Chapter 25
My friends have been blowing up my phone all morning.
Once the display case is stocked and there are no customers in line, I find a quiet corner in the dining area to text them back.
My gaze flicks toward the office door. Chaz hasn’t come out since Dice.
He usually catches up on paperwork between rushes, and I didn’t want to disturb him. Although . . .
Nope, we’re at work. But now unleashed, I think I might be insatiable. Good thing Chaz is up for the job.
Smiling to myself, I scroll through the half-dozen messages from Jordyn and Dee, all demanding details from our first sleepover.
Lex: I CAME! Twice!!!
Jordyn: Holy shit! I’m crying.
Lex: I did too. And so did Chaz.
Dee: He sounds like such a sweetie. How do you feel?
Lex: Like I finally know what all the fuss is about. Like I want it 24/7.
Dee: LOL. When it’s good, that sounds about right.
Jordyn: You’ve opened the floodgates, girl. I told you there was a sex pot inside you waiting to break free.
Lex: He brings it out of me. Do most men get turned on just by giving a woman an orgasm?
Dee: Not most, but the good ones do. When a man’s that dialed in to you and your needs, he gets pleasure from pleasing you.
Jordyn: Facts! So . . .Did you do the deed?
Lex: Not yet. Still enjoying 3rd base. He used his mouth.
Jordyn: Hot damn!
Lex: OMG. It was. I want to try that too. But what if I’m bad at it?
Jordyn: Trust me, you won’t be bad. You’ll figure out what he likes in the first lick.
Dee: True enough. Not to be a buzzkill, but . . .Have you told him yet?
My stomach goes from thrumming with pleasured thoughts to thrumming with tension.
Lex: I’m going to.
Jordyn: When?
Lex: Tonight.
Maybe.
Dee: If Chaz feels about you the way I think he does, it won’t matter that you’re the daughter of a business mogul. Keeping it a secret just makes it bigger than it needs to be.
They’re probably right. I had every intention of telling him last night, but it was all so complicated.
I would never have even known about Bayside if not for seeing that prospectus on my father’s desk.
The pictures of the waterfront enchanted me.
I didn’t expect to find a man here who was even more enchanting.
A man who hates big corporations for deeply personal reasons.
A man who had likely taken on the very company that I’m intricately tied to. It’s a big, messy knot to untangle.
Telling him over dinner didn’t feel right. And once we started fooling around, I completely blocked it out. Then, I was high. The excuses keep coming. I know the real reason is that I don’t want anything to change between us.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chaz step out of the office. His gaze sweeps the café before finding me. Heat and guilt rush through me at once, but I manage a smile and hold up a finger, signaling I’ll be right there.
Lex: Gotta get back to work.
Jordyn: TELL HIM!
Chaz watches me approach, that dimpled grin warming me through and through.
But Jordyn’s all-caps reminder flashes through my mind, stirring the pot of anxiety I’ve been trying to keep a lid on.
My finger starts tapping against my thumb, and he notices.
One of the drawbacks of someone knowing you that well is that they recognize the tells you can hide from others.
“What’s up, Blue?”
“Nothing.” I force myself to stop the tapping and keep my tone breezy. “I was just texting my friends about things.” I let the implication hang on a flirty note, dissolving his worries.
“Things, huh?” His lips twitch. “Did I get a good review?”
“You got all the stars and a would-buy-again.”
He laughs, the rich sound breaking apart the tension in me, but I still know what I need to do. Chaz has been so good to me. A lie—even one of omission—is still a lie. He deserves better. He deserves the truth—no matter how imperfect it is.
That evening at the food market on Main, I grab a basket and start wandering the aisles, grabbing ingredients for penne arrabbiata.
I’d found the recipe on Simple to Make Dishes, and it seemed pretty easy.
When I toss in fresh basil and garlic, Chaz leans down, his voice dropping to a husky murmur against my ear.
“Will you cook for me in nothing but your pretty cotton panties?”
“No!” I give him a playful shove. “Oil splatters.”
“Ouch. Good point. I wouldn’t want anything to harm that soft, silky skin.”
I force an eye roll.
He hums—a sound that means he’s either pleased with himself or up to something, maybe both. Then, he takes the basket from my hand.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re cooking for me, making me feel all cared for. Least I can do is carry your basket, wifey.”
He’s been saying stuff like that all afternoon, being more affectionate than usual, which, for Chaz, is saying something.
He showed me the management side of his business during closing and asked me to take photos for the café’s social media accounts.
It felt deliberate, like he was pulling me deeper into his world. It all fuels the tug-of-war inside me.
I find myself once again thinking about my big reveal.
You know how I said my name is Lexie Monroe, and I came here to figure out my future? Well, that part is true. But what I didn’t mention is that I’m also Alexandra Townsen of Townsen Industries. The heir to one of those big companies you hate, the same one that tried to bulldoze your town.
I can picture the shock on his face as questions wind like gears in his head. Then, the realization as the warmth in his eyes snuffs out, replaced by disappointment and disapproval. Maybe worse.
That very real possibility spins in my head.
The fruit and vegetable bins blur together.
I squeeze the stress ball in my pocket, but it’s not enough.
Minefields detonate in my mind, and I scramble to dodge them.
To ground myself, I reach for my trivia.
“Did you know a pomegranate can have up to 1,400 seeds?”
“No shit?” Chaz looks me over, aware of what’s happening but unaware of why. “How about a watermelon?”
“Much less. Between 200 and 800, depending on the size.”
“Love that brain of yours.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “What’s going on in there, Blue?”
“I’m okay. Just had a moment,” I say, his calm helping to steady me. Maybe it will be all right. He cares deeply for me; I know that. He won’t just turn off his feelings and shut me out. He’s not that kind of man.
I cling to hope, smiling up at him just as a woman’s voice cuts through the air, screeching his name.
“C!” She barrels forward, her mahogany-brown dreadlocks flying behind her, gold beads catching the fluorescent lights. She’s about five-five, all plump curves, heading straight for him.
Chaz laughs as she leaps into his arms. He manages to set the basket on an orange bin in time to catch her. She plants a loud kiss on his cheek before her booted feet hit the floor.
She’s stunning and edgy. Beneath her open jacket, she’s wearing a fitted graphic tee, and her low-slung cargo pants are tucked into combat boots. Just being in her presence, you know she’s a force to be reckoned with.
“I heard you might be coming home,” Chaz says, grinning from ear to ear. “Didn’t know you were already back.”
“Gossip mill must be running slow,” she responds dryly. “Got in a couple of hours ago. I was gonna stop by tomorrow to see you.”
“Good to have you back, Lot. Sorry about the circumstances, though. How’s your dad?”
“They’re running tests. We’ll know more soon.” She shrugs, her tone detached. “I’m here for Mom. I’ll tolerate the rest.”
Chaz nods like he understands more than what’s being said. “Lot, this is Lexie Monroe. Lex, Charlotte Webber.”
“If you call me Charlotte or Lottie, we won’t be friends,” she warns, her big, hazel eyes shifting to me. They’re framed by impossibly long lashes, and her brown skin is flawless. A tiny hoop decorates her nose, and multiple earrings climb up both ears.
“I’ll remember that,” I say, a little awestruck. “Nice to meet you, Lot.”
“You might want to hold off on that. I’m not particularly nice.”
“That’s okay. I want to learn how not to be so nice myself.”
The corner of her lips ticks up. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” And for some reason, I share something I read recently that resonated with me. “Nice is usually about accommodating others, even when you don’t want to. I confused it with kindness, but they’re not the same. Kindness comes from the heart, while niceness feels obligatory.”
“That’s fucking deep.” She extends a fist, and I tap it with mine. She sizes me up from head to toe. “You’re like this beautiful, weird woman.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“It’s a compliment,” she deadpans. “I like weird and different. Where you from?”
“Chicago.”
“Interesting.” Her gaze flicks to Chaz and then back to me. “You and the C-man here knocking privates?”
My eyes widen at her bluntness, but Chaz steps in, his voice firm and protective. “Lexie is special to me. Respect, aw’right?”
“Ah, shit. My bad,” she says, looking more intrigued than apologetic. “Sometimes I just say whatever.”
“That’s okay,” I add quickly.
“Now you’re just being nice.” Her laugh is rough and rusty, like it’s not something she does often.
“True.” I smile in agreement. “Bad habits can be hard to break. But I’m working on it.”
“Cool. Are you a model?” she asks as if her mouth spurts whatever comes to mind.
“No.”
“Lexie’s a photographer,” Chaz supplies proudly. “A brilliant one.” He pulls out his phone, swiping through pictures to show her.
“Those are dope,” Lot says.
“Thank you. I’m just getting started.”
“I’ve been on her about putting together an online portfolio,” Chaz adds, always my hype man. “Lot’s an artist too,” he tells me.
“Oh, what kind of art do you do?”
“T-shirt designs.” She opens her coat wider to show me a skilled graffiti illustration of a curvy pin-up woman flexing her bicep while a man cowers beneath her combat boot. “Strong women rule, weak-ass men drool.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” I say with a smile. “You’re very talented.”
“Thanks.” Her attention shifts again, this time asking Chaz about Eva, Val, and Sophia. “Can’t wait to see them. It’s been years. Soph must be grown.”
“Twenty-two.”
“Day-um.” She whistles.
“Not gonna ask about Dice?”
Lot kisses her teeth. “I don’t have time for that.”
He slings an arm around her shoulder. “Talk to him. Clear the air.”
She shrugs him off. “I have enough shit on my plate just being back. Dyson Jones isn’t getting a minute of my time. I’ll see you around, C. You too, .” And just like that, she disappears down the aisle.
“Wow.” I blink after her, feeling like I’ve been swept up in a whirlwind.
“Yeah, Lot is a lot,” he says with a grin. “But she’s good people once you get past the sharp edges.”
“She’s confident and gorgeous. Were you two ever a thing?”
“No. I never saw her as more than a good friend.” He shrugs. “Still don’t.” He leans in, kissing me lightly. “I only have eyes for you.”
His words reinforce my hope that the foundation we’ve built can withstand the repercussions of withholding the truth about myself. That it won’t matter. That getting to know the real me will be enough.