Chapter 23 Tash #2
I was so floored by the ma'am that I blanked, then blurted, "Whatever you recommend, honestly."
Steve nodded, then disappeared with a, "chef's surprise, coming up."
Chance pulled my chair, waited until I sat, then took the one opposite.
The room was warm, the table glowed under amber light. Out the window, colored lights twinkled.
He leaned in, elbows on the table. It should've come off as casual, but every inch of him was focused on me.
He asked if I'd ever read "A Sand County Almanac.
" I hadn't, but we traded titles. He'd read all the post-apocalyptic stuff, and I confessed to loving true crime even though it gave me nightmares.
I mentioned that the river was best at sunrise, cold and wild, and he told me about mornings beginning in the bakery at 3am, how quiet the world was before dawn.
There were no awkward silences. If anything, the pauses made things better. Not dead air that made me want to grab words to fill it, the kind that let all the thoughts sink down and get real.
He told me about the bakery oven, how a contractor installed it wrong, and instead of calling lawyers or threatening to sue, Chance just yanked the whole mess out, rebuilt the framework, and rewired everything from scratch. "Twelve hours, two smashed thumbs, but cheaper than lawyers."
I could see it. The sweat, the swearing, the stubborn refusal to lose. The competence made my pulse spike. I tried not to stare at his hands after that, but it was a losing game.
We ordered drinks. Water for me, black coffee for him. He joked about how hard it was going to be keeping Lola the cat indoors now that she'd tasted freedom again. The idea of the world's most demanding Persian outdoors cracked me up.
He loved it. "You don't understand. She came to us as a stray and we let her be outside as much as she wanted. One time, she got up a tree, and I had to bribe her down with six ounces of smoked salmon."
"You feed the cat smoked salmon?"
He shrugged. "Some people respond to reason. Cats respond to fish."
The server appeared, college-aged, hair in a bun, with a wide bright smile. "Oh my god, are you the new baker from Sweet Dragon? That place is amazing. I lived on your sausage rolls during finals. You should sell them twenty-four hours."
I nodded enthusiastically. "Agreed."
"You like those too, huh?" Chance beamed at me. "They're my creation."
The server gushed, "I mean, they are legendary."
Dinner came, interrupting her sausage roll worship, plates loaded with every comfort food known to mankind. Mac and cheese, bacon-roasted Brussels, country ham. The food was insanely good, but what got me was how natural it was to just eat and laugh and talk like we'd been doing it for years.
Chance wiped his mouth, then dropped the next bomb.
"We do a little gift exchange at the house every Christmas Eve. Nothing big, just funny stuff or treats, but it kind of makes the night. I know it's last minute, but you and the girls are invited."
I dropped my fork. "We didn't shop for anyone. We don't even own wrapping paper this year. I don't want to show up empty-handed."
His face went soft. "You three being here are all presents enough for the rest of us. If you want to bring something, bring something sweet to eat. Nobody turns that down."
The words went warm all the way to my neck. I changed the subject, asking him about the weirdest order he'd ever filled.
"Birthday cake with bacon and kale." He shook his head. "It was surprisingly good."
But in my head, I was already plotting how to sneak out and buy him something before tomorrow. Maybe a joke gift. Maybe a mug with a dragon on it. Or a six-pack of first aid kits, for the baker who couldn't keep his own thumbs unscratched.
By the time dessert hit, I was so full I couldn't see straight. He paid, ignoring my protests, then led me back into the night air.
Main street had emptied. Our boots echoed on the sidewalk, but he didn't hurry.
We slid back into the truck. Me in a full food coma, him apparently ready to summit a mountain, and he pointed the truck out toward the overlook without saying anything.
The road curled up and around, frost glittering on the leaves at the shoulder. In front, the world unrolled, hills, trees, a single string of lights from somebody's party deep in the valley.
At the top, he killed the lights and let the engine tick into silence.
He didn't reach for me, didn't crowd me. Instead, he unzipped a blanket from behind the seat. It was soft, plaid, clearly not new, but clean and draped it over my lap.
"You get cold easy," he said.
I settled in, the heat from the truck still more than warm enough.
For a minute, neither of us talked.
Then I jumped first. "I plan to get a real home for the twins. Not just a rental, something with roots. I want them to be able to say ‘this is ours.' without worrying, I want them to be safe, and I want them to learn their magic so they don't feel less."
He let me talk, and didn't try to interrupt.
"And I want to make sure the river's safe," I added, voice firm. "I want to know that when I leave this gig, the hellbenders and the other wildlife will have a shot. They deserve better than being destroyed by another strip mall."
He watched me, just watched, for the longest time. I thought maybe he'd come back with a joke, but he didn't.
Instead, he said it straight, "I'll help you build your home. With or without me in it, that's for you to choose. But I'm not going anywhere."
My heart stopped. Sliding off the cliff, just a little, but in the best way.
I pulled the blanket tighter, hiding my hands.
"You mean that?" I whispered.
He grinned. "I don't bluff, Tash. Not with important stuff."
The silence went soft, not scary. His eyes flashed in the truck light, silver, sharp, and hungry, but not in a way that made me worry. In a way that made me want to be brave.
I slid a fraction closer. "So, not to be weird, but is this where we do the first kiss? Because I'm kind of out of practice."
He laughed, low and sure.
"Tell me how," he said.
So I leaned in, awkward at first, but then he matched me, one hand gentle at my cheek, the other bracing on the seat so he didn't crush me. It started sweet, then spun wild. Taste of salt, hint of the cinnamon rolls from earlier, and underneath it, heat that nearly gasped me out.
He never pushed, never rushed. Just followed my lead, let the kiss ride the nerves until all I wanted was more.
When we broke away he pressed his forehead against mine. "I want the long version of this."
"Me too, but not in the truck." The words tumbled out, honest and stupid and exactly what I wanted to say.
He laughed, loud, not bothering to hide it. It cracked the air, sent a jolt of happiness straight to my spine.
"Fair enough."
He started the truck, then squeezed my hand, just once before putting the gear in reverse.
On the way home, we didn't talk much. There wasn't anything else that needed saying.
We'd almost reached the front door when Huey sounded the alarm. He barked until he saw us then flung all twenty pounds of him forward when Chance opened the door. Dancing on his hind legs, he made his demands for pats.
Chance didn't just greet him. He crouched in the dead center of the door, jacket flaring, and gave Huey exactly the scratches he demanded. Under the chin, behind both ears, the works.
"Head of Security, reporting for duty!" Chance boomed, full command voice, and Huey did a happy twirl, tail flying.
I rolled my eyes, but the scene got me anyway
In the living room, Livia raised a cup in mock salute as I passed, not even pausing her conversation with Mere about which winter veggies survived the cold snap.
Fifi woke from where she dozed on the recliner
"DID YOU KISS?" she shrieked, high decibel, zero filter.
"None of your beeswax," I fired back, but my cheeks had already confessed the whole story.
"Solid!" she crowed, then made a beeline for the kitchen. "There's brownie bites left, Mom!"
I heard Mere mutter, "I saved you three, but you owe me."
Shaking my head, I said, "I'm headed for bed."
The temptation to turn around, to see if Chance would follow, was almost unbearable. I tasted the possibility in every cell. What if, just this once, I let the floodgates open and stopped worrying about consequences?
But then, old memories crashed the hormone party.
Gerty's first boyfriend. The whirlwind romance that turned to ash almost overnight. How all the sweet gestures in the world didn't mean a guy was worth keeping.
I'd promised myself, no trainwrecks. I wanted this. God, did I want this. But I owed everyone, myself included, a shot at stability first.
I paused a full heartbeat at my bedroom door, remembering every detail, the way Chance's hand trembled, barely, when he kissed me. The way the charger gleamed in the truck like a secret handshake. My girls, their hopes.
Sometimes a guy was worth keeping.
But I'd take it slow.