Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“I acted a little out of pocket today,” he says carefully.
My brows shoot to the ceiling. That’s not what I expected.
“I was surprised to see you, and I didn’t handle myself very well.” He slides his hands down his legs again. “I think we both got fiery and should’ve approached the situation more calmly.”
Okay … “Well, you make me fiery when you accuse me of being a bad person.”
“I didn’t do that.”
“You did.”
He sits back in his chair. The legs squeak with the movement.
I study him, picking up on his frustration, which seems higher than mine. His right leg bounces to a beat I can’t hear. He folds his hands on his lap, his thumbs flicking each other back and forth.
There’s a slight, so freaking slight, softness about Chase that I feel the fight dissipating from my body.
“Let’s not argue,” I say, sitting back too. “You’re right. You didn’t handle yourself very well. And, honestly, in retrospect, I didn’t handle myself the best either.”
He stills, and the corners of his lips turn slightly to the ceiling. “Was that an apology?”
“Was yours?”
He shrugs.
I shrug too.
Then, at the same time, we both chuckle.
The relief I feel from this small, simple action is massive. My shoulders relax, and the muscle across the back of my neck eases. The heaviness of a few minutes ago lifts—even if only a bit.
Chase bends forward. His body angles toward mine, giving me an unobstructed view of his face. I wonder if it’s intentional—if he wants to permit me to see him openly.
To see the clarity. The caution. The … hope?
“If I made you feel any way, I didn’t mean to,” he says.
I lift a brow and smirk.
The dimple in his chin deepens as he fights a smile.
“Well, if I made you feel any sort of way … I meant to,” I say, grinning.
The air between us shifts. It almost feels natural.
Chase chuckles. “You’re a piece of work. Do you know that?”
“It’s been said.” I take a napkin out of the dispenser and fiddle with it. “So what brought you all the way over to The Wet Whistle?”
He rolls his head around his neck. His eyes never leave mine.
“The grilled cheese is good if you want some lunch,” I say to keep the conversation going. I don’t want to lose whatever rapport we’ve established.
“I’m not here for a sandwich.”
“Oh. Why are you here?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “I need you to reconsider.”
“Reconsider what?”
“I need you to reconsider working for me.”
What?
My eyes widen, and I drop the napkin. I wait for him to recant. Or laugh. Or … something. But the longer we sit at the table surrounded by patrons enjoying their cheeseburgers and persimmon pudding, the clearer it becomes that his words were a complete sentence.
Chase sighs. “I want you to come and work for me.”
“What happened to all that you can’t trust me bullshit?”
“It was bullshit.”
I wait for him to expound, but unsurprisingly, he doesn’t.
“Why did you do all of that, then? Why did you make such a big deal if you’re going to circle back this fast? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I was concerned.”
“And you’re not now?”
His jaw sets into a hard line. “Can’t you just say yes?”
“Come on, Chase. Do you think I’ll say yes and skip off to your house with stars in my eyes?”
He rolls his eyes.
“I think—for your daughter’s well-being more than anything else—that if we were to come to an agreement, we need to clear the air,” I say. “I’ll be in your house for a few weeks. We can’t devolve into bickering every time we turn around. I, for one, don’t have the energy for it. Two, it’s not good for Kennedy.”
He smiles. The bastard finally gives me a genuine smile. It was so worth the wait.
The movement brightens his face, making him look five years younger. There’s a playfulness that I didn’t expect, a warmth that seeps into my soul by proxy. From his smile alone, I can imagine him sitting with a beer and telling stories from days gone by.
It feels so good to be on the receiving end of his smile that I have to look away.
“I just want to make sure that we can get along,” I say, studying the plaque on the wall commemorating the local coal mine like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “I don’t want to feel weird.”
“What do you want from me then?”
I look at him again. I’ll answer you. “I want two things.”
“Spit them out.”
Ignore that. “First, since you’ve apologized for being a dick already, I want your assurance that you won’t be a jerk again. I’m not going to do this if you’re going to have a bad attitude. I don’t need it.”
He starts to speak, then reconsiders. “I won’t be a jerk.”
That was easier than I anticipated.
“What’s the second thing?” he asks, his brows pulled together.