Chapter 5
Well, that hadn’t gone as planned. I was supposed to drop off the photos, grab a coffee, and leave. But that grin gets me every time. He’s, in a word—irresistible. My guard collapsed somewhere between the easy conversation and agreeing to go out with him—as friends.
Because, really, my attraction is ridiculous. I can only assume that all this new idle time has allowed space for him to preoccupy my thoughts.
Until recently, I’d been burning the candle—make that a torch—at both ends. I had attended countless social events at my mother’s insistence, helped my then-boyfriend Richard get his medical practice off the ground, and worked grueling hours for my father as the vice president of public relations.
My job often requires me to spin unwelcome news and massage inconvenient facts—not lie, but mold and reframe them into a more perfect truth.
Something I’ve been doing my entire life.
But trying to be everything to everyone was like juggling fine china in the air. Eventually, the plates started to wobble, and before I knew it, they all came crashing down. I was drained—exhausted. After a long day, I just wanted to crawl under the covers and never get up.
Despite repeated urgings from Jordyn and Dee to see a doctor, I wasn’t compelled until I found a tiny lump at the base of my throat.
Dr. West ordered blood tests and an MRI.
What she found rocked me to my core. I wasn’t just rundown.
I had a thyroid tumor the size of a peanut.
She called it a “nodule” and ordered a “precautionary” biopsy.
Neither word eased my fears. I scoured every article I could find.
Nodules of two centimeters or less are often benign; however .
. . It was the “however” that terrified me the most.
Eight nerve-wracking days later, Dr. West confirmed the tumor wasn’t cancerous.
The outcome was medication to regulate my hormones and a follow-up in six months.
I’d gotten lucky. But it served as a major wake-up call.
I’d spent years putting everyone’s needs ahead of my own—my health, my wants, my dreams, everything. I couldn’t do it anymore.
Over dinner with my parents, where their private chef prepared poached trout and shaved asparagus spears, I blurted out: “I’m breaking off with Richard and taking some time away.
Neither Richard nor Townsen Industries is the right fit for me.
I realize this is sudden, but I intend to take the next six weeks to figure out what I want. ”
My father responded with cold detachment, his typical negotiation tactic, while my mother fretted about what her country club friends would think. I swallowed their disapproval along with two headache tablets, chasing them down with a glass of chilled Chateau d’Yquem.
Then, I quietly made my arrangements, packed my bags, and left.
Now, in a place where no one knows Alexandra Townsen—the former debutante, socialite, and heiress to Townsen Industries, I’ve forgone the shiny blow-outs, manicured nails, and contact lenses. I’m Lexie Monroe again, or trying to be.
I legally changed my name during my brief rebellion at eighteen. Lexie sounded fun and free-spirited, like someone who would dye her hair bright pink and not care what anyone thought.
Over the years, I’ve lost that girl. But I’m here to rediscover her. This is why I have a thousand-piece puzzle spread across the large oak desk by the window. The mess makes my skin itch, but I endure it. Hopefully, as I fit each piece together, I’ll get a clearer picture of who I am.
At eight minutes to five, I lock up. Waiting for Chaz on the porch somehow feels less date-y.
I squeeze the ball I’d stuck in my jacket pocket, trying to calm my nerves.
I’m not a fan of surprises. I need to know what I’m doing and where I’m going.
I need to feel prepared—especially in new situations.
I should have told Dee and Jordyn about tonight.
I usually tell them everything. Yet, I haven’t even mentioned Chaz.
What would I say? That he makes me feel like another woman has taken over my body, and I’m on the outside looking in?
I hadn’t wanted to voice any of that out loud, but I’ve seen enough thrillers to know that an attraction isn’t an excuse to toss personal safety and all good sense aside.
Jordyn was stalked last year by someone she knew, only to find out he had a criminal history of repeated offenses.
She and another woman were set to testify last month, but he pled guilty to a lesser charge and took the prosecutor’s deal of two years in jail.
It’s not nearly long enough and a grim reminder that dangers can lurk in unexpected places.
Releasing the ball, I fish my phone out of my pocket.
SISTAHS4EVER Group Chat
Lex: Okay, so I met the Airbnb owner on Saturday.
Chaz Delgado. He also owns a cute coffee shop called the Acoustic Café.
We’re going out tonight. Just as friends!
! A non-date. But since I really don’t know him, I’m telling you as a precaution, though I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. He seems very nice.
No point in saying more and giving them ideas. I hit send and share my location.
Jordyn, quick on the money, texts back as if the phone had been in her hand.
Jordyn: Looking him up now.
Oh God. My fingers squeeze the device, dreading what’s about to happen next. Sure enough—
Jordyn: Girl, you were holding out on us. Gorgeous, tatted, and thicc AF.
Jordyn: Big dick energy, and the man can saang!
Lex: We’re just friends.
Jordyn: Friendship is wasted on a man like that unless it comes with benefits.
Lex:
I really don’t need to be thinking about Chaz’s benefits. I look down the street when I hear the roar of an engine and see two headlights cutting through the fall of evening.
Lex: He’s here. TTYL.
Jordyn: Do everything I would do and more! But wait for my green light.
I don’t have time to wonder what she means.
Chaz pulls up to the curb on a sleek black and yellow snowmobile.
Not what I was expecting. I tuck my phone inside my zippered pocket and descend the stairs, taking deep breaths as Chaz dismounts.
He’s wearing black snow pants, a bomber-style ski jacket, and a helmet with a flip-down shield.
When he lifts it, I’m struck right in the feels by that smile.
“Delgado Tours at your service.”
“This is a surprise.”
“One of many for the night.”
I tap my finger to my thumb. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he says, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
I should tell him. He seems the type of man who would want me to feel comfortable. But having him think I’m some Nervous Nellie or a killjoy stops me.
“Where should I put this?” I ask, lifting my camera bag.
“We can stash it here.” Chaz reaches for my gear, slipping the case into a padded compartment at the back. “It’s waterproof,” he assures me, unclipping the second helmet from the side. “Ever been on a snowmobile?”
“No, never.”
“You’re in good hands,” he says confidently. “I’ve been riding since I was thirteen.”
“That young?”
“Most kids around here learn how to ride before they can drive.” He steps in front of me, backlit by a pool of light from the streetlamp.
My gaze slips up the zipper of his jacket to his face.
He’s standing so close that his breath hangs between us like a phantom kiss. I stare at his mouth—wondering.
“Let’s get this on you.”
“Okay.” I blink behind my glasses and gaze into his eyes. You’d think I’d never been in the presence of a gorgeous man before. But it’s not just his looks; it’s everything about him and how he affects me. It’s like he’s emitting some magical pheromone cocktail, and I’m powerless against its pull.
Chaz tugs off his gloves with his teeth, and, holy hell, I feel it low in my belly. He gently slides the helmet over my head, his warm fingers brushing my cold cheeks. He tucks a few loose strands of my hair inside and adjusts the chin strap. “How’s that?”
“Fine,” I say, meaning the fit, not the whirlpool churning inside me.
His gaze lifts to my mouth. For a fraction of a second, I hold my breath. Then he lowers my face shield and helps me onto the back of the seat. My chest tightens with a strange sense of disappointment.
“Keep your feet on the rests for stability, and lean with me into the turns. If you need to say anything, tap my shoulder. Most importantly, hang on tight.” Chaz swings his leg over the seat, straddling it, and grips the handles. “Ready?”
No! “Yes.” I loop my arms around his waist, praying I won’t go flying off this thing and break a leg, or worse. I wish I knew the stats on snowmobile accidents. Then again, maybe it’s better that I don’t.
“You gotta hold on tighter than that, Blue.” The nickname feels too familiar, but for some reason, I like it.
“Don’t worry,” he teases, “I won’t break.”
I hear the amusement in his voice and squeeze tighter, not minding that one bit. With a twist of the throttle, the engine hums to life, and we glide smoothly across the snow-covered street to the powdery shore. That’s where he gathers speed, leaving a trail of fresh tracks in our wake.
At first, I tense up, holding on for dear life as the world around us becomes a blur of white.
As the minutes pass, I realize I’m safe.
Chaz is in total command of the vehicle, and the ride becomes exhilarating.
The endless coastline stretches before us, untouched, and the wind whips through the ends of my hair. I feel fearless and free.
When Chaz slows the pace, I see a lighthouse shining in the distance. It rises majestically above the shore like a sentinel against the lake.
“Wow!” I exclaim when we dismount.
He takes our helmets, hooks them on the handlebars, and hands me my camera. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I do.” I’m already framing shots in my mind.