Chapter 19
“You did what?” Jordyn sits on her taupe sectional, hazel eyes popping with a mix of shock and pride.
“I know, right?” I tuck my legs beneath me on the couch, leaning into the corner as my cheeks flush at the memory. “At his café in broad daylight, with his sister and customers on the other side of the door.”
“Yass, ho, I love it!” Jordyn pumps her palms toward the ceiling like she’s praising the sex gods.
“What a difference a few days makes,” Dee says, smiling, her curls in a big, messy bun and two suction cups attached to her boobs.
“You’re not kidding. I gave him a hand job last night.”
Jordyn falls over, pretending to faint, her drama cracking us up.
We’re still laughing when Dee leans into the screen and asks, “So, how was it?”
“Awesome.” I bite my bottom lip, recalling every detail. “I didn’t think penises could be beautiful, and honestly, just making him come undone was . . . heady. I felt this feminine power I hadn’t expected. Is that weird?”
“Uh-uh, that’s good,” Jordyn assures me, sitting back up with a grin. “You’re realizing you’re sexual and can give and receive pleasure. So, did you—”
“No.” I cut her off. “I didn’t want the pressure, but I let him get to second base, and oh wow. I had no idea.”
“Breast play is the best,” Dee agrees. “Although my babies are getting more action on them these days than Mick.” She laughs. “I think it’s great you’re taking your time, Lex, and enjoying the journey.”
“Chaz makes it easy. He’s so patient, so wonderful—so everything,” I admit, the dreamy note in my voice impossible to hide.
“Holy shit!” Jordyn screeches with a mega-watt smile. “You’re in lurrve.”
“I’m not in love.” I can’t be. Not this soon. “But I’m in strong, strong like. He asked me to help him at the café and stay with him while Sophia’s at a conference in Chicago. And I said yes.”
“That sounds serious,” Dee says.
“We haven’t defined our relationship, but he really cares about me.”
“Girrrl,” Jordyn waves me off. “That man is way past caring. He’s ready to put a ring on it and baby in you.”
“You’re ridiculous!” I scoff.
“Trust me, babe; the man is in deep.”
I shake my head, not taking her literally. But her words still prick like needles, exposing all the worries I’ve let these new feelings mask. “He may not feel the same when he finds out I’m Alexandra Townsen.”
“What do you mean?” Dee asks, her brow furrowing in confusion.
“Technically, my legal name is Lexie Monroe, so it’s not a lie,” I argue. Though the queasy clench of guilt betrays me. “It’s just . . . not the whole truth.”
“That’s some creative justification, babe,” Jordyn says gently, sitting forward. “Why would you think Chaz’s feelings might change if he knew?”
“Because he blames his father’s death on the greed and relentless demands of a company that sounds a lot like Townsen Industries.
He hates big business with a passion. How do I tell someone who went through such a painful loss that not only am I a VP in a company like that, but I’m also the heir to one?
It would suck the oxygen out of what’s growing between us.
He won’t see me as just the woman he cares about.
He’ll see me as everything he stands against.”
“Lex,” Jord says, her tone gone serious. “I don’t think you’re giving Chaz enough credit. He’s not going to judge you based on something you were born into or a company you don’t even want to inherit.”
“Maybe not judge me,” I admit around the knot in my throat. “But with the kind of loathing he carries . . .When he finds out I’m tied to a multi-million-dollar conglomerate, it’s not something he’ll be able to just swipe aside.”
“Chaz hanging onto that much hate doesn’t sound very healthy,” Dee points out, her expression more concerned now.
“You don’t know what he went through,” I say defensively. “There’s still so much that I don’t know—so much I still need to understand.”
Jordyn blows out a breath, shaking her head. “Keeping secrets is like playing with fire. It almost destroyed Dee and Mick and Stiles and me.”
“I remember,” I whisper, the memory a sharp reminder of how easily trust can be broken when the truth is withheld. “I will tell him. Soon. I just . . .need more time.”
They exchange disapproving looks that trigger the familiar feeling that I’m a disappointment. It hurts, but I know it comes from a place of worry, not judgment. They want what’s best for me and fear I’ll ruin things by waiting too long.
I get that. It’s my worry too.
I love the way his eyes light up when I walk into the café, the way the corners crinkle when his dimpled grin deepens just for me.
The thought and care he puts into creating lattes and foam art to make my mornings special.
His sweet, corny notes, his easy affection, and his passionate desire have transformed me.
Now that the woman I want to be is starting to emerge, I don’t want to lose her.
Or Chaz.
At the end of the week, we’re alone in the café.
Sophia had patiently answered my endless questions and left a short time ago to pack for her trip.
Jamar coached me on grinding and brewing the coffee with detailed precision, then clocked out at five.
It’s just us. The whir of the espresso machine has died down, replaced by the strains of guitar from the Santana playlist.
Chaz finishes wiping down the counters and grins. “How you feeling?” he asks when I stretch out my arms, easing the faint tension in my shoulders.
“Good.” My two days of training were nothing short of chaotic, but I survived. And that comes with a sense of pride. “You all make it look so easy, but it’s hard work.”
“You did great.” He comes up behind me, his warm hands settling on my shoulders. The faint scent of coffee and autumn spices brushes up against me.
“I didn’t spill anything today, so that’s a win.”
He chuckles, a low, decadent rumble, and his fingers knead my knotted muscles, making my body hum. “I was impressed by how quickly you caught on and clicked with everyone.”
“I had excellent trainers who didn’t make me feel bad for hitting the wrong buttons on the register or asking for an order to be repeated three times.”
“That’s normal. What matters is that the customers loved you. You remembered names, made suggestions, promoted the specials. That’s not training. That’s you.”
“Always my hype man,” I say, warmed by his praise.
“I love having you here, Blue.”
“Well, you’ve got me for the weekend—without Sophia. Let’s see if you still feel the same after that.”
He turns me around, his hands sliding down to my waist. “You could spill every drink, and I’d still want you here.”
He says it so confidently, so sure, like nothing could change how he feels. But he doesn’t know how much more is at stake than spilled drinks. He doesn’t know the weight of the truth I’m carrying—or how it could destroy what we’re building when I finally drop my bomb.
“I won’t hold you to it,” I say, burying the guilt beneath a practiced smile. “So, where are we going tonight?” I ask, steering the subject to safer ground.
“Into town.”
“That’s all I’m getting?”
“Yep. We should probably leave now before I get other ideas.” He leans closer, nuzzling his nose against mine, his message clear.
A string of lanterns and golden lights crisscross overhead between vendor stalls as Chaz and I wander through the crowded market.
It’s a feast for the senses. I lift my camera, snapping shots of the people and the vibrant booths piled high with handmade crafts, scarves, and colorful food.
I take the occasional shot of him browsing the goods and looking gorgeous in his beanie with the curls peeking out and his brown eyes flecked with muted tones of sepia.
He doesn’t notice at first, but when he catches me aiming the lens at him, he steals the camera.
“Chaz,” I groan, preferring to be on the other end.
“Say cheese, Blue.” He pulls me in for a selfie, and I find myself laughing and putting up the peace sign as I make a duck face.
“That’s the money shot right there,” he teases, handing the camera back to me.
After sampling a trio of tacos, Chaz nudges me with his shoulder. “Pick one. Donuts or Churros?”
I glance between the options with serious consideration. “You’re evil for making me choose.”
He laughs. “Both it is, then.”
We stop at the donut cart first, where the vendor takes one freshly made circle of dough and coats it with chocolate icing as per Chaz’s request. He thanks her and hands it to me.
“To your chocolate addiction.”
“And to the man who indulges it,” I reply, biting into the soft, molten goodness. “Oh my God, you have to try this,” I insist and lift it to his mouth.
Chaz obliges, sinking his straight teeth into the sweet dough. “Mm.” He swallows, licking the icing from the corner of his mouth. “Not bad, but you taste better.” He sneaks in a brief, sugary kiss that lingers on my lips as he loops my arm through his.
For the next hour, we roam the market, sampling churros, pieces of fudge, roasted nuts, smoked sausage, and tiny cups of hot cider. We’re both foodies, and it’s fun to share that with him.
When we come upon a jewelry stall located at the end of the market, I browse the display of silver rings.
“You like those?” Chaz asks from behind me.
“They’re pretty,” I say, stepping away. But his hand catches my wrist, tugging me back.”
“Which one?”
“Chaz—”
“Humor me.”
“Fine.” I point to a delicate silver band with a subtle braided design. “That one.”
He removes my glove and slides the ring onto my finger, his large hands gentle as he works it over my knuckle. For a moment, we both stare at this simple, braided band resting on my finger, looking far more significant than it should.
“Fits just right,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting mine. Then, with a dimpled grin that melts the moment into something lighthearted, he adds, “Looks like you’re stuck with me now, wifey.”
I roll my eyes, but the word lodges itself in my chest. Wifey. It’s innocent—a joke, nothing more—yet something about it digs in deep. Jordyn’s voice echoes in my mind. He’s ready to put a ring on it.
Chaz slips cash to the vendor and takes another meaningful look at the band.
“Thank you,” I say.
“My pleasure, Blue.” He pulls my glove back on and curls his hand around mine, our fingers interlocking as we stroll back toward the boardwalk.
I try not to think about it, but my thumb brushes over the ridge through the wool. The weight feels heavier now—not the ring itself, but some promise it silently holds.
My secret once again pulses in the back of my mind, dark and insistent. But when Chaz glances over at me, his expression is so open, so warm with emotion. Any thought I have of confessing fades into the cold night air.