Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
CHASE
“ M y lady.”
I made a huge show of bowing deeply as I helped Bri get out of the backseat. I’d just opened up the back door of my Tesla, the doors that Bri happened to love. She had already unbuckled herself from her car seat and smoothed down her dress.
“My lord,” she said as she took my hand, allowing herself to be escorted from the car. After I let her close the door with the key remote, I offered my elbow and walked her to her front stoop.
“I had a lovely time with you tonight,” I said to her sincerely. “Thank you for letting me come with you. Now, what do you say we go inside and tell your momma all about how it was?”
Bri nodded and I used one of the other keys on my ring to open Violet’s front door. I knew I wouldn’t find her alone. Jules had watched Trey that night and her car was already gone. But a big, yellow Hummer sat in the drive.
The second we got inside, Bri ran through the foyer and toward the kitchen, the natural place she might find her mom. It occurred to me for the first time that both Bri and I might encounter something that would be detrimental for both of us to see. What was Rodney doing inside? Worse than that, what were the two of them doing together? Maybe walking right in hadn’t been such a good idea.
I was relieved to find that Violet and Rodney were fully clothed, and in the kitchen rather than on the couch or—even worse—the one place I didn’t want to think about at all—the bedroom. I knew in my rational mind that Violet was cautious of her kids knowing she was dating. Logically, knew she would never jeopardize that. But the way I felt having to see her with Rodney was anything but logical.
Violet appeared to be putting something away. A lot of somethings, from the looks of it. She was loading something in the drawer of her freezer and had a cooler out. It was an odd thing to be doing upon one’s return from a date.
“Hey, Vi. Hey there, Rodney.”
I hugged Vi and gave her a kiss on the cheek even as Bri was glued to one of her sides, then moved on to shake hands with Rodney. I still didn’t like him, but I still had to be civil to the guy.
“Looks like you’re feeling better since last week. Glad to see it,” I remarked.
“Well, I got lucky,” Rodney said. “Though I did have to go back down there on Monday, and have a talk with the manager of that rodeo. That mechanical bull—there was something wrong with it. The way it threw me off, it wasn’t safe. They’re lucky I’m not a litigious man. I might have sued.”
“That’s funny.” I made sure to sound more curious than sarcastic. “Seemed safe when I rode it a minute before you did.”
Rodney glared openly at me. Violet threw me a look.
“I’m glad for the rodeo’s sake that you showed mercy. I’ve always found that to be a good quality in a man.”
Neither of them looked convinced by my recovery compliment. Violet changed the subject, clearly wanting the pissing contest to end. Instead, she turned her attention to Bri.
“Did you have fun, baby?”
“Everything was amazing! You’ll never guess what kind of cake they had! It was strawberry shortcake and they gave us punch. They had big thrones for us to sit on and they gave me my own tiara and all my friends saw me in my dress and did you know that Chase can really dance?”
Violet laughed richly—in a way that she rarely did. I loved to see her like this. “He sent me a picture of you sitting in your thrones and, yes, I did know Chase can dance.”
She looked over at me then, her eyes still warm and alight with joy. It made me remember earlier days when we’d been a lot younger, parties we’d been to where we had fun dancing as friends.
I hadn’t only barraged her with photos so she’d be able to join in on the fun. I couldn’t let her have too much fun on her date, though it searched me what she was still doing going out with Rodney. After the way he’d bitched and moaned on that gurney over a non-injury that had been born of true stupidity, I’d figured Violet would just say no. I’d casually mentioned to her that I’d called up my buddy at the Marysville Hospital—an ER doc I knew back from my days in the fire service—to tell him I’d been at the scene and wanted to follow up on Rodney’s status. It turned out that nothing was wrong with the guy. He’d been examined and X-rayed—surveyed and scanned—and they hadn’t found a scratch.
“I want to wear this dress again, Mommy. Can we go out tomorrow morning, maybe to a fancy brunch and you can put on a fancy dress and Trey can wear his church clothes and Chase can wear his suit?” Bri turned her attention to me. “Chase looks good.”
Violet chuckled at the way that Bri drew out the word. A bit embarrassed, I scratched the back of my neck, at a loss for a graceful way to take the compliment.
“Yeah,” Violet agreed, her voice quieting some. “Chase does clean up nice.”
She and I looked at each other a little too long before she appeared to remember herself and answer Bri’s question directly. She turned her attention back to her daughter. “You can wear your dress again, sugar. But brunch tomorrow isn’t in the cards. I’ll bet Chase is tired from all that dancing. It seems like you really wore him out.”
“I think we wore each other out,” I said good-naturedly. “We’ll both sleep well tonight.”
“On that note…” Violet used her mom voice. “It’s time for you to go to bed.”
But Bri didn’t walk in the direction of her bedroom. Instead, she ran from Violet to me and hurtled into my arms for a final hug. She was small, but she was a nice, tight hugger. I hugged back, a little choked up, filled up with the knowledge that this was a night I would never forget. Then, she killed me when she said in her sweet voice, “I love you, Uncle Chase.”
It took me a second to reply. “I love you, too, shortcake.”
The days after the dance found me busy again. Cody had to go out of town, which left me to myself with all my standard duties at the farm. On top of all of that, my investigation into what had really happened that day with the Cranston Fire was relentless. I farmed by day and drove to Bandit Lake, to meet with Forrest, by night.
All of it added up to me not seeing a lot of Violet. A typical day on the farm with a normal workload gave me time to drop in. I missed our normal rhythms—me bringing her lunch and having time to stay and eat with her, me dropping by to see Jameson, but really just wanting an excuse to spend time with her.
Not seeing enough of Violet that week was half of the reason why I now stood on her front stoop. I rang the bell this time, since I was unannounced. I had it on good authority that she would be home given the situation.
“Chase! What are you doing here?”
Violet swung open the door, looking surprised to see me. I held two insulated bags, one full of hot food I’d brought from home, and another reserved for items that needed chilling.
“Hey, Vi.”
She stepped aside so that I could come in.
“You didn’t hear? Girls’ night in is canceled. Bri and Trey are sick.”
“No, I heard.” I proceeded inside anyway and she followed me to the kitchen, where I set down my bag and started pulling out Tupperwares full of food.
“Jules did call me. Told me not to pick her up. Told me the kids had a stomach bug. I figured I’d come over and help.”
Violet looked at me like I’d lost my marbles. “Do you mean, help get yourself sick? If you stay here, you’re just gonna get what they have. And, it was sweet of you to cook, but they can’t eat.”
“I didn’t cook for them.” I gave her a look that said, “have you met me?” “I’m going to make chilaquiles for you.”
I chuckled when her eyes widened with excitement. She loved her children, but their tastes could be a bit bland. Family meals were flavorful, but not spicy. But Violet was like me. She liked her food with a little kick. With the kids not eating, I could make her one of her favorite dishes. And I knew how to make it just right.
“But it’s not even breakfast,” she gushed with the delight of a person who absolutely wouldn’t let that stop her.
“Chilaquiles are delicious any time of day.”
Something was happening to me lately. I was losing my grip on the pretense that I only had friendly feelings toward Violet. I steered clear of the answer Man Enough Chase wanted to give—that I’d be happy to serve it to her for breakfast if I got to stay the night.
“Now, let me pour you a drink,” I insisted. “It’ll only take me a few minutes to put it all together. And I’m guessing you could use a rest. It’s still Thursday night, even if the kids are sick. But there’s no reason me and you can’t watch Man Enough .”
I felt only slightly dastardly when I reached into the chilled bag for the cocktail I’d already prepared—a vodka-spiked ginger limeade that I’d whipped up at home. When Jules had called with the cancellation, I’d immediately seen my chance for some adult time.
Telling the other guys I was in love with Violet had lifted a weight. Making the conscious decision to fight for her had done more than make me feel hopeful and determined—it had made me feel like a man in love. And the desire was getting stronger to spend time with her, and just her.
I poured our drinks over ice in a mason jar and garnished it with candied ginger. She sat on a stool at her kitchen island and took an indulgent sip, making what I thought of as her “I needed this” face. Being part of her everyday—doing small things to make it better—now that was my idea of domestic bliss. So was coming home to each other and talking about our days, or just shooting the shit while we did everyday things. Her companionship was worth a lot to me.
As I plated the thick tortilla chips, interspersed them with pan-fresh flat-scrambled eggs, I began to pour on two different hot sauces. We got to talking about food, and where the best Mexican restaurant in Knoxville could be found. I said something about a hole-in-the wall gem on an obscure back street I described in detail. She said something about a taco truck I’d heard of, but never managed to catch.
“You know, we ought to go out sometime. Check out that taco truck.” I had practiced saying that first part casually, in front of the mirror and in the car. But just now, I had said it on impulse. The natural course of conversation had given me the perfect in. But good timing didn’t diminish the enormity of what I was suggesting. My heart thundered so strongly, I was sure that Violet could hear.
“The kids are older now,” I pointed out. “And easier to leave with Jules. You left Trey with her just last week.”
I hoped the smile I threw her achieved my goal of looking playful, especially given my nerves. And I hoped my quip would lighten things up. It was an open secret that Jules wasn’t the best babysitter. But, the older kids got, the easier it was to watch them. Suggesting a casual outing was a good first step to something more.
“I’ll go with you to the taco truck.” It was a simple enough thing for her to say—but the way she said it was kind of shy, almost like it meant the same thing to her as it did to me. Wanting neither to overplay my hand, nor to break out into a stupid grin, I took the victory and turned our talk to Bri and Trey.
“I take it the kids are sleeping?”
“For now.” Violet looked skeptical that she thought it would last.
“Who got it first?”
“I’ll give you one guess.” She gave me a look to tell me I already knew the answer.
Trey was a generally clean kid, but he would lick anything that had food on it. His dinner plate. A bowl with the dregs of baking batter. His fingers and hands. Trey was the reason why Violet was never more than ten feet away from a bottle of hand sanitizer.
“Trey was sick in the car on the way home,” she recounted. “We came in and I put him to bed, but it took me an hour to clean the car. Not ten minutes after I sat down to rest, Bri was in the bathroom. It was literally—and figuratively—a mess.”
I gave her a pitying look. “If they’re sick again, I can see to them,” I offered gently.
“Chase.” There was always so much in the way she said my name, and to how different she made it sound depending on what she meant. This particular uttering of my name conveyed the familiar sentiment: “Chase. You do too much.” But I was used to standing up to that.
“Come on, now, Vi,” I protested. “You know I’ve seen it all. Nothing that happens today could be worse than Diapergate.”
The laughter she broke into at the recollection was immediate and pure. One day, when Trey was a toddler, he’d gotten hold of a bag of sugar—he’d pilfered it from the kitchen table while I was baking with Bri. By the time we’d discovered him, the mess of granules that surrounded him plus a thick trail of sugary drool sliding down his shirt told us he’d been eating it a fistful at a time. The fact that he was actively eating a handful when we spotted him was a clue. At the time, we’d had a good laugh. Then, we’d seen the aftermath and learned the truth the hard way—that eating straight up sugar had consequences. Specifically, explosive diarrhea.
“I still have the pictures.” Violet chuckled.
“Pictures? Plural?” I laughed.
“That picture I sent you with him on the floor, with the poop coming out of his diaper? That was the day after the sugar.”
Now I was really laughing. I hadn’t thought of that picture in a while but it was a total classic. Trey sat on the floor in nothing but a diaper, smiling the biggest, broadest grin up at Violet, unaware that he had a whole mess flooding out the back.
“Man, you’ve been through a lot with those kids.”
“We’ve been through a lot, Chase.” Violet got a little serious. “You’ve been here every step of the way.”
“Well…” I didn’t know how to take the compliment. She’d been giving more of those herself, lately—a fact I didn’t want to read too far into. “Raising kids isn’t easy. And it isn’t meant to be done alone.”
“You know…” Violet looked pensive now. “Losing Todd made me feel a lot of things. But alone was never one of them. I owe a lot of that to you.”
Sitting down to watch Man Enough in her living room a few minutes later, things felt uncommonly quiet. Watching the show alone was something we hadn’t ever done. Despite the couch that was frontal to the TV being wide open, we still gravitated toward the love seat off to the side, eating our dinner over the ottoman before stacking the plates on the coffee table and putting up our feet.
Tonight was a big night on the show. We’d reached the semifinals. Only four suitors remained in the game, Marcus and Eric among them. The weekly challenges had gone from showy and extravagant to far more pragmatic. It was less about whether the suitors were man enough to chop wood, do dirty jobs, or catch a fish with their bare hands, and more about whether they were emotionally prepared for an adult relationship—whether they had the emotional intelligence and maturity to talk about their feelings and admit when they were wrong.
Tonight’s challenge was straightforward: were the suitors man enough to cry? Marcus, of course, had passed with flying colors. Only Chelsea knew what the challenge was. It was to ask them to tell her about their most painful memory. Marcus had spoken so passionately and sorrowfully about losing his childhood beagle, named Daisy, the man even had me crying. Marcus was still my hands-down favorite. He was so genuine and heartfelt, it was hard not to fall in love with the guy.
He even carried a handkerchief. Now, that was a boss move, one that I might have to adopt myself. Granted, it was usually Marcus himself who had a need for his hankie. But when Chelsea cried at his sad story, he gallantly gave it to her.
Now it was Eric’s turn. Unsurprisingly, he was having trouble. Not that there was a single right way to show sadness and grief—not that crying was the only true litmus test for emotional range and vulnerability. But Eric…he didn’t even seem capable of connecting with something sad. The conversation between him and Chelsea went around and around, with Chelsea trying to get him to talk about his life and the kinds of sadnesses and disappointments that had shaped him. But Eric was clearly struggling. It was more than a little fascinating to watch.
Violet and I had been relatively quiet given the somber nature of the show. She also seemed a little sleepy. Who could blame her after the way things had been? It hadn’t been the easiest past twelve hours, not with all that had happened with the kids.
“Can I ask you something?” I finally said when I could contain the question no more. Her hummed reply leaned affirmative.
“What’s special about Eric? I mean, what does he have that the other guys don’t?”
When she didn’t answer right away, I thought maybe she had nodded off. When I tore my gaze away from the television to confirm my suspicions, I found her to be awake. She spoke softly, but in earnest.
“Eric isn’t the best and he may not be the brightest, but he’s also just…” She paused. “Safe. I mean, with him, Chelsea doesn’t have to try too hard.”
“I’m sorry. You’re gonna have to explain to me how a guy who’s obsessed with chasing after wild boar in the woods constitutes safe. It’s like he’s never heard of a supermarket. Why would you want to be with a guy who’s always got something to prove rather than the guy who proves himself every day by just showing up? By just being there and being steady. What makes Eric so special? I just don’t understand.”
Violet was gracious enough not to mention that I had just switched from “she” to “you.”
Now that I’d asked the question, I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer. I didn’t want to ruin what I desperately hoped we were moving toward.
“It’s not about that kind of safety,” she finally said. “Sure, Eric’s stupid. But he’s also pretty harmless. Beating his chest and showing off…that’s just who he is. He’s safe because he’s the kind of guy who it’s easy to not fall too deeply in love with. If she fell in love with Marcus, well…”
Violet paused but I hung on her every word.
“Loving someone who really sees you? And has the power to break your heart? Loving a person like that—it’s scary.”
For a long second, I debated whether to speak or to let it lie. Ultimately, I settled on the latter, but I held her more tightly to me. Whereas my arm had originally been draped across the back of the love seat, at some point, it had closed in around her shoulder. Now I pulled her into me. She laid her head on my chest.
The show continued as we looked on silently. Soon, Violet did fall asleep, leaving me awake to think on all she’d said. But even that didn’t last for long. Between the alcohol in the limeade and pulling double duty this week and the emotional turmoil that came from fixating on her impending departure, I was exhausted.
It also felt a little too good to be lounging next to her like this. Her head had moved from my shoulder to my chest. To feel the weight of her body against my side, and the softness of her skin where my hand rested against her arm was intoxicating. Put together with the rhythm of her breathing and the smell of her hair, it was sensory bliss. But this was more than the sublime intimacy of holding her in my arms. Being with Violet always gave me a sense of peace.
I drifted into the kind of sleep that could only be called delicious—I was asleep, but not—drifting somewhere in between awareness and surrender. I was relieved of conscious thought; at points, I might even have been dreaming. But through it all, I never lost consciousness of Violet—never stopped feeling her ensconced within my arms.
Somehow, in the night, our bodies grew closer. Between the love seat and the width of the ottoman, slanting sideways, we could both sort of lie. When all was said and done, I was all the way in the left corner with my legs stretched out in front of me. Violet had pulled her legs onto the love seat and curled her body into me.
At some point, my consciousness rose. I emerged somewhat from my deep half-sleep to find that Violet herself was awake, or at least wakeful enough to be gazing up at me. I tipped my chin downward, to better see her face. For a moment, we just studied each other, breathing together in synchronicity. The TV had long since turned itself off, leaving the room dark.
“Chase.”
I saw in her eyes what she wanted before the rest of her extended an invitation. Seconds after she said my name, she pulled herself farther up my chest and tipped up her chin. She lifted her face toward mine until our noses touched and tangled, but it was me who made the final move to capture her lips.
I’d never been one to believe in fireworks. For me, kissing was an art that was best done slowly—something that needed to be savored and enjoyed. I delighted in the practice immensely, but it had always felt comfortable and enticing, a pleasant teaser for what might be to come.
But this…it was all-consuming. It wasn’t lazy. It wasn’t nice. It wasn’t just a better version of every other kiss I’d ever had because this time, I got to share it with Violet. This was a head-to-toe experience I felt down to my bones. Kissing Violet was a revelation. It was shocking proof that, after more than three decades living on this earth—I could feel something completely new.
No. Not just new. This new feeling was essential—something I honestly didn’t think I could live without. Something that was at once perfect but not enough. Violet’s soft lips against mine…the luxurious sliding of our tongues. The fusing of our bodies, as if we were trying to climb inside one another. We were urgent, but not frantic as we drank each other in. It ended with her breaking the kiss—her hand on my chest and my name on her lips again.
But I didn’t want her to say anything—I didn’t want her to break the magic of what had happened. I didn’t want the real world, or any of the real implications of this to encroach. The only thing I wanted in that moment was for her to feel.
At some point during our kiss, my hand had found its way into her hair. Hoping to calm her, I smoothed it now. Her eyes softened and we shared a long gaze before she rested her head back upon my chest. That time, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.