Chapter 16 #2
The words hit me like a physical blow. We haven't talked about that day, not really. But hearing her say it now, hearing the gratitude in her voice instead of the broken down tone that was there before, it my chest wide open.
"Paisley."
"I mean it." She looks up at me, and there are tears on her cheeks now.
"If you hadn't been there, if you hadn't pulled me out of the car, I wouldn't be here.
I wouldn't have this. Any of this. And I'm so grateful, Chase.
So grateful that you were there. That you cared enough to stop me.
That you've cared enough to keep me here, to make me want to stay.
You didn't know who the hell I was, but you cared. "
I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine. "I'm grateful too. That I was there. That I've gotten to know you. That you're here now."
She squeezes my hand, and we sit like that for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between us. Then she swipes at her eyes with her free hand and laughs shakily.
"Well, that got heavy fast."
"It's Thanksgiving. It's supposed to be about gratitude," I remind her. "Gratitude can sometimes be heavy."
"I know, but I didn't mean to turn it into a crying fest."
"A few tears never hurt anyone." I stand up, coming around to her side of the table.
I pull her to her feet and into my arms, holding her close.
"Thank you for being honest. For trusting me with those feelings.
I know it's hard." I think about my wife, who hadn't felt like she could, and regret is right there with the feelings of gratitude.
She wraps her arms around my waist, burying her face in my chest. "Thank you for being someone I can trust."
We stand there in the middle of the kitchen, holding each other while our Thanksgiving dinner gets cold on the table, and I can't bring myself to care. This matters more. She matters more.
Eventually, we pull apart and finish our meal. The heaviness lifts as we go back to arguing about whether the rolls or the pie are the real star of the show. By the time we're done eating, my cheeks hurt from smiling.
"I'm so full I might explode," Paisley groans, leaning back in her chair.
"Same. But we still have pie," I remind her, pointing to where it sits on the stove.
"Later," she groans. "Much later. Like maybe tomorrow later."
"Fair enough." I start gathering plates, but she stops me.
"Leave them. We'll deal with it later. Right now, I need to sit in front of that fire and not move for at least an hour."
"I can get behind that plan."
I build up the fire while she curls up on the couch, and then I grab the bottle of scotch from the cabinet. "Want some?" This is one thing we haven't done together.
"Please."
I pour us each a glass and settle in beside her, close enough that our thighs touch. The fire crackles, casting shadows on the wall, and outside the snow continues to fall.
"This is nice," she murmurs, her head resting on my shoulder.
"It is." I take a sip of scotch, letting the burn warm me from the inside. "I could get used to this."
"Me too."
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching the flames. Then, because I want to know more about her, because I want to know everything about her, I ask, "What was your dream job? Before everything. What did you want to be?"
She's quiet for so long I think she might not answer. Then she shifts, looking over at the laptop sitting in the corner. "I wanted to be a writer."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Her voice is soft, almost wistful. "Ever since I was a kid, I loved stories. Making them up, getting lost in them. I always thought that one day I'd write one of my own."
"What stopped you?"
She takes a long sip of scotch, swallowing it with a wistful smile. "Stanley. He always told me I'd never make it. That it was a dream, and only girls had dreams. I was a woman, and I should focus on being practical and a good wife to him."
That pisses me off. "He was wrong."
"Maybe."
"Not maybe. Definitely." I turn to face her fully. "He was wrong about you, Paisley. About what you're capable of. If you want to write, you should write." I firmly believe she can do anything she puts her mind to.
"It's not that simple," she argues, shaking her head.
"Why not? You've got time now. You've got that laptop. What's stopping you?"
She looks at me, and I can see the fear in her eyes. It's the doubt. "What if he was right? What if I'm not good enough?"
"What if you are?" I counter. "What if you're amazing at it and you never find out because you were too scared to try?"
"Chase…"
"I'm serious. You're smart, you're creative, you do those puzzles quickly. Why wouldn't you be good at something else?"
She bites her lip, and I can see her wavering. "I don't know."
"Try." I encourage her, knowing that if she has something to live for, maybe she'll never try to take her life again.
"That's all I'm asking. Just try. And if you hate it, if it doesn't work out, at least you'll know.
But don't let that asshole's voice in your head keep you from something you've always wanted to do. "
She stares at me for a long moment, and then slowly, she nods. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay. I'll try." A small smile tugs at her lips. "But if it's terrible, you have to promise to let me give it up."
"Deal. But it won't be."
"You don't know that."
"I know you. That's enough."
She leans in and kisses me, soft and sweet, and when she pulls back, there's determination in her eyes that wasn't there before. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For believing in me when I don't believe in myself."
"Always," I tell her, and I mean it with everything in me. I hadn't told my wife I believed in her enough, I'll tell Paisley until she's sick of hearing it. "I'll always believe in you."
We settle back into our comfortable silence, sipping scotch and watching the fire. Eventually, my sweet tooth wins out over fullness, and we split a piece of apple pie between us, passing the plate back and forth.
By the time we head to bed, I'm exhausted but happy. Happier than I've been in years. As I lie in the dark, listening to Paisley's breathing even out room next to mine, I let myself think about what she asked earlier.
Maybe this can be a tradition for us.
God, I hope so. I hope this is just the first of many Thanksgivings we spend together. The first of many holidays, many days, anything she's willing to give me.
I'm falling for her. Have been for a while now, if I'm honest with myself. And for the first time since my wife died, I don't feel guilty about it. I feel grateful.
Grateful that fate brought Paisley to my property that day. Grateful that I was there to pull her back. Grateful for every moment since.
I close my eyes and let sleep take me, and I dream of next year. Where it's possible we'll be celebrating a year together, and maybe the next step in our relationship.