Chapter 14
fourteen
Sundays are my Saturdays. Nothing beats when the streets are vibrant and full of life. Miles and I usually get brunch, but even though I slept until almost 10:00 a.m. and have already cleaned most of the apartment, he still isn’t back.
The quiet buzz of what sounds like a small electric saw comes from upstairs, and I wonder what Lenny is up to as I pull out my phone and text Miles.
Candace:
Just checking in.
It’s not the first time he’s been out all night, but it’s rare. He must really like this guy. If he didn’t, he would have been back last night, or he would have snuck out early this morning. He doesn’t answer until after I’ve taken a shower and dried my hair. I’m standing in the bathroom, waiting for my curling iron to heat when he sends his text.
Miles:
Wait until I tell you about this man.
He can have my babies .
I snort a laugh as I type my response.
Candace:
Hear about him? I want to meet him after a statement like that.
This time, he immediately answers.
Miles:
All in time. I’ll be home later.
Lifting the hot iron, I grab a small piece of hair and smooth the iron over the strands before expertly twisting my wrist to form a curl. As much as I love styling other people’s hair, I don’t get the same enjoyment out of doing mine. It feels like work, and the last thing I want to do on my day off is work. Luckily, it isn’t too long, and it’s easy enough to style. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’d have the patience.
The only thing missing from my Sunday morning is a freshly brewed latte. Throwing on a pair of jeans with a black loose-fit shirt tucked in to the front, I grab my sunglasses and head out the door. I still wouldn’t say Florida feels like winter, but today offers a welcome break in the heat. It’s the type of weather that lets you sit outside at a restaurant without being the thing that’s cooking, and around here, that’s all we can hope for.
There is a Christmas parade happening in the cobblestone streets. People crowd the edge of the sidewalk, leaving little room for anyone trying to go about their daily lives. As I weave through families and groups of friends, my lips lift at the sight. There’s something so wholesome about seeing everyone get together to watch dancing elves as “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” plays from a nearby candy cane float. The sight reminds me of the candy cane forest my parents usually put somewhere in their front yard, and I hope they’re enjoying the break this year .
But even with all the music and dancing elves, it’s someone else that catches my attention as I approach Southern Roast. At this point, I’d recognize his figure anywhere, but the sight of Chase still has my stomach free floating.
He stands in front of the shop like he’s debating going inside. His hand wipes across his mouth, and even though his face isn’t pressed up against the glass, it’s clear he’s trying to get a look inside.
His hair is more relaxed, like it was yesterday, and I have to fight the urge to run my fingers through the thick, brunette locks. The stubble on his face is a little more noticeable, too. He must not shave on weekends. He’s the type of guy who would look great with a beard, but I think I’d miss seeing his face if he grew one. His T-shirt should have a relaxed fit, but it’s a little tighter around his muscular arms and shoulders. The way the fabric stretches over his chest and back allows my mind to wonder what he might look like underneath.
Slipping my sunglasses on top of my head, I say, “Not here for the parade?”
He looks over at me and laughs before rubbing the back of his neck. Looking over his shoulder at the dance number happening behind him, he shakes his head. “I’m busted, aren’t I?”
Amusement pulls at my lips. “Looking for a certain barista?”
“Avoiding maybe?” He winces. “You’re here to save me, aren’t you?”
His words wrap me in warmth, but I try to shake it off by reaching for the door. When I pull it open and glance inside, there’s no sight of blonde hair anywhere. Looking back at him, I say, “The coast is clear, you big baby.”
Bouncing on his toes, he follows after me with a little more pep in his step. As he reaches for the door, holding it open, he asks, “So, what are you doing here? Meeting someone? ”
I shake my head while my eyes scan the menu boards above. “Nope. I was planning on grabbing something to go.”
Keeping his eyes on the boards above, he shrugs next to me. “Or we could stay.”
Not bothering to hide my surprise, I ask, “No plans?”
He shakes his head. “None I’d choose over this.”
I blink, unsure how to respond to that.
When I don’t say anything, he pulls his eyes away from the menus to look at me. “Well, that and we should probably discuss our agreement.”
He says it so casually, but those words echo in the back of my mind.
Our agreement.
The one where I’m supposed to pretend I’m this irresistible man’s girlfriend all while adamantly trying to resist him.
Yeah. We should probably discuss that.
With a sharp inhale, I nod. “Yeah. Okay. We can do that.”
Once we make our way to the front, I order a gingerbread latte and Chase steps forward, to say, “Coffee’s on me,” before ordering his black.
“No way,” I say, gently turning to look up at him. “You said I could get the next one, remember?”
He has his card already out and doesn’t even hesitate to hand it to the barista. “I meant the next time I drink bourbon.”
My eyes narrow, but there’s no point fighting him on it. The barista takes his card, swipes it, and hands it back in a matter of seconds. And when he touches the small of my back to guide me toward a table, I’ve forgotten how to speak, anyway.
He touches me so effortlessly, like he has no idea the effect it has. How could a man like him not know what he does to women? How could this man not know what he does to me? His touch might as well stop time. Everything slows. The only thing that doesn’t is my rapidly beating heart .
On second thought, based on the number of women in his tagged photos, he probably does know. He probably does these things for that very reason.
The weekend brings more people here than usual, but most of them take their drinks outside to watch the parade. We grab a small table near the large glass window on the side of the shop where we can enjoy the festivities from afar while we talk. There’s a fake Christmas tree in the back corner, clearly worn out by years of use. Its pine needles have thinned, revealing the black plastic trunk beneath, and I stare at it.
Chase follows my gaze. “Why are you looking at that tree like you have a personal vendetta against it.”
I glance at him before looking back at the tree. “It’s kind of disappointing, isn’t it?”
He looks over his shoulder again, this time taking a longer look at the tiny, fake tree with shiny decorations that are disproportionately too big. Facing me, he grins. “I think it’s inspiring.”
I let out a laugh and bring my cup to my mouth. “You would.”
He mirrors my movement with his own cup. “It’s like the little tree that could.”
“You know,” I say as I sit up straight and abandon all thoughts of the tree. “Just once, I think it would be nice to go somewhere that actually feels like Christmas for the holidays.”
There’s a teasing glint in his eye. “Do we need to go buy fake snow? Because as useless as it is, we can go buy fake snow.”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “I want to go somewhere with real things that feel like Christmas. I’ve lived in Florida all my life. I just want Christmas to feel the way it looks in the movies for once.”
“You know what I think?” He puts a hand on his chest. “As someone who has experienced countless snowy winters and now a few hot ones.” He looks at me like that fact alone is some magical credential that will justify whatever he’s about to say next.
“Go on.” I give him a wave of my hand.
He takes a sip of his coffee, looking smug but somehow still beautiful. “I think Christmas is what you make it. If it’s not feeling like Christmas to you, maybe you should stop being such a Scrooge.”
My eyes widen. “I am not!”
He nods solemnly. “I think you are.” Brightening, he adds, “Don’t worry, though. You’re coming to my company’s holiday party, and nothing puts you in the spirit like overpriced champagne and tiny desserts.”
I tilt my head with a teasing lift to my lips. “Overpriced? No open bar?”
Chase nods, swallowing his sip. “Oh, it will be. I just imagine the champagne being overpriced for them.” He gives a shrug. “Corporate America.”
Mention of the party has an immediate effect on me, my heart rate beginning its inevitable climb. “Right.” Determined to look more casual than I feel, I ask, “Where do you work, anyway? I just keep imagining Christmas episodes from The Office, and I’m not sure I’m on the right track.”
He chuckles, and it’s such a lovely sound. “Not quite like that. The party we’re going to will be . . . bigger.”
I eye him cautiously. “How big?”
“Big.”
“. . . As in?”
He smiles. “Look, I work for a successful advertising firm. Pitches, clients, terrible bosses. If you’ve seen Mad Men, kind of like that, but fast forward however many years and make it all digital.”
I may be able to put on a front for a single client, but pitching my ideas to a room of people? No thanks. “That sounds . . . stressful.”
“It is,” he says appreciatively, like I’m the first person to understand what he’s been saying for years. He gets more comfortable as he leans back and rests his ankle on the opposite knee. “Anyway, thank you for agreeing to this.”
I take a small sip. “I’m not sure what I’m fully agreeing to, but you’re welcome.”
His lips quirk. “That’s why it’s great we ran into each other. We can iron out the details.”
Like how much he’ll have to touch me? And if we’ll kiss? And how many times? “Sounds good. When is it?”
“December 20th. It’s a Friday, after work.”
“Perfect. And how should I dress?”
“Very . . . nice.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Fancy?”
He winces. “A bit. If you want to buy a dress for it, I’ll cover the cost.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m sure I have something. My roommate can help with that.”
I try to think of a question outside of the ones that are screaming in my head about whether his mouth will be on mine at any point. He’s only ever touched my hand or my lower back—briefly—and it was enough to send my nerves into a frenzy. The thought of kissing him, even if it’s fake—even if it means absolutely nothing—has me equal parts excited and terrified. Excited because . . . well, look at him. And terrified because if he’s already affecting me this much, it’s going to be hard to stand my ground. My eyes have wandered to his lips again, and when my eyes flick up to meet his, he’s watching me intently.
I clear my throat and sit up straight. “Do I need to bring anything?”
A trace of a smile. “Just your wonderful company. ”
“Right,” I say with a nod. “My company . . .” But it’s not just the pleasure of my company. If that were the case, we’d be going as friends.
There’s a slight crease between his brows, like he’s trying to read me. He leans forward to level with me, his coffee resting between his hands. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
I suppress a scoff. I’m not worried about the things I don’t want to do. I’m worried about the things I will want to do but shouldn’t. “But?”
A breath of laughter leaves him as he glances down at his cup before locking those mahogany eyes back on me. “But I’ve known these people for years. They know me.”
I know exactly what he’s implying, so I simply say, “And they won’t believe it unless . . .?”
He studies me. His eyes jumping between mine. His lips press together slightly, and he looks more serious this way, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Can I kiss you?”
Air gets stuck in my throat. Does he mean now? In the middle of this bustling coffee shop with all these people and dancing elves outside? My heart races, and my eyes dart to our surroundings, but I swallow hard and nod. “Okay.”
But he doesn’t make a move to kiss me. He doesn’t move at all. Those dark eyes just fall to my mouth, and he agrees, “Okay.”
“Anything else?” I cross my legs and take another sip, desperate to look like I didn’t think he was about to kiss me at this very moment.
His gaze shoots up to meet mine. “Maybe we should have a safe word.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “A safe word? What exactly are you planning on doing to me?”
Those beautiful brown eyes widen. “Nothing like what you’re probably thinking,” he says quickly. He runs a hand through his hair, and I love the way it always sticks up after he does. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable. We should pick a word, and if either of us uses it, we’ll know we’ve crossed a line.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Either of us?”
“Well, yeah.” He tilts his head playfully. “Most of my girlfriends have touched me in one way or another.”
“Right.” My cheeks warm. Why am I so affected by this? Of course, I’ll have to play the part. Agreeing to this doesn’t just mean being touched and kissed by Chase, it means I’ll have to be the one doing those things, too. I blink the thoughts away. “Sure. A safe word is a good idea.”
He drums his fingers on the tabletop as he thinks. “What about ‘fake snow?’”
I laugh. “Will there be fake snow at the party? Because if so, there’s a good chance I’ll talk about it.”
“God, I hope not,” he says with a grimace. “I’d like to think my company can do better, but you never know.”
His response only makes me laugh harder. “You know, as tacky as it is, there’s something beautiful about fake snow.”
He gives me a sideways glance, his eyes untrusting.
“Think about it,” I say with a smile. “It makes the impossible feel possible. There has to be some type of metaphorical beauty in something like that.”
“Fake snow is an embarrassment to real snow everywhere, but I like to see you getting into the Florida Christmas spirit.” His hand rests on mine, and you’d think he just licked my ear with the way my body reacts.
With a tight-lipped smile, I pull my hand from his and bring my cup to my lips. “I love how passionate you are about this.”
“More people should be.” He waves the topic away. “Okay, so not a great safe word.”
“What about Jack Frost? ”
He cocks an eyebrow. “The guy who makes it snow?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like he’ll be the talk of the party, and I don’t see why we’d have a reason to bring him up outside of it.”
He mulls it over. “I like it.”
“Glad you approve,” I say with a hint of sarcasm.
Chase smiles, but his attention locks on something behind me. A rush of sound from the holiday parade outside floods the shop as someone opens the door to enter. Looking over my shoulder, I scan the room. It still looks as busy as it did when we got here. There’s a small line of people waiting to order their holiday themed drinks. But then I see her. I see her long, blonde hair and bright smile as she walks in to start her shift.
I might not have noticed her when we were in here the other day, but based on the way Chase’s eyes track her every movement, it’s definitely her. It’s the girl he wanted to ask out in the first place.
Well, Merry Christmas to me.