Chapter 26
CHASE
Phone in hand, I pace in my suite. I’ve always been a people pleaser and don’t ever want to let anyone down or have a confrontation. Unless we’re on the field. That’s a different story.
But I have to do this and do it the right way.
The number of women who practically throw themselves at me these days would earn me a bro slap from Freddie.
The guys on the team tease me because I don’t often follow through on the offers for dates and more, though I’ve made some mistakes in my life.
Let myself down more than once. At the very least, I can aspire to be the man of faith God wants me to be.
I’ve been waiting for the right woman. Only, the right one is out of reach unless I man up.
I dial Freddie.
He answers on the first ring. “Brother from another mother, how’s it going?”
That’s not the most auspicious start, but here we go. “I’m good. You?”
“Doing okay. Heading to the States soon. Will I see you?”
“That depends. At the moment, I’m in Concordia.”
“No way, my sister lives there.”
“I know.”
“Oh. Cool. So what’s up?” That’s his cue for us to talk about something else, but I’m not taking it.
“I’m calling about Pippa.”
“Uh oh. What did she do this time? Everyone has a story about my sister.”
And I’m hoping for a love story, as cheesy as that sounds. I clear my throat. “I’m courting her.”
“You’re taking her to court?”
“No, pursuing my interest in her.”
“Wow. That sounds oddly formal but cool.”
“In a romantic way, Freddie.” Before I can talk myself out of it, I tell him how I had a crush on her in high school and everything that led to now. “Fact, my best friend’s sister should ring all the warning bells. Instead, she lights up all my buttons.”
“Mate, I do not want to hear about your buttons, whatever those are. But I respect you for bringing this to me and I give you my blessing.”
“You do?”
“Sure. Can’t think of anyone else I’d want as a brother-in-law. But if you hurt her, I’ll—”
“I know you will.”
“Things with you and Aimme good? Any tips?”
“Eh. Nah. I should hop off. Stuff to do. But don’t forget my half-birthday coming up. I expect nothing less than the best.”
I get off the phone with a shaky stream of relieved laughter and don’t waste another minute thinking about what I’m about to do.
First, I stop at a pet store, barely making it there minutes before it closes.
Next, I stop at a market and pick up very important supplies.
Last stop, Pippa’s, where I admit that I have a lift in my step, knowing things are cool with Freddie.
Maybe Grey was right and it’s best to just talk things through.
Arms full, I ring the bell once, twice, and then hear the patter of footsteps coming from wooden stairs.
Pippa peeks out the door. She wears her glasses and a giant sweatshirt. Interestingly, it’s Bruisers’ colors...and if memory serves, it should have the logo on the back.
“Hi,” she says, adjusting the adorably messy bun on top of her head.
“I brought cookies, but now I’m wondering if I should’ve brought buns.”
“Bums?” She adjusts her eyeglasses and laughs.
I do too. “I also have some flowers, lizard-catching supplies, and milk for the cookies. They’re the butter kind, which I remember you like.”
“Oh, what’s the occasion?”
I shrug. “Just wanted to see you.” I pass her the flowers.
“These are for me? Right now? I’m, uh—” She seems flustered.
“Do you have company?” I ask, trying to make this less awkward.
“No.” But she doesn’t move to invite me up.
I give the plastic terrarium I got at the pet store a shake. “Want to go lizard hunting?”
“Cecil, the building custodian, caught Chompy the Swamp King.”
“That’s good news. Where?”
Pippa closes her eyes and squishes up her face. “In my underwear drawer. The water heater is on the other side of the wall, so it was probably warm there.”
The air wafts with something sweet. “Smells good. Are you baking something? Are the cookies overkill?”
“I was making something, but you can’t eat it. It’s a cinnamon roll candle.”
“You make candles?”
“It’s my hobby side hustle. I love playing with scents. My favorite is a fragrance for introverts. It’s called Eau de Alone.”
I thumb over my shoulder, wondering if that’s a hint that she’d rather not have company. “Should I go?”
“Oh, you wanted to—? No, come on up. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but—” She bites her lip, which is no longer swollen. Feeling awkward, I shift from foot to foot.
Then, realizing she’s blocking the doorway, she turns and gestures for me to follow her upstairs.
Pippa’s apartment is an elegantly feminine extension of herself—gauzy curtains, light colors, and weathered wood that reminds me of the ocean in the late spring. It’s a breath of fresh air.
She gives me a tour of her candle-making station.
“While the wax is setting, I’m making the labels and watching Ted Lasso. Have you ever watched it?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I love that you’re doing this.
So unique.” I browse a shelf with a variety of glass containers containing candles with cutesy names like It takes two to mango which I gather is a mango and coconut combo and vanilla pine(apple)cone with an ice cream cone topped with a pineapple on the label.
“I’ll admit that candle-making is my dream. I love the science of scent. I know, nerdy.” Pippa adjusts her glasses on her nose.
“No, it’s cool. What’s the name of your candle company?”
“Candle Gram. Gram, like a telegram, but also like my grandmother who taught me candle making.” She goes on to tell me that they’re great gifts and she can custom-make fragrance combinations.
I listen intently, enjoying seeing her comfortable, in her element.
Biting her lip, she says, “I started it after the whole Poo-pa thing. Kind of helped me cope, and I was obsessed with smelling good, so no one got the wrong idea. I started with little solid perfume formulations made from wax and oils.”
Ted Lasso is paused on the television and Pippa’s computer sits open on a loveseat. “So you’re working on the label for this new one?” I ask, taking a seat.
She sucks in her lip. “Do you want some cookies and milk?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I have to admit, things are not as smooth as they were the night we went to the fair. I trace through my memory, wondering if I did or said something wrong. Maybe it’s just a matter of her being professional insofar that technically, I’m her student, which means I shouldn’t be here.
Pippa brings us both cookies and milk on a vintage plate and glasses.
“Tell me about Ted Lasso. I’ve never watched,” I say, dunking my cookie.
“You dunk?”
“Of course. You don’t?”
“I do. I didn’t expect you to.”
“That’s how I roll.” I wink, pointing to the laptop. “So, what’s the name of the new candle? I noticed the others had unique names.”
“Um, it’s Cinnamon Bunderful. Like wonderful, but bun.”
“Like bum?”
She cracks a smile at our little inside joke, then goes on to tell me about Ted Lasso. We quickly slip back into our “normal,” which is a huge relief. I don’t want to interfere by asking to have a DTR like Grey suggested.
Maybe the next few weeks will be okay. Or perhaps they’ll be bunderful.
I didn’t read the email sent by the team secretary very well, because it turns out we’re leaving campus for the remainder of the thirty days. This means freedom. It also means my mother’s request to return to London cannot be ignored.
Funnily enough—or not at all because our mothers are as thick as thieves, another one of Cap’s sayings—Pippa’s mother somehow also knew and arranged dinner for us to discuss our courtship.
In the morning, when it’s time to leave, Pippa meets me in the entryway to Blancbourg, giving me a pleasant peek into my future.
I like it. I want it. I want her.
She wears a long, pale pink tulle skirt that hits just below her calves, a white sleeveless blouse, and strappy leather high-heeled sandals.
The kind with what looks like basket material on them.
I think they’re called espadrilles. Erica has a pair.
Ordinarily, I don’t pay attention to things like that, but forget thirst trap. Pippa is thirst-quenching.
Seeing her after so many years is like a mini miracle each time. I take in the details. Pearl earrings and a delicate cross around her neck. Her hair is in loose waves and she clutches a handbag.
My gaze isn’t sure where to settle.
“Are you ready?” she asks, avoiding eye contact like last night didn’t happen. Like we’re right back where we started, seated at the dinner table at the Smythe’s party.
Forget one step forward and two steps back. It’s like she wants to rewind to the beginning. But why?
While walking out to the awaiting car to take us to the train station, I say, “Am I ready? Depends on what you mean. Ready for the football season? Ready to leave Concordia? Ready to spend the next few weeks with you? But are you ready?”
Instead of telling her that I’m not ready for things to change between us, that I don’t want to leave this little bubble we’ve been in.
The one she’s been trying to deny. A thought pushes past. Things shifted at the reminder of her role at Blancbourg.
Maybe leaving the manor will help her loosen up her rules. .. Mine too.
Her brow furrows. “Am I ready? The answer to that is complicated.”
A few times while on the train to England, she opens her mouth as if to ask a question, then thinks better of it.
I demonstrate perfect deportment, hold open doors, carry her luggage, and be as gentlemanly as I can, and more importantly, want to make Pippa feel as if she’s in good hands.
Maybe leaving home for a long stretch is stressing her out.
I know she’s not a huge fan of crowds and chaos, so keeping calm and confident is my plan—not that I’m ever not.
But I hope being conscious of it will help.