Chapter 23 Tash
Tash
Chance waited for me in the living room. The fire snapped behind the grate, shadows working overtime to play up the lines of his shoulders. His dark Henley stretched across his chest, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and, God help me, it made the rest of the room fade out.
He didn't pretend not to notice. His eyes caught mine, silver flicker and all, and his mouth curved like he'd already won every argument we'd ever have.
I wanted to say something cool, but my tongue stuck. Damn it.
The twins sprawled on the couch, with Huey dead asleep at Mere's feet and Lola perched on the piano bench. It looked almost normal, if you overlooked the fact that my daughters were dissecting the night's snack inventory like the fate of the world was at stake.
Mere said, "I'm not eating popcorn if it's burned." She glanced at Fifi, who grinned back at her.
Fifi waved at Livia in a very authoritative way. "Movie night has rules, Grandma. No texting."
Livia didn't miss a beat, just smoothed her skirt and smiled. "I assure you, darling, nothing on this phone could possibly be more interesting than A Nightmare before Christmas." She dropped the phone into her pocket. "But, if you must know, I'm simply too popular."
Mere side-eyed Fifi. "You get, like, fifty notifications every hour. Does it ever stop?"
Livia's nose wrinkled. "I manage. Tonight, I'm all yours. No distractions. What shall we bake to go with the movie?"
The twins huddled instantly, dropping the phone issue as if it never happened, and started volleying suggestions. Brownie bites. Cinnamon knots. At one point, "spicy cheese popcorn," and a side debate on what exactly ‘spicy' meant.
Chance watched it unfold, arms loose at his sides, like he wanted to memorize every micro-expression in the room. I tried to memorize him right back. He was so at ease around my girls.
Our girls.
He caught me watching, and winked. It was a blink-and-miss kind of move, but it made my cheeks light up anyway.
I cleared my throat, determined to play it cool. "You ready?"
He nodded, and then, casual as could be, extended his hand, palm up. I froze. For a blink, I thought about the million times I'd wished for this, then decided not to be weird about it and just let him lead.
We said quick goodbyes. Livia promised to keep the house from burning down. Fifi shot us a double thumbs up. And Mere grinned, already knee-deep in movie night plans, and somehow both girls made it sound like "have fun" was the world's most loaded dare.
Once we were outside, the night slapped me awake. Frigid air and moonlight, clear and sharp as glass. The world looked smaller, but in a good way, like nothing mattered except the sound of gravel under our boots.
Chance opened the truck door for me, which was something no man had ever done for me before. It caught me off guard. I tried to thank him without sounding like a Hallmark rerun, and he replied with a quiet, "Wouldn't be right otherwise."
The cab was warm already. He'd turned it on before I came down. I slid in, smoothing my dress, and tried not to freak out about the evening.
Then I saw it.
Right in the center console, plugged into the cigarette lighter, was a charger I'd never seen before.
Not a plain black or navy one that came standard with men like Chance.
This was decorated in neon stripes. Electric pink, seafoam green, a little shimmer light that changed in a pattern.
And it had 2 cords coming out of it. Not one.
Chance had picked out this charger on purpose, and the only possible customers for it were currently back in the house, raising hell over brownie bites.
It was small, technically meaningless, but it hit me hard. He'd seen the need. He'd gone out, bought the thing, and there it was, already installed, just waiting for the twins whenever they rode with him.
My insides did something wild, like a wolf howl and a sob had collided and decided to set up shop right behind my ribs. I reached for my seatbelt, mostly to distract myself from the fact that I kind of wanted to cry over a ten-dollar phone accessory.
Chance slid into the driver's seat.
"New charger?" I asked, as casually as I could manage.
Chance shrugged, shifting into gear. "Saw it at the hardware store. Figured the girls would like it. Didn't want anyone fighting over who gets to charge first." He hesitated, then flicked a glance my way. "If it's too gaudy, I can swap it out. Or buy a second one. They had a bunch."
I shook my head, too quick. "No, it's perfect. I mean, they'll like it." I swallowed, hard. "Thank you."
I watched the edge of his jaw as he drove. So calm and sure, like nothing could rattle him. Some guys would've made a show out of the gift, or worse, bragged about "how thoughtful" they were. Not him. Just quiet, as if picking up little things for the girls was as natural as breathing.
If someone had told me last month that the person who'd crack open my walls would do it with a teenage-girl charger and a half smile, I would've called them insane.
But that was the thing about Chance Meyer. Whether it was a cinnamon roll or a custom charger, he noticed the details that made ordinary life run better.
I looked out the window. The moon was bright on the frost-brushed roadside, painting the world in dark blue and silver streaks, but I could still see that little charger, glowing like a promise in the dark.
We hit Main Street, the holiday lights draped over every awning and shop window. The town looked like it had dressed up just for us.
"Downtown's all lit up this time of year," he said, his voice low. "I love it."
"Yeah. Looks pretty."
He grinned. "Not as pretty as you."
That one got me. I rolled my eyes, but the smile was there, stubborn as a burr. "Smooth."
He didn't argue, just kept driving with that half smile.
We coasted up to a parking spot near the bakery, and he killed the engine with a little flick of his wrist.
Before we got out, I ran my hand along the charger, just a soft touch, quick, so he wouldn't notice.
Then I grabbed my purse. He had my door open before I could reach for the handle.
Main street looked like Christmas town. Frost on every lamppost, twinkle lights bracketing the bakery windows, clusters of silver and gold banners draped across the coffee shop's porch.
For a split-second, I almost let myself believe we were the only people who'd ever walked these streets after dark.
We didn't rush, enjoying the decorations.
We barely cleared the curb when he lobbed the first real question. "When did you know you were going to do this? Outdoor science, river stuff, all of it. Was it always the plan?"
The honest curiosity in his tone caught me off guard. Most people expected a cute story about "helping the environment" or "saving the world" but it sounded like he wanted more.
I shrugged, but the memory hit hard. "I guess I was five?
" I glanced at him to see his reaction, but he just tilted his head, waiting.
Most people thought that was way too young for me to have known.
"The creek behind my grandma's house. The first time I figured out how salamanders hid under the rocks, I was obsessed.
I'd collect samples, draw diagrams, and drive her nuts with questions.
Some people want to be astronauts. I wanted to figure out why streams didn't just dry up when summer got bad. "
He nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. You don't strike me as the astronaut type. More like the ‘find the thing nobody else can find' type."
"Is that a compliment?" I nudged him with my shoulder, just a quick bump.
He smiled. "Biggest one I've got."
We crossed in front of the apothecary, and I caught my reflection in the glass. My hair was actually halfway decent, my cheeks flushed. I tried not to overthink how much I wanted this to be a real path to something good.
He steered the conversation so smoothly it was like he'd practiced. "What was your favorite book as a kid? Not the one you want to name, the actual one."
I barked a laugh. "Easy. The Boxcar Children. Four orphans solve mysteries. There's over a hundred books in the series." I shot him a look. "I used to underline the best parts. There's a stack of them waiting to be unpacked."
No judgment from him. "That tracks. I used to devour survival manuals. Not even the fun ones. Just cold, straight-up field guides. Mom thought I'd grow up to be a park ranger."
There was a pause, but it was nice, not heavy. He let the quiet sit in the space between us, gentle.
"Why hellbenders specifically?" he asked, voice softer. "Of all the things to fight for, why concentrate on those ugly little critters?"
This was the kind of question that made me want to hug him. Not because he was sweet about it, but because he actually meant it.
I didn't hesitate. "Because most people don't notice the small stuff.
Everybody wants to save wolves, or pandas.
Nobody gives a damn about the unpretty things that hold the world together.
Hellbenders are proof the ecosystem works.
If we lose them, it all falls apart. Towns, mountains, people. So, yeah. I'll fight for them."
He nodded, as if I'd just explained the secret of the universe. "You're good at fighting."
"Mostly from the office, through strongly worded emails."
He grinned. "If it works..."
The bistro was up ahead, glow in the window, little tables set with sprigs of pine. The second we stepped inside, the owner was on us, big hands, big personality, almost as solid as Chance himself. He clapped Chance on the shoulder like they were best friends. "Chance! Table for two, I heard?"
Chance played it cool. "You heard right, Steve."
Steve, his name tag, crooked, said, "The usual, then?"
Chance threw a look at me, genuine, and almost shy. "Not tonight. She gets to pick."
Steve raised his eyebrows, clearly amused. "What'll it be, ma'am?"