Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
VIOLET
I need to buy more detergent.
I added a mental note to the to-do list that was as bottomless as my laundry, all while holding the overturned bottle over the receptacle long enough for the dregs of the thick liquid to slide out.
I also need more hand cream , I noted, as I took in the slight ashiness of my skin. Late October in Tennessee was dry and I was starting to see the evidence. The percussion of small feet across the kitchen floor foreshadowed the arrival of one of my children. I was in the garage. It was wide enough for two cars, but home to only one. Living in a small house meant I needed the space, not only for the washing machine but for everything else I didn’t want to cram inside.
“Mommy!” An excited-looking Bri appeared. “Uncle Chase is here!”
“Uncle Chase comes here every Saturday.” I downplayed her enthusiasm despite my own excitement to see him.
“But he didn’t come in his truck.”
“You’ve been in Chase’s other car.”
“But, Mom!” She shortened “Mommy” to “Mom” only when I was being particularly obtuse. “He didn’t drive any of his cars. He drove his motorcycle.”
“That can’t be right.” I said it mostly to myself. I hadn’t seen him on his bike in years. Plus, if he came up on a motorcycle, I should have heard it. On second thought, I wasn’t too sure. The dryer was running and the washer was already dispensing water. It could be that my appliances had drowned out the sound.
“I didn’t hear a motorcycle,” I said cautiously to Bri. “Are you sure?”
In lieu of answering, she stood on her toes to press the button that would open the door to the garage.
The heavy door rose slowly, revealing my driveway inch by inch. I watched in rapt attention, not sure what might come into view. When I got an eyeful of Chase, my jaw went slack. He really had arrived on a motorcycle—the Harley his grandpa had given him—which I’d practically forgotten he owned.
When I’d first met him, he’d ridden it exclusively. He hadn’t even owned a car back then. Seeing him on it now brought memories flooding back. Suddenly, I was twenty-two again with my arms around his solid body, the wind whipping around me as he took me on my first ride.
When I’d first climbed on, I’d expected him to take me on a short trip around the block, a literal interpretation of his offer to take me for a spin. But he’d quickly abandoned the stop-and-go traffic of downtown and taken us on a beautiful mountain road. For a second, I could smell his leather jacket, and feel the vibration of the engine beneath me, along with the heady mix of exhilaration and safety I’d felt on the back of his bike.
Today, he wore heavy black boots and a dark gray helmet, but I could barely focus on those. I was too busy appreciating his motorcycle suit. I didn’t know if that’s what you called the pants and jacket with the soft shell designed to protect you from the road. All I knew was, the jacket was sexy as all get-out, and the pants fit him like a glove.
Bri started running up to him as he peeled off his helmet. Once it was off, he ran a hand through his hair and—I swear to God—it went in slow motion. Trey was already outside, checking out the bike. Seeing no way not to approach now that the garage door was wide open, I put down my detergent and walked outside.
“I remember this old thing.”
Chase’s green gaze finally found mine. His eyes sparkled in the sun. “You’ve been on the back of her a few times.”
His smile gave me shivers.
“That was a million years ago.”
“Not so long as that.”
He held my gaze in a way that I didn’t expect. In a way that I wasn’t sure he ever had.
“I want to go for a ride!” Trey made active attempts to climb onto Chase’s bike.
“Sorry, buddy. You’re a few years away from that.” Chase was talking to Trey but it took seconds for him to peel his eyes off of me. “But c’mon. I’ll help you sit on it.”
No sooner did he concede to a lesser request than he plucked Trey right off his feet and set him astride the motorcycle. Bri was soon to follow. Chase removed his key and let them play. Their bodies were so light, the bike didn’t budge as they leaned to the right, and the left, pretending to zip through the streets.
“You still got plans tonight?” Chase said to me. I appreciated that he asked discreetly. I was scheduled to go out with Rod, which meant that Chase would take the kids for the afternoon and evening. My class today was halfway between Green Valley and Knoxville, and Knoxville was where Rod wanted to take me. The plan was for me to meet him there. It meant I would leave in a little while for class and not see Chase and my kids until tonight.
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “I’ve still got plans. What are y’all going to do?”
“We’ve got rodeo tickets.” Chase grinned.
I smiled for appearances’ sake, but, in truth, I was sad to be missing out.
“The kids will love that,” I praised. Going to the rodeo was one of our favorite family outings.
Chase gave a beckoning smile. “It’s not too late to cancel your plans and come with. Tatum just texted me. Said she wants to come.”
The hurt that came from the idea of the two of them alone together was swift. For a second, I actually thought about going. Petty Violet was itching to cockblock one of her best and sweetest friends. Also, I didn’t know what Rodney had planned after we met up for drinks. All he’d said was that we’d “take it from there” but I doubted anything he could serve up would be more fun than going with my kids and Chase.
“I’ll join you all another time.” I reminded myself to be resolute, to give this dating thing a real shot, to climb out of my comfort zone and resist the urge to climb Chase. Easier said than done when he turned his sexy biker energy on.
Rodney picking me up for our second date was less anxiety producing. We met in Knoxville in broad daylight. I’d driven there after my classes ended to join him for an early drink. It turned out when he said he’d wanted to “grab a beer,” his plan had been to drive us to a brewery to take a class that taught us how to make the beer ourselves.
First off, what was with this guy and working for his own sustenance? Second, making our own beer had no bearing on what we actually drank. We left with the bottles we’d made and nothing more. That was how I’d already spent two hours on this date and hadn’t even been served a drink.
At least the place had valet parking.
I thought about it as we waited for his SUV. I couldn’t decide whether Rodney was classy for taking me to an upscale home-brewing workshop or smart for suckering someone else into parking his big yellow tank.
I legitimately wondered whether he went to the post office or the grocery store in that thing, but opted not to ask. There was no such thing as asking Rodney a simple question. Even the most straightforward inquiries were met with lengthy commentary.
Not that he needed me to prompt him to talk about his Hummer, or his snowmobile, or his ATV. It was already clear that he had a penchant for impractical vehicles.
Not any less practical than a motorcycle.
I really wished my inner voice would shut up. Errant thoughts had infiltrated a peaceful afternoon, every last one of them about Chase.
I’d thought about him in the shower, and in the car, and when I should have been paying attention to my lecture. Five hours had passed since I’d seen him on a motorcycle and I was still right back there , even halfway through my date with another man. Now that they’d come back, I couldn’t let go of memories that gave me feels I hadn’t felt in a long while, memories of a version of Chase I had somehow forgotten.
How did you not see him back then?
The question came to me, unbidden. Mid-thirties Chase was a mature kind of sexy, the kind who didn’t just look good, but had all the qualities of a self-actualized human being. He was responsible and hard-working, noble and selfless, and possessing of countless practical talents. But Chase had always been an amazing guy, and seeing the bike reminded me: mid-twenties Chase had also been smoking hot.
Why didn’t twentysomething Violet date twentysomething Chase?
I’d known him months before I’d met Todd. We’d always talked easily and kept each other laughing. If he’d asked me out, I would have said yes. But he hadn’t asked me out. And I’d been young and stupid enough to buy into the idea of waiting for a man to initiate, and to be flattered when he did.
Pull yourself together, Vi. Remember, you’re on a date.
Rodney was at the wheel and we were driving now and, God help me, I was tuning him out. Last I remembered, he was talking about the time he went to Keith Urban’s house to buy a banjo. I should’ve been rapt with attention as he described the decor.
Interior design was one of my favorite things to talk about. Rodney was trying to engage me in his own way. And it wasn’t like he and I didn’t have anything in common. We both geeked out on Shark Tank and entrepreneurship. We both appreciated handcrafted wares. He just happened to have ten times more to say on every matter than I did.
But I did find my attention when I saw where we seemed to be headed. We had just passed the billboard on the side of the road. It showed a man with a lasso on a horse.
“Where did you say we were going again?” I asked with alarm.
“Cowtime Rodeo,” he answered, unfazed that I had interrupted him to ask. Then, he went right back into whatever he’d been talking about before.
“We can’t go to the rodeo.” I interrupted him again. Again, he seemed nonplussed.
“I thought you like the rodeo.” He looked genuinely surprised. “You said you did, the last time we went out.”
That was all it took to make me feel like a jerk. Rodney talked a lot, but he also listened. I had, indeed, told him I liked the rodeo on our first date. I also told him how much I loved interior design shows that took you through fabulous mansions, which was possibly why he was so busy talking about Keith Urban’s house.
“It’s just, my kids are there. And they don’t know I’m dating again. And they don’t know I’m out with you right now.”
The lightbulb over his head seemed to turn on, an indicator that he appreciated my situation.
“If we run into them—and that’s a big if—we’ll just tell them I’m your friend from work, and that you came to the rodeo to see my band.”
“Your band?” Where had he come up with something so random?
“The one I told you about last week? My buddy’s band that I play banjo in? Last time, I told you, you ought to come see us some time, and you said that sounded nice.”
“Oh, that band!” I pretended to remember, cringing inwardly for having tuned him out to such a degree.
With nothing else to say that wouldn’t make me sound like a flaky weirdo, I crossed my fingers and shut my mouth, hopeful that Rodney’s prediction would hold.
If we were there to see a band, we would be at the honky-tonk, which wasn’t a place where you saw a lot of kids. The rodeo covered a large area and, on a Saturday evening, would be mobbed with hundreds of people. If we were there for what Rodney said we were, what were the chances my kids would find their way into the bar to listen to live music? I was hoping the answer was slim to none.