Chapter 7
seven
An occasional car passing on the cobblestone street is the soundtrack to my walk home. I love my walks in the middle of the week. The heat breaks when the sun goes down, the streets are quiet, and the various displays of reindeer and Santa hats make it feel like home this time of year.
There’s something about living downtown and seeing the city while it sleeps. I used to come here when I was younger. In college, Miles would drag me out to all the bars, and I’d dance and drink the night away like my life depended on it. I loved the vibrant nightlife of the city, but I think I prefer getting to know the shop owners and becoming a regular at a local pub more.
My phone vibrates from deep within my bag. Miles is probably calling to ask what I want to do for dinner tonight. I hope he doesn’t want to go out. Today was long, and I’m ready for my couch and Chinese takeout that I can eat straight from the container.
When I finally fish my phone out of my bag, I blink down at the number calling.
It’s not Miles .
It’s him .
I stop, and with my heart hammering in my chest, I swipe to answer.
Slowly bringing my phone to my ear, like it might detonate at any moment, I say, “Hello?”
“What’s your name?” His voice is smooth, deep, and low. It’s the type of voice that has no business belonging to someone who’s just your friend. There’s no background noise, and I imagine him sitting in a fancy apartment somewhere with a whiskey on the rocks in his hand.
I blink. “What?”
He laughs, and even through the phone, the sound ricochets from one vertebra to another. “Your name?”
“Oh.” I force my feet to move in the direction of home. “Candace. My name is Candace.”
I can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Nice to meet you, Candace.”
“You, too.” It takes me a moment to get my bearings and ask him the same. I hope his name is something ridiculous, like Barty or Edmund. “And yours?”
Another low chuckle. “Chase.”
Chase. I try to picture him again and assign the name to the man I saw yesterday morning.
Fuck, it’s hot.
I inhale a steadying breath. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. Want to tell me why you’re calling?”
“Do you want to get drinks with me?” He asks it like he’s asking what my favorite color is. He’s the epitome of casual, and it feels like it’s taking everything inside me not to freeze up on the spot.
“No.” The word comes out sharp on my tongue, and I wince. So much for not freezing up .
Chase finds my response funny, another laugh leaking through the phone. “No? Damn, Candace. ”
The way he says my name makes my knees weak, but I can’t get drinks with him. I have a feeling I’m not the one he wants to get drinks with, and I have just enough pride to keep myself from being anyone’s backup.
“I’m sorry. I just—Why are you asking me out for drinks?”
There’s still a smile in his voice when he says, “Because I thought it would be fun?” The sound of him getting up and walking replaces some of the stillness on his end. “Look, I’m about to leave the office, and I figured I’d see if you were free. That’s all.”
“I’m not,” I say too quickly.
“Yes, I gathered that.” Even his clipped response has a hint of playfulness to it.
My eyes dart to the buildings around me, and panic spurs in my chest. What if he’s in one of these? We both went to the same coffee shop, so he probably works around here. I’m literally surrounded by potential office buildings. What if he spills onto the street and crashes into me like the beginning of some terrible rom-com movie?
I swallow down the thought and pick up my pace. I’m only about a block from home. If I hurry, maybe I can round the corner before he even leaves the building.
“Candace, are you running from someone?”
“What?” I ask, wincing at how out of breath I sound.
Yes, you.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I clamp my lips shut to silence my breathing.
“You just sound . . . like you’re in a hurry?”
I know I’m being ridiculous. Running from a man I’m on the phone with. Who happens to work in the same city. But even as I rationalize my fears, my steps quicken.
Because I don’t trust myself around him.
I’ve always been level-headed. Never one to get swept off their feet. Never at risk of getting hurt. I’ve been through breakups, makeups—hell, one guy even proposed. I learned a lot from that one in particular. Now, I like to think I can spot red flags from a mile away, and Chase is a walking red flag. He might look good in a suit and have a voice that makes my insides turn all gooey, but he’s affecting me way too much too soon for this to be a fair fight.
With my apartment in view, I lie through my teeth. “Yeah, sorry. In a bit of a hurry.”
“Big plans tonight?”
“Yeah,” I answer with a huff as I pull the door to the lobby open. “You could say that.”
His end of the phone falls quiet again, like he stopped to listen to my chaos. “Well, I hope you have a great time.” He lightens his tone as he adds, “I mean, you’re passing up drinks with me, and I’m definitely a great time.”
My laugh comes out sounding more like a scoff. “I’m sure you are.”
“Are you doubting me?”
My cheeks flush even though he can’t see me. I didn’t scoff because I don’t believe him. I scoffed because I do. But before I can say anything, he speaks again.
“Let me prove it to you. Get drinks with me. You pick the night.”
My feet come to a screeching halt in front of my apartment door. “Why?” I’ve known this guy for less than two days, and he’s already making my head spin.
“Because I like you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing to admit. “And I think it would be fun.”
Why am I so tempted by this? I’m not supposed to get butterflies from a guy like him. Haven’t I learned anything from all the terrible guys I’ve gone on dates with this year? I should tell him no. I should hang up the phone and ignore all future calls and texts, because if he can get to me this much after two days, I should cut my losses and hit the road. My mouth opens, but no words come out.
“It’s only drinks,” he says with that dangerous hint of a smile still in his voice.
I roll my eyes to the ceiling, and my shoulders drop in defeat. “As friends.” It’s not a question. If I’m going to do anything with him, there needs to be clear boundaries.
“Of course,” he agrees without hesitation. “Strictly friends having a great time together.”
A breath of laughter slips out of me. “Okay. Well, I just got ho—here. I’ll text you.”
“I look forward to it.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up, and I’m left staring down at my phone with a storm of emotions brewing in the pit of my stomach. After adding his name to the contact info, I fight the urge to text him right away. Because as much as I know I shouldn’t, I’m looking forward to it, too.