Chapter 7 Chase
After my morning with Marcus and Brax, I’m drained and bent out of shape. Part of me believes I left Lottie’s Scoops with more questions than I sat down with.
I check the time on my phone when I open the door to Bakes by the Lakes for a much-needed caffeine fix—or three.
Just as I’m about to pocket my phone, a text message pops up from Brodie. I frown at it as I swipe to reply.
Brodie: Hockey Boy!
Me: Bella?
Brodie: Yes, it’s me. I need a favor.
Me: What’s up?
Brodie: I left my bag in your car last night. They have Brodie’s keys in them—for the batting cages. Do you think you can bring it?
Me: I gave your bag to Erin when I realized you left it.
Brodie: Well, Hockey Boy, this is excellent news. Are you near a coffee shop by any chance?
Me: As a matter of fact, I am.
Brodie: Then order my sister a pistachio latte, and get your cute butt over to hers. Grab Brodie’s keys and tell her you want to hang out. Bring her to the game.
Me: That won’t freak her out?
Brodie: Oh, it most definitely will. But I think you’re just what she needs. I think you’re perfect for each other.
Me: Are you playing matchmaker, Bella?
Brodie: Manifesting. Unless you’re not interested?
Me: I never said that.
Brodie: Excellent. See you later.
Brodie: You don’t have a cute butt.
Me: Hi, Brodie.
I pocket my phone on a chuckle and order an espresso for myself, which I down in one go, and an extra hot pistachio latte for Erin. I exit the café and begin my walk to hers.
I thought about Erin all night.
How could I not?
She’s beautiful. But it’s more than that.
Last night, I found myself watching her, really watching her. I couldn’t look away. It’s scary how easily she’s gotten under my skin.
I’m not used to this.
I don’t do relationships.
Never have.
I’ve never wanted to take a girl out on a date before, not since I started my career as a professional hockey player.
It’s just been about sex for me.
Nothing more, nothing less.
But with Erin, the pull is different. And all I want to do is explore that.
Those few moments with Erin at Hendrick’s Bar, and the silent car ride back to her place when it was just the two of us, felt peaceful. I wish we could have kept driving.
When I got home and crawled into bed, thinking of her smile, gentle features, and overall presence, I found myself wanting more of those little moments with her.
Even the ones where she said nothing at all.
I walk up her quiet street, take in the different houses, climb the two steps leading up to her front door, and knock. The sound of footsteps echoes behind the door and then it swings open.
Fuck. Me.
She’s radiant.
“Good morning, Bookworm,” I say, my voice raspier than I intended. I hold the coffee cup out to her.
She glances down at my hand and reaches out to take the cup.
Our fingers brush, and my pulse skips a beat.
It’s a simple touch, but I’m left buzzing.
She presses her lips together, a look of softness crossing her features, and I can’t help but feel I’ve won some small victory just by being here.
“Hello,” she says, taking a sip. Her eyes close, and she does a little shimmy. I spot the gentle curve of her lips, slightly upward, almost as if she’s holding back a quiet happiness.
She opens her eyes. “I love pistachio lattes. Thank you.”
Thank you. Bella.
“What are you doing here?” she asks as she goes back for another sip, leaving a small pink stain behind on the white lid. It must be a lip balm of some kind because she’s makeup-free—and now I’m dying to know the flavor of her lips and how they taste.
“I thought we could hang out today,” I say, testing the boundaries.
When Erin’s eyes widen and her sun-kissed skin pales, I pivot.
“Brodie coaches his nephew’s Little League team on Saturdays. They have a game in a few hours. The keys he needs are in Bella’s bag, which I gave to you last night. I was asked to come get them,” I explain.
“Oh, right,” she says, but she doesn’t move to get them. Instead, she just stares at me, holding her coffee cup. “That makes sense,” she adds.
“I can wait out here if that’s more comfortable.”
“No, I’m sorry. Umm, come in,” she says as she moves aside.
I step inside, taking in the interior. Her place is cute and cozy, and somehow, it’s exactly what I expected.
Built-in bookshelves border the back wall, and a tiny TV sits on a coffee table that’s tucked into the corner of the room.
The gray sofa is littered with cushions and blankets, and she has an open kitchen plan.
A picture on her bookshelf catches my attention, and I walk over to it, taking in the four faces squished together in what appears to be a courtroom.
When she walks up next to me, I turn to her. She stretches out her hand to place the keys in my palm.
I notice the hesitancy on her face as we stand in silence. She not-so-subtly looks over at her front door as if she’s either trying to plan her escape or hint that she wants me to leave.
The oven starts going off, and she surprises me when she says, “Do you like pretzels and cheese sauce?” She leaves my side, walking into the kitchen without waiting for me to respond.
“Pretzels and cheese sauce? Bold breakfast choice.” I smirk, following her into the kitchen.
She places her coffee cup on the table and slips on some oven gloves to open the range door. The delicious scent of fresh dough attacks my senses, and my mouth waters.
“It’s a long story,” she says, tipping the pretzels onto a large plate. She turns off the oven and discards her glove, then walks over to the table with the food.
I walk over to her and pull out the chair for her before taking her coffee cup. I notice the small crescent-like dents marking the Styrofoam as I pour the remaining liquid into an empty mug already on the table.
Damn, she’s so nervous.
I can see it in the way she’s fidgeting and in the way she’s avoiding my eyes. I want to tell her it’s okay, but I opt for a different approach.
“Tell me the story,” I say as I take my seat next to her and rest my elbow on the table, placing my chin on my palm.
She hesitates for a beat and then starts.
“Mr. Silver was an awful cook. He was in charge of us for one weekend and burnt two pans. Dad found this little place that sold pretzels and cheese sauce. They replaced the pretzels with waffles after a year, but it stuck. Now I make them every other Saturday.”
She pauses, her eyes flicking to the window as if the memory’s pulling her back.
I stay quiet, just watching her. There’s vulnerability in the way she talks about her family. She’s giving me a tiny glimpse into her past, and I can’t help but wonder how much more there is.
I send another little prayer to anyone who will listen. That, over time, she’ll tell me more stories just like that one.
“You’re adopted?”
“Yeah. I moved in with Bella’s family when I was twelve.” She pauses. “They had connections because of what they did for work, and my adoption was fast-tracked. I got lucky.”
There’s a glimmer in her gaze that makes her whiskey-colored eyes pop. It’s the kind of liquor I’d happily drown in over and over again.
“I have cereal if you—”
I place my hand over hers, silencing her words.
“Pretzels and cheese sauce with you sounds pretty great, Bookworm.”
She looks up, her cheeks tinge, and the energy shifts around us.
I can feel it, this pull. I’m being drawn in. There’s a depth to her—warmth, realness—and I want more of it. The realization tells me one thing.
I’m fucked.