Chapter 2 #2
Seconds ticked by, the world narrowing until it felt like we were standing inside a fragile bubble, stretched thin and shimmering. Waiting for him to kiss me. Or step away. To do something.
Whatever happened next, I was sure it would change everything.
A siren ripped through the night as it passed us, loud and sudden, and I jumped.
Huddy’s hands tightened on my waist, pulling me into his chest on instinct alone. My heart slammed hard, reacting before my thoughts could catch up—his heat solid and grounding through our clothes, soft and comforting and lighting me on fire all at once.
“Sorry,” Huddy said abruptly, releasing me like he’d crossed an invisible line. The loss of his hands was immediate and disorienting.
I cleared my throat and dropped my gaze to the cracked sidewalk between us, the scuffed high-tops I’d doodled all over suddenly fascinating. Safer than looking at the man I’d been certain was about to kiss me.
Get it together, Daisy.
“Burgers,” Huddy said, waving a hand forward like nothing else had happened between that decision and now.
He didn’t reach for my hand again, and the absence felt bigger than it should have.
I followed when he started walking, silence settling between us this time.
Usually, I hated silence, filling every available second with words, jokes, songs—anything to keep things light and moving.
But now my mind flickered anyway—headlights, screeching brakes, the way his hands had locked around my waist like he’d already claimed me as his to protect.
Two more blocks down, we stopped in front of McDermott’s Pub.
The windows were a little greasy, the sign chipped with age, and neon lights flickered inside.
This place was the definition of a hole in the wall, and Huddy stood there, holding the door open with an air of confidence that said this was not his first time here.
I stepped past him, shivering at the shift from wind to warmth as the heavy door swung shut behind us, sealing in fryer grease and stale beer.
The bartender looked up, rag frozen mid-swipe. His gaze bounced between me and Huddy, eyebrows climbing higher with every pass.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” His lips twitched. “Huddy, I’d have thought you’d take a pretty girl like this somewhere a little nicer than my pub.”
I blinked, then waved both hands in front of us. “Oh—oh no, no, we’re not—this isn’t—” My words tripped over each other, heat crawling up my neck. “You know what? Nevermind.”
Huddy adjusted his hat and looked down at his boots, and I filed that away. The motion was subtle, but I’d already noticed how he ducked his head when he was trying to hide something. This time, the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.
The bartender chuckled and went back to wiping the counter, though I could still feel his curiosity following us as Huddy steered us toward a booth near the back.
We slid into cracked vinyl seats, the silence settling in again—this time too loud to ignore.
“Truth or dare?” I asked.
“Truth.” Huddy grabbed a menu from the wall, handed it over, then folded his hands on the table like he was bracing for impact.
“Oh, I see.” I took the menu but didn’t open it yet. “Now you’re just trying to throw me off with all these truths.”
“Or I’m afraid you’ll dare me to do the Dirty Dancing lift in a grungy bar with slippery floors,” he said. “Risking both our lives.”
I laughed. “Nah. I need to keep that one in my back pocket. It requires the element of surprise.”
Before I could say more, the bartender appeared with a basket of fries, setting it down between us.
“Get a head start,” he said, nodding at Huddy. “This guy eats fast.”
Huddy leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. “Come on, Gus. Don’t do me like that.”
“Well, if you’re not gonna get my boys to playoffs this season,” Gus shot back, “I figure I don’t owe you shit.”
The words were light and familiar, spoken in a sarcastic tone I knew meant they were friends.
But Huddy’s reaction didn’t mirror Gus’s tone. His gaze dropped again, jaw tightening just a little—enough that I noticed. Enough that I knew this wasn’t just a joke that landed wrong.
“Playoffs?” I asked.
Gus glanced at me, then Huddy, then back at me. Whatever answer lived there stayed put.
“What can I get you?” he said finally.
I didn’t look at Huddy. Didn’t press. Instead, I turned my attention to Gus.
“What’s your favorite thing here?”
“This guy always gets the bacon cheeseburger,” Gus said. “Grilled onions, ketchup and mustard. Never tomato. And don’t even think about mayo.”
My brows lifted as I peeked at Huddy over the edge of the menu. “Oh. So you’re a regular regular.”
“Something like that,” Gus said, clearly enjoying himself.
“Okay,” I decided. “I’ll do the cheeseburger too. And a Daisy Cutter.”
Huddy raised a brow. “You pick that just because it’s got your name on it?”
I grinned. “It feels like a good omen, right?”
Gus wandered off, leaving us alone again. The bar was mostly empty—just a couple people playing pool in the corner—like the rest of the world had forgotten this place existed.
“Good omen, huh?” Huddy asked.
“Mmhmm.” I popped a fry into my mouth. “You didn’t rob me, and these fries are excellent. Seems promising.”
He huffed out a laugh, smoothing a hand over his beard. This time, it reached his eyes.
“Do you always put that much stock in luck?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m superstitious,” I said. “But I am a little stitious.”
This time he grinned, and knowing I was the one to make him smile felt like taking a shot of the sweetest liquor—pure joy, straight into my bloodstream.
“My sister and I have a whole theory that things come in threes. In our experience, it’s usually bad things.
But then it’s like the universe apologizes for being so shitty and gives you one really good thing to make up for it.
A reminder that everything can change in the blink of an eye, even when it doesn’t feel like it. To keep looking for the good.”
He raised a dark brow. “Sounds like a convenient way to justify a bad week.”
I laughed and grabbed another fry. “It’s not a justification, it’s science.
Well. Maybe not science. Emotional science?
Is that a thing?” My hand waved as the words picked up speed.
“Okay, example. My sister’s car died—smoke-billowing-on-the-side-of-the-road dead.
Then the roof in our apartment caved in during a rainstorm.
And then we got a phone call that my aunt passed away. ”
His expression softened, and I blinked away my emotions lingering just beneath the surface.
“She was my mom’s sister. We lived with her during the summers after my mom died when I was young. So that one really sucked.”
“I’m sorry.”
“But then came the good thing.” I pushed forward before the sadness could settle. “Maggie left everything to us, including her old farmhouse. Cute little town, gorgeous views. Middle-of-nowhere perfect.”
“Sounds like my kind of place.” He leaned in slightly. “But you didn’t want to move there?”
“We did. My sister and niece moved in, and I stayed for a few weeks. But the whole time she kept telling me this was my chance to move to Chicago like I’d always wanted. To take my half of the inheritance and chase big dreams. To not keep living the same small-town life we’d always had.”
“And so you’re here.”
I waved a hand around us. “And so I’m here.”
“Still full of regrets?”
“I believe it was my turn to ask a question.”
Our hands brushed as we both reached for a fry, that same spark zipping between us.
“Hit me.”
“This one’s kind of a first date question, but how would your best friend describe you?”
“That’s deeper than I expected.” He adjusted his hat, fingers dragging through his hair as his gaze slid to the window. I’d call this one Avoidance.
“I feel like I just gave you a freebie.” I tossed a fry at him, bouncing it off his thick beard. “So let’s hear it. Aside from tall, dark, and handsome.”
A grin tugged at his mouth when his eyes finally came back to mine. “I doubt Beckett would call me tall, dark, and handsome, but maybe I’m wrong. It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”
“Okay, so Beckett.” I stole another fry, lifting it to throw again if he avoided the question. “How would he describe you?”
He stared out the window again, jaw working. “He’d probably say I’m reliable.”
“That’s it? Just reliable?”
He shrugged. “I show up. When people need something, I’m your guy.”
A slight frown crossed his face that didn’t track with what most people would say was a compliment, so I waited for him to continue.
“I guess he’d say I don’t ask for much. Don’t complain. Don’t make things harder than they need to be.” A pause. “And that I’m a grumpy motherfucker.”
I laughed. “I think you just look grumpy. Hidden beneath all that facial hair.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “I’m plenty grumpy.”
“Sure.”
That earned me a real smile—slow and a little crooked.
“What about you?” His gaze held mine. “How would your best friend describe you?”
“Oh, easy. Impulsive. Optimistic to a fault. A little reckless. Classic avoidance patterns when life gets hard.”
“That tracks.”
I kicked his boot under the table, grinning. “Hey.”
“Reckless can be good.”
I paused, fry halfway to my mouth. “I did move across the country to live with a roommate I found on Craigslist and asked a stranger to spend the night with me.”
“Okay. Not all good.”
“Thank you. Credit where credit is due.”
He shook his head, eyes alight with amusement, and I was giddy with delight over making this self-proclaimed grumpy motherfucker smile. “So Beckett relies on you.”
Huddy let out a shallow breath, then gave me a quick nod. “People usually do.”
The way he said it—like a fact, not a boast—settled deep in my chest.
“Well.” I broke the moment with a smile. “That explains why you’re so good at not letting strangers get run over by cars.”
“Occupational hazard.” He said it easily, like it was something he’d never questioned. “Take the hit so someone else doesn’t.”
I wasn’t sure what Huddy’s occupation was, but with every word, I was starting to understand him anyway.
The bar hummed around us—neon buzzing, classic rock low on the speakers, the TV flickering overhead.
Somewhere between the L station and here, I realized I wasn’t thinking about how badly I already missed my sister.
Or how terrified I was that I’d fail here, just like everyone always seemed to think I would.
I was just here, present, with him.
And I couldn’t decide if that was wonderful or terrifying.