Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
CHASE
I t hadn’t been a good idea to take the kids to a movie, an animated Disney princess sort of thing. Being an involved godfather, I’d seen my share. The heroine was strong and self-determined, noble and wise, overflowing with dreams and potential. Then she met some ’roided-up prince and everything went to shit.
Walking out of that theater, I tried to marshal my thoughts, but they couldn’t stay off of Violet. Worries about losing her to one of the many undeserving yahoos who lived in these parts infiltrated my mind. I kept myself together long enough to cook, feed and read stories to the kids. But after they were down, I had too much time to get to thinking about the many ways in which encouraging her to date could go wrong.
First, I turned on the porch light, then obsessed over every outdoor noise, thinking any little thing might signal her return. When that put me at the edge of my wits, I briefly regretted having agreed to babysit through an event I clearly couldn’t handle. Somewhere between eating my feelings with the help of the homemade strawberry ice cream I’d whipped up with the kids that morning, I poured myself a glass of bourbon, and made a concerted effort to think healthier thoughts.
Maybe you can’t be with Violet, but she’s still a treasured friend.
Friends look out for friends, especially when it comes to new people.
It’s natural for anyone who feels protective of her to want to lay eyes on this guy.
The least I can do for Violet is slap her date with “don’t fuck with her” vibes.
No sooner had I cooked up a solid plan to insert myself into the situation than the sound from a very large engine cut through the quiet of the night. I’d concluded the moment Violet arrived home was the right moment to bring her trash out to the curb. I was suddenly pleased with myself to have been slow to fix the recycling bin with the wonky wheel. I could roll it silently across the lawn, but where would the fun be in that? Only the noisiest one would do.
This is it.
I hurried through the kitchen and opened the garage door, swiftly grabbing the bin and beginning to make my way down the drive. The heavy plastic wheels trudged crudely over the pavement. I kept my gaze forward, pretending not to notice the ruckus I was making or the enormous yellow Hummer parked in front of the door.
His choice of transportation was a virtual guarantee that he was compensating for something. Not to mention, driving a gas guzzler like that made him a climate change–denying asshat. I could make it all the way to the street and get away with not looking at them directly. It would be a different story once I turned back toward the house.
“Chase?” Violet said it loudly enough for me to hear her voice over all the noise. I hazarded a glance, steeling myself for whatever backlash I might be facing. I looked up, pretending to be startled, then I gave a little wave. I made a fuss of situating the bin in a precise position next to her mailbox, then doubled back to greet them at the front door.
Yards away from reaching this guy, I was already sizing him up. I recognized him from the farm. Like Violet said, he was one of our wedding vendors. The gimlet eye he fixed me with as I made my approach told me interfering was the right decision. I had to send a message to this guy.
Without hearing him speak a word, I knew two things: he had an alpha complex; and he saw me as a threat. I didn’t know what Violet had told him about me, but it didn’t matter right then. I was about to tell him everything he needed to know.
“Chase Greenleaf.” I extended my hand in introduction; for Violet’s benefit, I smiled. It only behooved me to seem friendly. She wouldn’t know that I’d given him a nice, firm shake. She also wouldn’t know that the enormous Breitling on his shaking hand was a flex meant to be seen by other men. Its face was so large, it looked more like a dive computer than a timepiece.
“Right,” he replied. “Chase. You’re Violet’s boss.”
“Actually, I play many roles in Violet’s life.” My voice was saccharine sweet. “Violet helps me with my business, but she’s the one in charge. But we go farther back than that. Me and Violet are family. And I’m the godfather to her kids.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Rodney feigned sudden recollection. “You were here babysitting. It’s nice that you did so I could take her out—show her a good time.”
Unlike some men, I wasn’t under the mistaken impression that caring for children diminished me. I arched my eyebrow in a way that let him know his comment had left me unfazed. Caring for children was a joy.
“It’s not babysitting when you love them like your own. Violet’s raising two amazing kids.” Before he could respond, I dove back in. “And—sorry—I didn’t catch your name.”
Something in his blue eyes hardened. “It’s Rodney. Rodney O’Toole.”
It was only by the grace of God that I didn’t lose my shit right there. This guy had a first name and a last name that were both euphemisms for penis. And by all accounts, he seemed like a total dick.
“I understand you’re one of our wedding vendors.” I said it with a straight face.
He weaved his head back and forth, ambivalently. “That, and a few other things.”
I swung my gaze back to Violet, who was watching the exchange like it was set point at a tennis match. A look of clear unease displayed on her face.
For that brief moment, I did regret crashing the party. It wasn’t her who I wanted to make uncomfortable—it was him. Now that I’d done what I’d gone there to do, it was time for me to leave.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Rod. Glad you got her home safely. Maybe I’ll see you around the farm.”
With that, I raised my left hand to my face, like all I was doing was stroking my beard. But I wanted Rodney to see my naked left hand. He needed to know that I wasn’t some glorified babysitter. I was Violet’s unmarried, straight, male best friend, father figure to her kids, and someone who could clearly take him in a fight.
“Vi, I’ll see you inside.” My voice softened when I spoke to her. I walked between them, into the unlocked front door. Instead of closing it, I left it open as I disappeared into the house, out of sight but never out of mind.
“So…how was your date?”
I let Violet find me unloading the dishwasher when she wandered inside.
“Why don’t you tell me?” She crossed her arms in front of herself and called me out with a single eyebrow quirk. “You ought to know. You were there.”
I knew better than to dare deny I’d done what I’d done. So I did the only thing left that made a lick of sense. I crossed my own arms in front of myself and confessed.
“I just wanted him to know you’ve got people—folks who’ll smack him down if he steps out of line. I’m thinking he got the message.”
“I guess now that he knows the score, you won’t ever be pulling anything like that again.”
She gave me the same look she gave the kids sometimes—the one that said, “you can’t beat me, so don’t even try.”
I grunted noncommittally, then set the rocks glass I’d just plucked out of the dishwasher in front of her. Then, I walked backward toward the freezer, where I’d hidden a carafe out of reach on the top shelf.
She didn’t know about it. It wouldn’t have been ready to drink until now. But bourbon punch was her favorite. It had lemonade and pineapple juice; it was steeped in orange slices and bing cherries; I’d put in fresh cane juice from my farm and enough bourbon that it would never freeze.
Without asking whether she wanted some, I shook the clear container and watched her eyes light up as it dawned on her what I’d made. Once all the ice crystals were shaken loose, I poured both of us a glass.
“So. How was your date?” My question was less sardonic this time.
I hoped and prayed she wasn’t about to tell me she liked Rod.
“It was okay.” Something in her voice was tentative.
I couldn’t decide whether to be worried that something bad had happened or elated at her ambivalence.
“He seems like an okay guy,” she went on.
“Where’d he take you?” I did my best to ask with the curiosity of a friend.
For now, I would compartmentalize my feelings. I could do it long enough to see how Violet really felt about how things had gone. It didn’t escape me, how going on your first date after your husband passed away would be a big step for anybody. The part of me that didn’t want to sabotage any man who even looked at her the way I saw her wanted her to be happy one day.
“He took me fishing. On Sky Lake.”
My incredulity couldn’t be helped. “You went fishing in that ?”
I was secretly pleased that the outfit she wore hadn’t been too sexy. Don’t get me wrong—Violet would look delicious in a burlap sack, and the sweater dress she wore flattered her. But it was a far cry from anything you’d think of for catching fish.
“He went fishing. I watched.”
I blinked. “Let me get this straight. His idea of showing a woman a good time was making you watch him catch your dinner?” I tried not to let my triumph show on my face, but it was hard. Dates were all about connection. Even I knew that—and I hadn’t been on a date in years. That fact alone told me this guy had zero game.
“It was…nice,” she defended, her voice unenthused.
I did a mental fist pump as I hummed in understanding, using my listening voice. “Mmm-hmm…”
“He built us a fire, set me up with a chair, made sure I was comfortable while he caught our dinner.”
I didn’t like the idea of her going with a stranger to a remote, wooded location. Shit. I watched true crime.
“How was the fish?” I resisted the urge to ask her for a detailed description of the full menu. You could tell a lot about a man based on what he served for dinner.
“It was good. Simple. Very fresh but just seasoned with salt and pepper.”
I tried to tamp it down, but suspected I looked a bit triumphant. All of this new information had me pleased. This guy was an obvious amateur. Judging from how quickly she’d followed me inside, there had been no goodnight kiss. And on the off chance that there had been, I would bet my whole, entire farm that said kiss hadn’t been any good.
“How were the kids?” she finally asked, and I rolled with the change of subject.
“The kids were fine.” I didn’t mention that I’d covered for her when the ever-perceptive Bri had asked which friend Mommy was going out with. “We made fruity krispies when we got back to the house. Neither one tried to draw out bedtime. Trey got right to sleep.”
“I mean it, Chase. Thanks for watching them.” Her face was lovely and her gaze was sincere. A few simple words from her—one glance—was never too little to remind me how I felt.
“Like I said. It’s not babysitting when it’s family.”