“Well, at least you won’t go hungry.” I’m making this awkward.
“So, ah, sorry I took so long. Have you been awake for a while?” Chance places down two coffees and a brown bag down on his old-worn kitchen table.
“Nope, just a bit. You didn’t have to rush out and get us breakfast, though,” I tell him. I’d say I’m not high maintenance, but he might think otherwise after the last couple of weeks.
“I would have been back sooner, but I got a call that threw me a bit off track.” Chance takes a seat at his table and pulls out the other chair, pats it for me to sit down.
My curious thoughts are louder than the crinkling of the paper bag as he retrieves what’s inside. “I hope everything is okay,” I tell him.
He lays down a few napkins and arranges an assortment of pastries. “I didn’t know what you like—other than dry, dark hamburgers, of course.”
“You don’t eat those for breakfast too?” I question with a smile.
“No, ma’am. That’s a dinner special only.”
“What’s your favorite?” I ask him, figuring at least one of the pastries is his preferred choice.
“The blueberry scone is my favorite, so I got two in case you have the same favorite.” The small smile on his face is cute and lovable.
“I would love the chocolate chip croissant,” I tell him.
We divvy up the food, and he hands me a coffee. “I got it black, but I have cream and sugar.”
“Black is good,” I tell him.
“Seriously?” Chance questions.
“Yeah, I’m weird.”
“I’d say impressive, but we’ll go with weird,” he agrees.
We eat in silence for a moment, and I take in his kitchen’s surroundings, lacking modern flair. Maybe decorating isn’t his thing. I can understand someone not wanting to waste time on something like that if they spend more time at work than at home.
“So, you didn’t answer me. Is everything okay—regarding the call you got?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Everything is okay. It’s better than okay, but I feel a little flustered.”
My face must look as confused as I feel because I have no clue what he’s going to say. “What is it?” I think I sound nervous. I shouldn’t sound worried.
“Well, you know how I told you my parents adopted me, right?” he continues.
“Yes, of course,” I tell him.
“Ever since I was about twenty, I’ve had the desire to adopt—give a child the same opportunity I had. It’s honestly been a bigger focus for me than finding a woman to share my life with.”
I may have just completely fallen for Chance, hearing his explanation, the shyness he appears to own for interest in something that most men his age might not desire. “You’re an incredible person, Chance.” My hands are resting on my chest because I’m blown away by his kind nature.
“It’s been a long road without much luck. I’m thirty years old, single, and a blue-collar worker.”
“You’re perfect,” I say without much thought.
“You don’t say?” He winks and runs his hand over mine.
“The world needs more people like you,” I tell him. I’m not trying to be funny, but he’s chuckling at me.
“Anyway, I got that call this morning—the call I’ve been waiting for, August. They have a little boy who needs a foster home.”
I’m so close to this subject that it chokes me up. Someone peeking in the windows might think I’m the one who just got this news, but hearing these stories makes me turn to mush.
