Chapter Twenty-Seven
Annabelle
Chase was early. Instead of working through close, he packed up his things at seven-thirty and headed to the kitchen to start the dishes. I wasn't the only one eager for our date. Fortunately, I'd already cooked dinner and carefully packed it away, out of sight of prying eyes.
I was a little nervous. I'd made Chase sandwich after sandwich, and he loved my baking, but I'd never really cooked for him.
I didn't cook as much as I liked to. It was just me, and I spent so much time in the kitchen baking it didn't seem worth the bother to put a real meal together. I usually grabbed a sandwich on the run, a lot like Chase.
But this was different. This was special.
Thanks to Chase getting a jump on the cleanup and Bruce working a double shift to help close, we were done a full forty-five minutes earlier than usual.
Bruce headed out with a wink and a silent salute. He didn't talk much, but he was great on the espresso machine and happy to pick up extra shifts here and there.
"Ready to go? I thought we'd walk," Chase said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Was it possible Chase was nervous, too? Ridiculous, considering everything. This wasn't a first date, and we knew each other. That didn't settle the flutter in my stomach.
"One second. Let me grab dinner from the kitchen."
I pulled out my enameled, cast-iron dutch oven with both hands, carefully balancing the heavy weight, the warmth of the metal seeping through the potholders. I set it on two stacked towels, wrapping it securely to hold in the heat and protect our hands.
Between the meal in the dutch oven and dessert, it would take both of us to get dinner to Chase's house. I carried the towel wrapped package out of the kitchen and said in apology, "This is pretty heavy. Maybe we should drive."
Chase took the pot from my arms and moved to unwrap the first layer of towels. I slapped his hand away.
"Nope, no peeking. Let me go get the rest."
"The rest? What did you make?"
The heat of a flush warmed my cheeks. I'd gone a little overboard. A lot overboard. I kept thinking of things Chase would like, and before I knew it the menu had expanded. A lot.
"One second," I said, and dashed back into the kitchen, opening the commercial refrigerator and sorting through café supplies for the three stacked containers I’d placed there earlier in the day.
With Bruce and Marie working that morning I'd been able to spend our slow periods in the kitchen whipping up treats Chase had never seen before. They were a little fussy, and I'd been so exhausted lately I hadn't had it in me to make them on the scale necessary for the café.
For Chase, I found the energy. I couldn't wait to see which one he liked best. I carried the desserts back out and grinned when Chase's eyes went wide.
"You made a feast," he said.
"It's your first dinner in your new house," I said. "That deserves a feast."
We left through the back door and strolled down the block, crossing Highland Avenue and walking down streets overhung by trees and lit by streetlights.
It didn't take long to get to Chase's house, a mere five blocks from the café. I should have seen it by now. I'd been trying to push Chase away, to keep him at a distance.
Going to see his house, so close to the café, would only have reminded me of everything I wanted that I thought I couldn't have.
I hadn't wanted to face reality. Hadn't wanted to imagine myself there, in his home.
Now, my heart beat faster in anticipation.
We turned onto a new street, and I didn't have to wonder which house belonged to Chase.
A dumpster sat on the edge of the front yard and the grass was torn up in spots where construction equipment had parked.
There wasn't much landscaping to speak of, except for the old-growth trees surrounding the small lot, but the house—the house was a gem.
I wasn't sure what architectural style it was. To me, with its exposed wood beams and shingles, clear paned windows and peaked gables, it looked like a fairytale cottage.
Chase led me to the front door and unlocked it, lifting one shoulder in a sort of shrug as he asked, "What do you think?"
"It's perfect," I said, stepping through the doorway into the foyer, my eyes drinking in each detail, the house wrapping itself around me, whispering in my ear. Home.
But it wasn't the house, it was Chase. He was stamped over every inch of the place. More exposed wood beams, warm and inviting, High ceilings, wide hallways and wood paneling in a deep, rich, smooth-grained oak.
"Absolutely perfect," I repeated in an awed whisper.
The two front rooms—I was guessing formal living room and dining room—didn't have any furniture.
Chase saw my curious glance and said, "We didn't have much of a dining room table in the condo. I got rid of it. Ditto for living room furniture. I'll figure it out later."
"Mmm," I said, my eyes wide as we passed the stairs to the second level and entered the heart of the house.
I stopped and stared. The back of the house was one big room divided into two sections, the far side a wall of windows that looked out onto the tiny yard and the dollhouse of a garage at the back of the property.
On my right was a family room with floor to ceiling stone fireplace, flanked by overstuffed couches angled to catch both the fireplace and the huge flat screen TV opposite the windows.
The left side was taken up by a chef's kitchen and breakfast nook, the space all gleaming stainless steel, gold and brown granite, and warm wood cabinets.
For a guy who said he rarely cooked, Chase had designed a heck of a kitchen. Double ovens with warming drawer, oversized subzero refrigerator, eight burner gas range. Dual wine refrigerators in the island, along with a prep sink and extra dishwasher.
The only thing I could say was, "Wow."
This was… This was a lot more than I expected. In a vague sort of way, I knew Chase did well. He never seemed to be worried about money and his condo had sold so fast I knew he'd gotten more than he'd asked for.
But, while I wasn't a real estate expert like Charlie and Lucas or Jacob, I knew what property cost in the Virginia Highlands. I owned my building and I'd done a lot of research on commercial and residential values before I’d purchased the café.
I had a good idea what a lot like this would cost, not to mention the expense of a fully renovated house with custom woodwork and that kitchen. Chase had spared no expense on what I'd seen so far, leading me to assume the rest of the house, and the garage across the yard, were the same.
My businesswoman's brain was doing the math and coming up with a number that was a hell of a lot more than I'd ever be able to spend on a house. This was all way out of my league.
I had the sense of the floor tilting, knocking me off balance. I'd always thought of Chase and myself as equals. I'd been way off base.
I'd come this far—I wasn't going to start comparing Chase to Tommy again—but I'd been with a guy who had money before and I couldn't help remembering what he'd wanted. What he'd expected. And how those expectations had destroyed everything.
To distract myself, I set the cases holding our desserts on the kitchen counter. I knew my way around an oven, and I turned his on, enjoying the gleam of metal inside. There was nothing quite like a brand-new oven.
Someday it would be banged up and stained on the inside if anyone used it on a regular basis, but right now it was pristine and gorgeous. Some women got excited over shoes; for me, it was kitchen appliances. I could respect an oven like this. Forget respect, I could drool over an oven like this.
I set it to warm and took the dutch oven from Chase, unwrapping it from the towels and sliding it inside before I turned around and crossed my arms over my chest.
"What's wrong?" Chase asked, reading my face.
"It's nothing," I said, not wanting to admit I might be having second thoughts. I wasn't going to do this. I'd decided—no second thoughts.
I was going to have courage. Be brave. No backing out now. I owed Chase more than that. I owed myself more.
"It's not nothing," Chase said.
He crossed the room, reaching out to close his hands around my upper arms and tugged me closer, pulling me to him until he could slide his arms around my back.
Holding me, surrounding me with his strength, he said gently, "Is it the house? You don't like it?"
"No," I said so quickly he had to know I was telling the truth. "No, I love the house. The house is beautiful. It's like a dream. This kitchen is magnificent."
"I designed the kitchen for you," Chase said, and everything inside me went still.
With numb lips, I murmured, "What do you mean, you designed the kitchen for me?"
That was crazy. He couldn't have. We hadn't known each other long enough.
Chase, always braver than me, laid it all out. "I kept seeing you here. In my house. Every time I imagined what I wanted, how I'd use each room, you were here. When it came time to pick everything for the kitchen I couldn't stop thinking about you. What you'd need. What you'd want."
"Chase," I whispered, my heart aching with love.
He trailed a finger down my cheek, taking in everything he saw in my eyes. "Does that scare you? Am I freaking you out?"
"No," I said, then stopped. "Maybe a little. In a good way. It feels good to know you were thinking of me. I was thinking of you," I admitted.
"Then if it's not the house, what's wrong?" he asked, threading his fingers through my hair.
"You're really rich, aren't you?" I blurted out, then buried my face in his chest to hide my flaming cheeks.
Why couldn't I have found a better way to say that? I was such a dork.
Chase thought so, too, because he started laughing, his chest rumbling beneath my ear. "Pretty much. Why? Is that a problem?"
"Kind of," I admitted.
Chase took a step back but didn't let go of me, running his hands down my arms to close around my wrists.