Chapter 10
ten
We’ve been here for over an hour, and I wipe a stray tear from the corner of my eye, trying to rein in my laughter.
Chase leans forward, his eyes wide and wild. “It’s not funny! I boarded up her entire fucking house before that hurricane.” He presses his pointer finger against the tabletop in quick jabs. “Ten. Windows. Ten. Do you know how much work it is to cover windows with plywood alone? Have you ever done such a thing?”
I take a breath so there’s enough oxygen in my lungs for me to speak, but my voice still comes out high and squeaky with my futile attempt to hold back laughter. “But why would you do that after only one date?”
This isn’t the first ridiculous story he’s told, and everything hurts. My cheeks hurt from laughing, and my eyes burn from the makeup that is surely in them.
He gapes at me. “She asked!”
I take a sip from my third glass of Chardonnay and shake my head. “So? Why not pretend you were busy? If a hurricane was coming, you could have said you left the state to stay with family. ”
He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “I liked her. But as soon as I was done, she told me she wanted to weather the storm alone. Both literally and figuratively.”
I shake my head, but my lips still twist with amusement. “Unbelievable.”
He takes a sip of his bourbon, not bothering to hide his tight-lipped smile. “I hope you’re referring to her and not me.”
“Oh, no. I’m definitely referring to you. After one date? What was so special about this girl?”
He opens his mouth but pauses before any words come out.
Pointing a finger at him, I say in a warning tone, “I swear to God, if you say she was blonde.”
He says nothing but sucks in his lips like he might combust if he doesn’t tell me how yellow this girl’s fucking hair was. My head shakes in disapproval.
He grimaces. “On second thought, she was more of a caramel?”
I give him a heavy-lidded stare. “You’re terrible, you know that? I hope you know how terrible you are.”
He grins, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m well aware.” Leaning toward me, he adds, “What about you? Worst first date.”
I know my worst first date by heart. It’s the first date story I’ve told dozens of times. “Probably when a guy asked if I could pick him up and then when I got to his house, he said he wasn’t feeling well and asked if I could make him soup.”
Chase’s eyes widen. “Damn. He was looking for a wife to replace his mother, wasn’t he?”
I let myself take another sip before setting my glass down and nod. “You could say that.”
“How did the date end?”
My eyebrows pinch. “What do you mean?”
“Well, did you stay and make the soup, or did you slam the door in his face? ”
A humorless laugh leaves me. “Oh, I made the soup. Then I dated him for two years until he proposed.”
Chase freezes mid sip before slowly setting his glass on the table. Sitting up straight to face me head on, he gives me an incredulous look. “You didn’t.”
I’m not proud of my relationship with Greg. It was at a time in my life when I was lost and trying to figure out who I was. As it turns out, I didn’t find her until I was on my own.
He holds up both hands. “Wait, wait, wait. He proposed, and you turned him down?”
“Yup.”
He blinks. “Don’t most couples talk about getting married before it happens?”
I shrug. “He didn’t.”
He’s looking at me like he’s just unlocked some type of secret code, and it’s a little unnerving. “Why did you say no?”
Now it’s my turn to give him an incredulous look. “Because I didn’t want to marry him.”
He scrunches his nose playfully. “Were you nice about it? Did he take it hard?”
“Of course, I was nice,” I say with a laugh. What happened between Greg and me was years ago. He’s long since found a girl to marry him, and I’m pretty sure they have multiple children together.
He appraises me again with a smug look on his face.
“What?” I ask with another huff of laughter. “Don’t look at me like that.”
His smile warms. “You’re different than I thought.”
I raise an eyebrow as I bring the glass to my lips. “And how’s that?”
Wiggling his fingers in my direction, he says, “Less prickly.”
“Oh, don’t be fooled.” I give him a pointed stare. “I can be very prickly.”
His smile stretches, and it’s impossible to keep my own at bay. Nothing feels small sitting across from this man. Everything about him is significant. Like just his presence somehow makes the wine sweeter, the music better, and the atmosphere more electric.
“Remind me not to get on your bad side.” He holds my gaze, like he has full intentions of getting on that side just to see what it entails.
But that look.
He looks like he’s delighted by the sheer fact I’m sitting across from him. Like nothing could make him happier than watching me sip wine. I thought I had encountered looks like this before, but now that I’m sitting here with Chase, I’m not sure. He looks like he has at least a thousand thoughts floating around in his head but reveals none of them. And I’m dying to know what they are.
“What about you?” I ask.
Something sparks in those brown eyes. “What about me?”
I gesture toward his overall physique. “This is all very put together.” I eye him shamelessly. “Neat.” A slow smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, so I keep going. “What’s it hiding? Are you secretly a hoarder? Or is your car just filled with garbage?”
His deep laugh warms my chest more than the wine, but his only other response is a swift shake of his head as he looks down at his drink on the table. His thumb wipes away some of the condensation, and he simply says, “No.”
“No to which?” I rest my chin on my hand as I stare at him, perfectly aware of the wine’s effect on me. “I might be able to look past the car, but I need to know if I’m signing up to be friends with a hoarder.”
His eyes flick upward to meet mine on the word “friends,” and his stare unnervingly pins me in place. It only lasts a second before he lifts his head and casually says, “You could be friends with a hoarder. Just don’t go to their house. But could you date a hoarder?” He tilts his head from side to side. “Probably not.”
I swallow hard, but manage to choke out, “All I’m saying is that this . . .”—I gesture toward him again—“is very suspicious.”
He grins. “Well, I give you full permission to scope out both my car and apartment any time you’d like.”
I’m more tempted than I should be. I doubt Chase and I will become real friends. We’ll probably stay light acquaintances that get together for drinks occasionally at best, but considering the effect he has, even that might be too much for me.
Or not enough?
I settle on him again with his kind eyes and soft looking lips. With his broad shoulders and muscular forearms. Nothing about this man says friendship. Everything about him says he could fuck me against his bedroom wall.
I mentally scold myself. For my own sanity, I need to find what it is that makes him less attractive. There’s always something. When you first meet someone, they’re full of potential. All the things they could be. But, of course, they’re never really those things. There’s always something that comes as a slight disappointment, like maybe he always talks about the future instead of enjoying the present. Maybe he goes on and on about weekends by the lake with all the in-laws and cousins, and every mention of your future hypothetical children feels like a death sentence.
Shaking off the memories, I blurt, “I don’t want kids.” The words come out in a panic, and I finish off the rest of my wine.
Pulling his head back, he blinks. “I don’t like chocolate.”
My words stutter, catching on my tongue. I needed him to say he does want kids. I needed that deal-breaker out in the open. His wanting kids would have been the perfect thing to friend-zone him. “Y—what?” I finally get out .
“Oh, is it my turn again?” He thinks, making a dramatic show of it. “I also don’t like the Marvel movies.”
I stare at him, a bewildered smile slowly spreading on my face. “You . . . that’s not what I was trying to do,” I say with a laugh.
He cocks an eyebrow and there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “No? So, you just thought that I—as your friend—needed to know your stance on childbearing?”
My cheeks flush. “No.” I shake my head, suddenly wishing I had stopped at two glasses instead of three. “I don’t know.”
“Look, Candace.” He leans forward to level with me, and I catch a whiff of his intoxicating cologne, warm spices and teakwood flooding my senses. “I think it’s great you don’t want kids—fantastic even. But I think the more pressing issue here is how difficult it can be to find a good dessert without chocolate in it.”
A faint smile pulls at my lips, but it feels like something inside me is cracking. I was hoping he’d argue with me. I was hoping his response would drive a wedge between us—something tangible I could use to separate myself from him. But instead, he somehow gave me the best response anyone has ever given me. “Oh, I think you have plenty of options,” I say in a feeble attempt to recover.
“It can’t have fruit either. All the desserts without chocolate always have fruit for some reason. What’s the deal with that?”
Laughter bubbles in my chest, and the way he smiles in response makes me ache for something. For the rest of the night, I can’t put my finger on what it is exactly, but I know it’s something I’ve never had.