment, even though we hadn’t spoken since high school. That’s when I resolved to put the crush behind me.
Or I thought I did, until he showed up on my doorstep.
“Married seven years ago, yeah,” he says, “then got divorced a year and a half later.”
I blink, startled. “What? Really?”
He nods. “She moved to Silicon Valley.”
“Oh, I heard about that, actually. Working at some tech startup, right?”
Another whipped cream mustache gets licked away as Chase nods. “Yeah. Doing well, last I heard.”
“Oh. Well. That’s good. And I’m sorry.” Cringing at myself, I focus on my hot chocolate. It really is delicious.
“What about you? You were seeing, um”—Chase snaps his fingers—“Ryan? Riley?”
“Reid.” He knew about that? I know it’s a small town, but I wouldn’t expect Chase Matthews to keep me on his radar.
“Reid,” he repeats, nodding. “How’s that going?”
“It’s not,” I answer, shrugging. “It ended about two years ago.”
“Ah. Sorry,” he says.
“It’s fine. We weren’t right for each other.”
“Any man who gives up hot chocolate like this is a fool,” he says, lifting his mug. I watch him swallow, his throat bobbing, and another ridiculous blush tries its best to paint my face red.
We finish our drinks not long after, and while I put the mugs in the dishwasher, Chase stands. He stretches slightly, revealing a sliver of taut skin above the waistband of his jeans. My mouth goes dry.
“Looks like the power’s going to hold up,” he says, tilting his head to the light.
I tear my gaze away from his abdomen and stare at the light. Maybe if I burn my retinas, I’ll erase the image of Chase grinning at me from the other side of my kitchen counter out of my brain.
“Thanks for sticking around.” I wipe my hands on a tea towel and come around the peninsula counter to his side. “I appreciate it.”
“Give me a call if the switch trips again. Might have to replace it.”
“Will do. How much do I owe you?”
His grin is so warm it’s almost fond. “After that hot chocolate, I think we can call it even.”
I can’t help the smile that curls my lips. “Sounds like a deal.”
Leading him to the front door, I try to ignore the disappointment that begins to curdle in my gut. For the hour that he was here, I forgot about my birthday and the fact that no one remembered. I felt…special. I want to cling to this feeling. I want to feel good today, instead of soggy and lonely and miserable.
Watching him slide his jacket over his shoulders makes my mouth water. He’s taller than me by a good six to eight inches, and his jacket makes him look even broader. I lean down to pick up the tool belt he’d placed on the shoe tray, holding it out for him.
“Thank you,” he says, fingers brushing mine as he takes it. He slings it over his shoulder but doesn’t move back.
Our eyes meet for a long moment. I feel unbearably sad about him leaving, which is ridiculous. He’s practically a stranger, and we spent a little over an hour together.
Am I really that lonely that an hour with Chase is all it takes to make my high school crush roar back to life again? Am I that desperate for some kind of connection that a mug of hot chocolate is all it takes for me to be hot and desperate for this man?
But then Chase shocks me by lifting his hand to brush a tendril of my dark hair away from my face. His fingertip slides over my ear as he tucks the strand behind it, sending shivers racing down my spine.
“This color looks great on you,” he says in a deep, quiet voice, his finger drifting all the way down to the turtleneck fold of the dress’s neckline. “Really brings out your eyes.”
The moment stretches so long I wonder if the world has stopped. Chase's gaze climbs up to meet mine, his hand still teasing at the neckline of my dress. His thumb traces the line of my jaw, and for a wild moment, I wonder if he’s going to lean down and kiss me.
But all he does is smile at me and drop his hand. “Call me if the power goes out again,” he says.
Disappointment crashes into me like a punch to the gut. I manage a tremulous smile. “Sure,” I croak, and then close the door behind him.
When I turn the lock and hear his truck’s engine fade in the distance, I let my shoulders slump. Did I really think handsome, hunky Chase Matthews would be interested in me? Did I really expect a man to sweep me off my feet on the day that everyone else forgot I existed?
Angry at myself, I stomp to the kitchen and clean up the mess I made making hot chocolate for the man. It was a pleasant hour, and at least I won’t have to pay anything for not knowing how to flip a switch on my electrical panel.
But after the kitchen is clean and the dishes are put away, I look around my house and feel doubly sad that I’m all alone.
I huff. “I’m forty years old,” I tell the empty house. “I’m not some insecure ninny who can’t enjoy time alone.”
The house doesn’t answer, but I feel a bit better. I cut to my wine rack, uncork a bottle, then take a glass up to my master bathroom to run myself a nice, luxurious bubble bath. If no one else is going to celebrate my birthday, I’m not going to let it stop me from enjoying it myself.