Chapter 21
CHASE
The lingering warmth on my cheek in the exact spot where Pippa kissed me makes my dimple pop. Those five simple words, I was distracted by you, confirm what I heard her say at the Smythe’s party about having a crush on me. Maybe she still does.
The burden of regret that I’ve carried for years at not following up and properly asking her to prom lifts. Hope replaces it.
I carry that with me through the next days as we follow the Blancbourg protocol with manners and etiquette.
We stroll through the garden, but haven’t concluded it with another kiss. I guess it’s my move, anyway.
My mother would agree.
My phone has been alternately beeping and ringing with messages from her.
She started with a follow-up to the proposal that goes a step or two further than a promposal.
Then she started giving me light suggestions and tips for how to court a woman.
This increased in intensity until she all but wrote a script that starts with Once upon a time and ends with Happily ever after.
She calls now and I debate whether to answer because I’m meeting Pippa for dinner at seven and I only have about five minutes.
What follows is Mom’s dismal tale of loneliness if I remain a bachelor. Apparently, she changed tack.
“Mom, I’m literally on my way to meet Pippa for dinner. Trust me. I can handle this.”
“The clock is ticking.”
The grandfather clock chimes, but I don’t think that’s the one she refers to.
“If you’re talking about the inheritance—”
“No, that’s your father’s business. Speaking of business, he’s been so stressed. If you do talk to him, please take it easy on him.”
I grumble. “He’s the one who lays into me every chance he gets.”
“And I’m sure he’d love to see you settle down and start a family.”
“Mom, are we talking about the same man?”
She chuckles as if I’m joking. “You just worry about your courtship.”
Not wanting to be late, I breeze down the hall as my mother continues to bend my ear about engagement ideas. I’m nearly at the dining room and when I look up, Pippa approaches from the other direction. Her phone is also to her ear.
“Mom, I’ve got to go. Talk soon.”
Reading Pippa’s lips, one of which is still slightly swollen, she almost speaks the same words.
“Sorry about that. My mother—”
“Mine too.”
I gesture for her to go ahead of me into the dining room.
She walks a few steps in front of me and I take a moment to appreciate the view I so often spent admiring while seated behind her in class, waiting for her to turn around.
When she does now, we’re so close. I’m struck by her big brown eyes. Full lips. Smooth features.
I’ve spent years chasing a football, but now I have my sights set on a girl. A girl I thought was out of my grasp, my league, and out of my life for good. I screwed up the first time and sent her running. I screwed up a second time with moon-gate and found my way back to her.
The pressure is on. I can’t mess up again.
We enter the dining room with a table set for two. Candles flicker in sconces on the wall and between the place settings.
Without prompting, I pull out the chair and gesture for Pippa to take a seat. After the prom truth bomb that dropped, I’m sure we’ve cleared the air, but silence joins us at the table. Long, awkward silence as we sit there composed and proper with our hands in our laps while the server pours water.
My phone, on silent, vibrates. “Sorry about that.”
Hers does the same. Her forehead wrinkles as she ignores it. “Me too. Should’ve left it in my room. My mum has been calling nonstop, pestering me—”
“Mine too.”
Our gazes catch.
“Is yours asking you about the, um, courtship?” I take a long sip of water.
She nods slowly. “She checks in every day to ask about progress with my suitor.”
I nearly choke on a piece of ice. “I take it that would be me.”
“And the courtship would refer to me?” she asks.
“And that’s putting it mildly. My mother has our entire future mapped out.”
“I can say the same for my mum.”
We start comparing the plans, beginning with the proposal and ending with grandchildren.
“I think they’ve been conspiring,” I say, playful accusation filling my voice.
Pippa claps her hand on the table. “You’re right.” She goes on to complain about how her mother has been on her nonstop, day and night.
I nod in agreement. As the similarities overlap and complement each other, laughter grows between us, but gets stuck somewhere, as if not sure where we stand.
“So,” I say.
“So,” she repeats.
A clock ticks loudly in the background.
I adjust my fork and knife.
She smooths the napkin on her lap.
We just barely make darty eye contact. Instead, we both fuss and fidget like we didn’t just have an important conversation. That she didn’t accept my apology or kiss me on the cheek earlier.
Clearing my throat, I say, “We’ve officially entered Awkwardville, population two. I’ll be your tour guide for the next hour.”
The corner of Pippa’s lip twitches. She points to a tapestry of the countryside on the wall. “Nice scenery.”
I snag her gaze and linger there. “I agree.”
“Do you come here often?”
“That’s supposed to be my cheesy line.”
We both laugh nervously, as though not sure how to proceed in this new territory where the air is clear and there’s a crackling in it that we cannot deny.
“This is awkward, huh?” I say.
“Yep.” Her lips pop and she bites down on the bottom one, then remembers it’s still healing.
“You hold the title of the only woman on earth who can cause me to be tongue-tied.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
I take a sip of water, hoping that’ll loosen things up. My phone vibrates. “How does she expect me to use any of her tips or follow instructions if she keeps interrupting?”
“Is this what it would have been like had I stayed at the table in the dining hall instead of running away?” Pippa asks.
“No. We would’ve talked about prom and—actually, we probably both would’ve been clueless and it would’ve been painfully awkward.”
“Dancing at prom would’ve been torture. We probably would’ve been afraid to touch. I wouldn’t have known what to do.”
“What did people even talk about in high school?”
With a laugh, she rolls her eyes. “They talked about me, swapping Pippa stories. Everyone has a story about me.” She mentions the online alumni group again.
“Think of it this way. You’re memorable. I certainly never forgot about you.”
At that, our gazes hold for a long moment. All threads of awkwardness dissolve and we both laugh.
This time, her phone interrupts us.
“What if I proposed a fake engagement until our parents come to their senses?” I tell Pippa about a movie my sister made me watch with that plot thread.
Pippa’s expression turns thoughtful. “Sounds like it could be fun or go terribly wrong. Given my weird luck, I’d better not push it. I’m not getting engaged unless it’s for real.”
Relief sweeps through me, but not because that means I’m off the hook. No, it gives me hope because that means I can do things on my terms. But before I can respond, our phones buzz in concert.
“Want to get out of here and leave our phones behind?” she asks.
“What? Really? Don’t you have to evaluate me?”
“I know that you know how to conduct yourself at a meal. Which fork to use and when, the importance of pacing yourself with the host, how to indicate you’re done eating, etcetera.”
“We can thank Hodgson for that,” I say, referring to our history teacher’s segment on polite society.
“Professor Hodgson,” she corrects in a well-mannered accent.
I burst into laughter at Pippa imitating the teacher at Hinnifin.
“I think we should leave this dining room and go to—” She bites the edge of her lip again. “A place that’s the opposite of here.”
“Like a hot dog cart or a greasy spoon diner?” I ask.
It’s her turn to laugh. “Let’s start with someplace less formal. For your lesson, I’ll, um, examine how you handle yourself in that environment,” she says as if coming up with the plan on the fly.
“Will I still get full credit?” I ask.
“So long as you conduct yourself properly, say please and thank you, and treat your coach to dessert.” She winks.
“That can be arranged.”
She giggles. It’s a wonderful sound that makes me feel full, alive, and hopeful.
“Let’s see. Where to go?” she says as we stride down the hall. “I’m thinking of a funny, unexpected place. What do you think about a rock-climbing wall?”
“Not a big fan of heights and last I checked, you can’t eat rocks or whatever it is the walls are made out of.”
“They have a concessions counter with burgers, fries, things like that. Although I’m not big on heights either.”
The butler, Arthur Fitzwilliam, nods genially as we exit the manor. Stars twinkle in the sky above. In the distance, the royal castle nestles into the mountain and glows.
“There’s a pub in the village that has game night, live music, and I think on Fridays they host a karaoke night,” Pippa says.
“I don’t like singing unless I’m at church. My voice sounds better when it’s among many.”
“Hmm. Good point. My sister and I tried to join the choir once. I was told I sound like an angry koala. Despite their cuddly appearance, they make a deep bellowing noise. I guess it was the inspiration for the T-Rex roar in the dinosaur movies. I looked it up.”
“Someone told you that? That’s oddly specific and so mean.”
“True story.”
“I find it hard to believe and will be the judge of that, but we’ll skip karaoke tonight.” Pippa’s voice and English accent are so lovely, I could listen to her talk or read for hours—and have done so in the nurse’s office when Liam was injured.
Still standing on the front steps of the manor, Pippa gazes up at the stars and takes a breath as though enjoying the natural beauty.
I sure am. The light overhead illuminates the smooth line of her neck. I’d like to leave a kiss there, more than one. Trace a path up to her lips. I imagine she’ll be soft and will smell like...roses and a cool spring night.
Initially, Pippa shared her ideas for tonight boldly, but as her gaze lowers to meet mine, her voice softens. “What about bungee jumping while performing show tunes?”
“That sounds like a nightmare.
“Just getting creative.”
I wag my finger. “I see what you did there. You combined two things I don’t like—heights and singing.”
“Just trying to come up with something unique.”
“As part of my Blancbourg evaluation? If so, I’m already well out of my comfort zone, Pippa.” She’s pushed me over the edge and I’m in free fall.
“Is that so?”
“Heights and singing are my two biggest fears.”
“You only have two?” she asks.
“Well, there’s a third.”
“And it is?”
But I don’t answer because it’s her. I’m afraid that after falling, I’ll land hard and lose Pippa again.