Chapter 22
PIPPA
We start down the path toward the village. A few shops are still open and restaurants with outdoor seating overflow with couples and large parties.
Somewhere along the way, my hand lands in Chase’s. The heart fluffies are giddy because this feels like a date. Smells like a date. Sounds like a date. Looks like a date.
“It looks like there will be a long wait wherever we go,” Chase says, overlapping my thoughts.
Lights shine from the west. “I forgot. There’s a seasonal fair. Can you handle fried food and a Ferris wheel? That’s not too high, is it?” I ask.
“As long as I channel my superhero.”
I giggle. “Who’s that?”
“Superman, of course.”
“Okay, don’t hate me or shame me, but the only thing I know about Superman is he wears tights and a cape.”
Chase halts. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
“I’m quite serious.”
“Your brother was Freddie Thompson and you don’t know about Superman?”
“That was his thing. Phoebe and I kind of hated it because Mum would always let him watch the shows, movies, and get him the comic books, specially because he was the only boy in the family.”
“Let me guess, usually you and your sister got the first pick with the TV?”
“Yep. He’s seen more girly movies and rom-coms than he’ll ever admit.”
Chase snaps his fingers. “I’ll have to remember that next time I see him.
So, Superman 101. He was born on another planet, but it was destroyed and he was sent to earth.
A couple adopted him and named him Clark Kent.
He quickly realized he had powers and was super strong.
He used those abilities to fight crime.”
“Where do the tights come in?” I ask.
“That was part of his disguise, and you know, they’re more aerodynamic than a baggy pair of jeans.”
“Fair point,” I say with a laugh as he defends his hero.
Our hands drop as we move through a crowd and walk down the cobbled lane of the village and he goes on to explain how Clark Kent went to work as a journalist, fell in love with Lois Lane, and vied with his main opponent, Lex Luthor.
“So, was Lex Luther his only enemy?”
“No, there were loads. Probably the biggest thing that threatened to defeat him was kryptonite. It was this crystal stuff from his home planet that would weaken him.”
“I’ve heard it in a song. Good thing there’s nothing like that here or at the fair.”
The joyful squeals of laughter and sounds of people on carnival rides grow louder as we near the entrance, lit up with an array of bright, blinking lights.
“I’m not so sure about that, Pippa.”
I swallow. “Are you saying that we might come across crystal stuff from your home planet among the bumper cars and fried dough?”
Chase’s voice gets deeper, yet louder, like he’s delivering lines on a stage. “Are you suggesting I’m Superman? Because if that’s the case, I’m not sure how much longer I can resist you.”
My jaw drops.
His dimple grows. “How was that? Did I make the cut? Could I play the next Clark Kent?”
I swallow because for a second there, I thought he meant that I was his kryptonite.
“How about you? Do you have any heroes?” he asks, bumping my shoulder.
“Hmm. I’d have to say, my dad. He’s an amazing guy. My mom and I are close, but he just gets me. In a lot of ways, we’re alike. He also sometimes needs to take refuge from the world. He turns to books.”
“And you?” Chase asks without a trace of judgment in his voice.
“Yes, but also candle making and usually I have a show that I’m into. It’s Ted Lasso at the moment.”
“Believe it or not, I understand what you mean about needing to recharge.”
“You do? You seem so outgoing, a classic extrovert.”
“Being ‘on’ most of the time can get tiring, but you’re not wrong. Mostly, I thrive off it.”
“I couldn’t be more different.”
“What about being here, right now, with me?”
I look around at the flashing lights, the sound, and chaos. “I guess this is an exception.”
“Tell me more about your dad.”
“He’s incredibly patient and accepting. I’m trying to be more like him.”
“Sounds like the opposite of my father. In fact, talking about him is well outside of my comfort zone.”
“I take it you don’t have a great relationship.”
“Let’s just say, he’s not my hero. I wanted him to be when I was a kid, but he pushed me away.
Away from him and from playing football.
Yet it was confusing because football was Cap, my grandfather’s, whole life.
No matter how much like Superman I try to be, the trench between my father and me has always been deep. Wide now too, after Cap passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that and about your grandfather,” I say softly.
“Thanks for being such a good listener. I probably shouldn’t have said all that, but talking to you is easy.”
“Thanks. My dad is a good listener, too. He loves Jesus and golf.”
“So, not the kind of person who is always waiting for their turn to talk? I admire that.”
“Don’t get me wrong, he’s quirky. He only writes in blue ink, all caps, of course. He has an obsession with peanut M&M’s. Like, it’s out of control.”
“They’re pretty good.”
“Chase, he bought an M&M factory.”
“Oh.” Chase bumps me with his shoulder. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“The banana.”
“I’m pretty sure the saying is apple. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Not according to my dad.” This reminds me, I need to find out what his prank was.
“Sounds like an interesting guy. As for Rhett Collins, he did the opposite of everything his father did and from the sound of it, your father too, including a faith life, football, and family time. Though he was different with my sisters. He treats me like the runt.”
“Well, you are no runt. I’ve been watching you during your workouts. No slouch either.”
“Thanks,” Chase says with surprising modesty.
“Maybe he has an unfulfilled dream or expectation for himself and takes it out on you.”
“You and my sister would get along great.”
“Just don’t tell her the sponge story. Older sisters intimidate me.”
“But you are an older sister.” I tip my head from side to side.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“It’s a deal if you don’t tell any of the guys the heights thing. I’m a Boston Bruiser. We’re tough, gritty, and don’t take any nonsense on or off the field.”
I make a lip-zipping motion and recall that my lower one is still slightly swollen as it heals.
Chase rubs his hands together. “So, what first? Food? Then games and rides?”
Before we make it over to the food trucks, a game barker calls for Chase’s attention, challenging him to get a basketball in a hoop. “A teddy bear for your sweetheart!” the guy calls. “Take a shot, come on, step right up.”
Elvis Presley’s song “Teddy Bear” plays from the stall.
Chase hesitates and the guy shouts some more, urging us over.
“Come on, you’re starved. I, for one, make my worst decisions when I’m hungry. I recently went grocery shopping on an empty stomach and got home to find prunes, canned sardines, and marzipan in my grocery bag.”
The game guy doesn’t let up, heckling Chase about winning something for his lady, aka me.
“Little does he know that I’m a pro athlete,” Chase whispers.
“Football isn’t the same as basketball.”
“But it’s an Elvis teddy bear.” He softly sings the lyrics to the famous song by the King of Rock and Roll.
I tilt my head, hearing his crooning voice above the din of the fair. “Chase,” I whisper when he goes quiet.
“Sorry. Got carried away.”
“If that’s the way you sing, get carried away all you want.” The man has pipes. I never thought about what it would be like to hear a man sing to me, but it turns out I like it. A lot.
The game guy continues to holler at us.
“Come on, I’m getting you an Elvis bear.”
“I have a teddy bear right here,” I say, squeezing his side with a little tickle. “Er, I mean Superman.”
“That’s more like it. Bet I can win you one. A big one.” He tosses a few dollars on the counter and grabs a ball. Chase winks at me, then sinks the ball in the basket on the first try.
“Three shots wins her a prize,” the barker says.
He sinks two more hoops with little effort.
The game operator slouches as he passes Chase a teddy bear wearing a white jumpsuit and sunglasses. He gives it to me.
I hug it, then loop my arm through his. “Thank you.”
“I’m thinking we grab some grub. Tossing that ball worked up my appetite.”
“You made it look effortless.”
“Well, what can I say? I’m good at what I do.” He smirks.
“Don’t be modest or anything.” I playfully whack him with the bear.
“Hey, take it easy on Elvis-Bear. He’s strong, tough, and an excellent shot, but you have to watch the fur.”
We both laugh as we enter the food area.
Chase takes a deep breath. “I’m not sure what smells better, the fried dough, cotton candy, or—?”
“What’s cotton candy?” I interrupt.
He opens his palm and makes a balloon-like gesture. “Um, it’s puffy, sweet, and looks kind of like a colorful cloud.”
“Oh, you mean candy floss.”
“I’m pretty sure any dentist would discourage you from flossing your teeth with pure sugar.”
I giggle. “You’re right. Dr. Gundry would forbid that, but we call cotton candy, candy floss in England. I suppose had you gone to prom, you’d know that. It was carnival themed.”
“Well, I didn’t go because I had to leave abruptly. So, I take it, you went?” His voice wavers.
I sigh at the memory of a night home watching television with Phoebe. “No, my friend Maeve filled me in with great detail on everything that I missed.”
“Do you like cotton candy? I’ll get you some. A candy apple? Fried Oreo? Do they have those here?”
“I like cinnamon rolls.” It’s then that I realize the third component of his scent. It’s soap, man, and cinnamon.
Chase is a bad boy cinnamon roll. Not at all doughy and his firm muscles are evidence of that, yet he’s perfectly sweet and buttery on the inside with the perfect amount of spice.
“How about chili and a cinnamon roll?” Chase asks.
“I’ve seen that served at a diner and I’m not so sure those go together.”
“Sure, they do. Like peas and carrots, cookies and milk, like—”
“I’ve never heard anyone say they go together like chili and cinnamon rolls.”
“You haven’t been to my grandparents’ farm in Iowa.”
“But I have been to Iowa. I went on a trip there once to source materials for candle-making. Wax quality is of primary importance and I came across that particular meal combination.”
“You were in Iowa and didn’t have chili and cinnamon rolls? We’ll have to do something about that.”
At the idea of spending more time together, I’m suddenly starved.
Is that drool? No, it’s nothing. Ignore me and carry on, fairgoers!
“I don’t think we’ll find that here. How about pizza?” I ask, sounding half drunk on the scent of cinnamon, spice, and Chase Collins.
“Sure. I love pizza, but about that...um, remember when I said, ‘Hi, Pizza,’ instead of Pippa?”
Wearing a smile, so he knows I’m mostly joking, I fold my arms in front of my chest. It probably just looks like I’m hugging the bear, but I cock a hip just to remind him that I didn’t appreciate the comment.
“Way back, I almost told Freddie that I liked you, but at the last second, I replaced it with pizza. From then on, you’ve been Pizza in my mind.”
“And there I thought you considered me Pippag Thomzeg the ogre of Hinnifin Hall.”
Chase steps closer. My pulse quickens.
“I had to engage Jerk Mode, so no one suspected how I felt about you.”
I tuck my chin, not sure what to think. As usual, I try to plan what I’m going to say, but my words falter.
He smooths my bangs and then lifts my chin with his two fingers. “Pippa, I’m not sure when you last looked in the mirror, but I like what I see. A lot.”
I expect him to have the same native tongue as my brother, hot sauce with a side of cockiness, and I’m not talking about chicken wings. But Chase is more like what I imagine a cinnamon roll with chili is like. Not too spicy. Not too sweet. Just right.
It takes me a moment, but I muster up the courage to meet his eyes. They sparkle blue and are inviting like a dip into a pool on a warm night.
Ordinarily, in situations like this, when I get overloaded, my brain stops connecting with my mouth. Again, tonight is an exception, and I say, “Me too.”