Chapter 32
PIPPA
Part of me wants to hide in a cave for the rest of the week—there are loads of them in the Concordian mountain range. But that’s too far away. I’ve backed myself into a corner with Chase.
I can’t lie or deny it any longer.
But my job. I’ve worked hard for my independence. Is it worth losing?
Then there’s the money from his grandfather. I want a regular, organic relationship, not an arranged marriage.
On top of that, Marlow has somehow haunted me since high school. It shouldn’t matter, but that girl is like a splinter under my skin. A splinter covered with tomato sauce and chocolate. One I can’t seem to get rid of.
But it was us at dinner tonight. It’s Chase and me in the BMW driving back to his block of brownstones.
Then, why do I keep pushing him away? As soon as he steps closer, I drop back. Sometimes literally, except when I’m seated.
“Thank goodness for chairs. I mean, thank you for dinner.”
Chase smirks like he adores my brand of quirky. “You’re quite welcome.”
We spent hours in the restaurant, leaning together over the table, the glow of candlelight between us, sharing stories and small secrets.
Until recently, I’d never lied a day in my life. Well, lie is a bit of a strong term. More like blurred the truth to protect my fragile heart—and backside. Chase may have no problem showing the world his bum, but I’m not about to have another Poo-pa incident.
It started raining during the hours we were in the restaurant. Even though we were interrupted numerous times, we fell into easy conversation. But we’re both quiet now. Maybe it’s the weather.
The car’s tires shush over the wet roads, I tilt my head back on the seat, wondering how this is going to end. Chase seems to be in the driver’s seat, literally and figuratively—whereas before he seemed to be more of an onlooker to his life than an active participant.
“On your evaluation form, how am I doing so far, coach?” Chase asks.
“Top marks,” I say, cringing a little at the reminder that I’m his teacher.
I’d left that fact at my table after he picked me up in my chair and brought me to his.
We’re lucky I didn’t swoon on the spot and fall on the floor.
Then again, the heart fluffies were so numerous, they probably helped me remain aloft.
His muscles flex as he shifts gears, warming me against the chill from the rain. I study the angular line of his jaw. The perfect lips that I’ve kissed...
“What about the kiss, Pippa? Will that be included in the review?” he asks as though reading my mind.
The sound of my name reminds me that although I’m employed at Blancbourg, before that, I’m Pippa. A girl with a crush on a guy. More than a crush.
“Good form,” I rasp, thirsty for another one. “Great effort.”
“Could you elaborate, please? It’s important to me that I work on improving my performance. I want to be sure I pass.” His voice is even and his eyes remain on the road, but something stirs between us. Something I’m afraid to look at. To name.
“Officially, it’s not part of the evaluation.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“I see.” He parks in front of the brownstone. “In that case, I’m glad it was to your satisfaction.”
“Yes, very much so.”
He nods and gets out of the car to open my door. With an umbrella overhead, he rushes me up the steps to the brownstone beside his, lets me in, and says a polite, if not restrained, goodnight with a very tame kiss on the cheek.
With a wink, he says, “You know, since it’s not on the evaluation.”
It’s like he wants me to say we’re done with the Blancbourg rules and continue things on our terms, but I cling to them even as I feel him slipping out of my fingers.
As Chase’s footsteps move away, I lean against the closed door, wishing that I could be as brave as he was, making the last date for the Crush or Cupid show our own. Making up our own rules.
I close my eyes, envisioning the happily ever after he described. It’s my exact picture of perfection. I never told anyone because my parents don’t think that kind of simplicity is worthwhile.
They want estates, manors, and wealth beyond imagination. I want stability, love, and trust.
I flick on the light. From inside the house, a steady drip, drip, drop sounds as though punctuating each of my values. Moving through the house, I flip on more lights, following the noise.
Chase did an amazing job renovating and decorating the space. It’s magazine spread and home-show-worthy, but there is a problem. A big one. The kitchen ceiling is discolored and a puddle forms on the tile floor.
I find a bucket, set it underneath the leak, and then rush out into the rain to the neighboring brownstone.
Chase answers right away, as though he’d been waiting or about to step outside himself. “I was just going to come over and make sure you got settled in okay. You beat me to it. I’m sorry that I don’t offer turndown service or mint candies.”
“About that—” I grip his hand and draw him down the steps, through the gate, along the sidewalk, and inside the joined building.
He goes still the second we’re inside, like he instantly hears the dripping. We hurry to the kitchen. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Is it bad?” I ask.
He scrubs his hand down his face, then takes the stairs two at a time. I follow him to the bathroom above the kitchen.
He opens the cabinet and water gushes onto the already damp floor.
“I had plumbers here and they didn’t seal the PVC correctly when they replaced the supply line.” He thunders down the stairs and then returns moments later. “I shut off the water main and will call the plumber. This is a disaster.”
“I only used the master bathroom, but I’m sorry that I didn’t notice it earlier.”
“It’s not your fault. Good guys, but I should’ve checked their work.
” It’s late, but Chase finds a twenty-four-hour service to call.
He puts it on speaker and paces while it rings.
“I should’ve inspected things myself, but moon-gate and all.
” He groans. “It’s probably been slowly leaking for over a week and finally gave. ”
After an assessment over the phone, the plumber urges Chase to be careful in case the water damage is so bad that the ceiling caves in. He also suggests cutting the electricity temporarily to be on the safe side.
“No one lives here, but—” He glances at me and then whispers, “You can stay on my side. I’ll spend the night over here.”
Chase and the plumber arrange for someone to come out early the next day.
“Aside from the stained ceiling, it’s a lovely home,” I say, trying to cheer him up.
“Thanks. I guess this is just the risk I run owning so many properties. Let me get you settled in next door.”
The rain picked up to a downpour, and we wait in the doorway for it to slow even though it’s only right next door to his place.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, crowding the doorway, he’s warm against my side.
“In my haste, I forgot an umbrella. I could go get one and then come back for you,” Chase offers.
“It’s not far. I have an umbrella but can handle a bit of rainwater. I’m from London, remember? It rains all the time.”
“When I was a kid, I was all about splashing in puddles.”
“I bet your parents loved that,” I say with a laugh. “My mother would have had a fit.”
“Sounds about right.”
“When I have kids, I’ll let them run in the rain in our wellies, and then dry them off inside and give them warm cocoa and cuddles.” I smile at the notion.
His dimple pops when he smiles in return. “You’ll make a great mom. I’ll be nothing like my father. Strict. Controlling.” He grunts. “Though my kids probably won’t want anything to do with football.”
“As long as they like the football player, I suppose that’s all that matters.”
His flirtatious smile morphs into one of deep appreciation, as though he’s grateful that I understand his meaning about him and his father having a difficult relationship.
“Are we both stalling?” Chase asks after a beat.
“I think we need to take the plunge,” I say.
“Okay. On the count of three.” Chase counts us down.
We exchange a glance and then rush into the rain, holding onto each other to keep from slipping in the near darkness. Chase’s hand is around my waist and I grip his side as we skitter up the steps next door.
When we reached Chase’s door, he turns the knob, but it doesn’t open. He jiggles the handle. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Did you lock yourself out?”
He puts his palm against his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut, frustrated.
I like it better when he smiles.
The overhang barely keeps the rain off us. Since we’re already soaked, I tug Chase back through the gate. Gripping his hand, I look both ways and then run into the street, splashing in the puddles.
Chase laughs, as hand in hand, we run up and down the street, splashing and laughing.
“No moms or dads can stop us now,” I say, spinning a circle with my palms lifted to the sky.
He catches me in his arms and lifts me so we’re face to face as we twirl around through the street, filling the night with happy laughter. As Chase lowers me to my feet, I move slowly, sliding down his chest. We’re so close. His hands remain on my waist and his eyes hang onto mine.
“Here we are again,” he says in a low voice.
The rain slows to a drizzle. His hair is soaked and water trickles along his jawline. I want to plant my lips on the spot where it turns toward his ear. Instead, I whisper, “It’s just us.”
“What do we do now?” he asks as though leaving the answer up to me.
“We should—” My voice is as soft as the pattering rain.
But before I finish the sentence, our mouths press together. There is only one answer. Kiss.
I forget where I am. Who I am. The rules, my objections, and everything that potentially separates me from Chase dissolve. The rain washes it away. It’s him and me and the sparks lighting the space between us. Despite the locked door to the brownstone, the kiss opens the door to possibility.
Could we make it work?
His hands circling my waist say yes.
My fingers tracing the firm muscles of his back are an affirmation.
The energy, the heat, the fire, despite the rain, is one big shout of, Oh yeah!
After we part, we return to the house. Chase tries the door again.
“Rylen from my team has my extra keys, but I’m pretty sure he’s still on his honeymoon.
” He sends a text. “I’ll have to call a locksmith, but in the meantime, I guess we have to hunker down in the flooded house.
” He laughs. “Why is everything so wet? Inside, outside. Me.” He gives his head a strong shake like a puppy dog.
I squeal at the drops of water and he clobbers me with another kiss, this one playful.
We enter the brownstone to the tune of drip, drip, drop.
“Borrowing from the teachings in the Bible with Noah and the Ark, a flood can make way for new beginnings and remind us to have hope, faith,” I say.
He nods. “I’m hanging on hard. Good thing we have each other.”
I can no longer avoid or try to escape the notion of us because I’m afraid of change, of altering my rules and my life to make room for more for Chase, because that’s what’s on the other side of the flood—a new beginning.
“The power is out in here. I should get you a room at a hotel.”
“That’s not necessary. It’ll kind of be like camping. We can hunker down, light candles, find some trail mix, marshmallows, or something.”
I change into dry clothes and find a couple of pouches of nuts from the flight in my bag. We light candles and spread blankets on the floor. The space is furnished, but since Chase is soaked, he opts not to ruin the furniture. He plays Elvis on his phone since there isn’t electricity.
Beside me, he radiates heat, magnetizing me with warmth. The fluffies in my belly suggest I’m excited, nervous, and eager for him to find my fingers and hold my hand.
The candlelight illuminates the smooth plane of his cheeks and the defined edge of his jawline. The only thing missing to paint the perfect picture is his dimple.
Leaning against the wall, he gazes up at the ceiling and chuckles lightly. “I get back to Boston, ready to impress you, and it’s just my luck that everything falls apart.”
“On the contrary, I’m flattered that you’d want to impress me, and mine is weird luck. I hope it didn’t rub off on you.”
“Of course I want to impress you. Remember the rugby game when I wore that black and yellow paint—team colors? I thought you’d think I was tough.
Or the time I answered all of Mrs. Sharma’s Shakespeare questions?
Stayed up half the night preparing for them.
I wanted you to think I was smart. And the sponge cake debacle was so you’d think I was clever and know that I liked you. ”
“Well, that was around the same time as the start of my weird luck.”
“Name something bad that happened in the last week.”
“Marlow, for one.”
“Aside from my father interfering.” His sigh edges toward a growl.
I think about it for a solid minute. “Actually, nothing. A pen didn’t explode in my purse, ruining it. I didn’t drop my phone in the toilet. The flight wasn’t delayed because a rodent chewed on the wiring.” I clear my throat. “That’s all happened, by the way.”
He nudges me with his shoulder, closing the few inches of space between us. “You have entertaining stories to tell, and I like the one that brought us together the most.” There it is. His dimple pops.
Cue the heart eyes.
As if aware of the effect it had on me, Chase tips his head back and tosses an almond up, catching it in his mouth. We make it into a game and keep score of who can catch the most. Our laughter echoes through the house until the pouches of nuts are empty.
And the game is forgotten, but our mouths are still hungry. As the rain picks up again outside, we sink into another kiss.