He didn't pretend not to notice. His eyes caught mine, silver flicker and all, and his mouth curved like he'd already won every argument we'd ever have.
I wanted to say something cool, but my tongue stuck. Damn it.
The twins sprawled on the couch, with Huey dead asleep at Mere's feet and Lola perched on the piano bench. It looked almost normal, if you overlooked thefact that my daughters were dissecting the night's snack inventory like the fate of the world was at stake.
Mere said, "I'm not eating popcorn if it's burned." She glanced at Fifi, who grinned back at her.
Fifi waved at Livia in a very authoritative way. "Movie night hasrules, Grandma. No texting."
Livia didn't miss a beat, just smoothed her skirt and smiled. "I assure you, darling, nothing on this phone could possibly be more interesting than A Nightmare before Christmas." She dropped the phone into her pocket. "But, if you must know, I'm simply too popular."
Mere side-eyed Fifi. "You get, like, fifty notifications every hour. Does it ever stop?"
Livia's nose wrinkled. "I manage. Tonight, I'm all yours. No distractions. What shall we bake to go with the movie?"
The twins huddled instantly, dropping the phone issue as if it never happened, and started volleying suggestions. Brownie bites. Cinnamon knots. At one point, "spicy cheese popcorn," and a side debate on what exactly ‘spicy' meant.
Chance watched it unfold, arms loose at his sides, like he wanted to memorize every micro-expression in the room. I tried to memorize him right back. He was so at ease around my girls.
Our girls.
He caught me watching, and winked. It was a blink-and-miss kind of move, but it made my cheeks light up anyway.
I cleared my throat, determined to play it cool. "You ready?"
He nodded, and then, casual as could be, extended his hand, palm up. I froze. For a blink, I thought about the million times I'd wished for this, then decided not to be weird about it and just let him lead.
We said quick goodbyes. Livia promised to keep the house from burning down. Fifi shot us a double thumbs up. And Mere grinned, already knee-deep in movie night plans, and somehow both girls made it sound like "have fun" was the world's most loaded dare.
Once we were outside, the night slapped me awake. Frigid air and moonlight, clear and sharp as glass. The world looked smaller, but in a good way, like nothing mattered except the sound of gravel under our boots.
Chance opened the truck door for me, which was something no man had ever done for me before. It caught me off guard. I tried to thank him without sounding like a Hallmark rerun, and he replied with a quiet, "Wouldn't be right otherwise."
The cab was warm already. He'd turned it onbefore I came down. I slid in, smoothing my dress, and tried not to freak out about the evening.
Then I saw it.
Right in the center console, plugged into the cigarette lighter, was a charger I'd never seen before. Not a plain black or navy one that came standard with men like Chance. This was decorated in neon stripes. Electric pink, seafoam green, a little shimmer light that changed in a pattern. And it had 2 cords coming out of it. Not one. Chance had picked out this charger on purpose, and the only possible customers for it were currently back in the house, raising hell over brownie bites.
It was small, technically meaningless, but it hit me hard. He'd seen the need. He'd gone out, bought the thing, and there it was, already installed, just waiting for the twins whenever they rode with him.
My insides did something wild, like a wolf howl and a sob had collided and decided to set up shop right behind my ribs. I reached for my seatbelt, mostly to distract myself from the fact that I kind of wanted to cry over a ten-dollar phone accessory.
Chance slid into the driver's seat.
"New charger?" I asked, as casually as I could manage.
Chance shrugged, shifting into gear. "Saw it at thehardware store. Figured the girls would like it. Didn't want anyone fighting over who gets to charge first." He hesitated, then flicked a glance my way. "If it's too gaudy, I can swap it out. Or buy a second one. They had a bunch."
I shook my head, too quick. "No, it's perfect. I mean, they'll like it." I swallowed, hard. "Thank you."
I watched the edge of his jaw as he drove. So calm and sure, like nothing could rattle him. Some guys would've made a show out of the gift, or worse, bragged about "how thoughtful" they were. Not him. Just quiet, as if picking up little things for the girls was as natural as breathing.
If someone had told me last month that the person who'd crack open my walls would do it with a teenage-girl charger and a half smile, I would've called them insane.
But that was the thing about Chance Meyer. Whether it was a cinnamon roll or a custom charger, he noticed the details that made ordinary life run better.
I looked out the window. The moon was bright on the frost-brushed roadside, painting the world in dark blue and silver streaks, but I could still see that little charger, glowing like a promise in the dark.
