“I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Yeah.”
“Three times in one week,” Chase said slowly. “I’m no expert in bar etiquette, but I’m fairly certain that qualifies as ‘regular.’”
“We don’t usually declare someone a regular until they’ve hit five visits. It’s in the employeehandbook.”
“You have an employee handbook? For guests?”
“No, but if we did, that would be in it.”
Chase laughed, and his whole face lit up.
Something in my chest shifted.
This was nice.
This was really,reallynice.
“So,” I said, “what brings you back? Besides the mediocre beer selection and acceptable atmosphere?”
Chase drummed his fingers against the table like he was deciding something. It was the first time that night he looked out of sorts. No, he lookednotin control.
“Honestly?” he said.
“Always.”
“You.”
The word hung between us.
Simple. Direct. Disarming.
“Me,” I squeaked more than repeated.
“You.” Chase wasn’t looking away or retreating into lawyerly professionalism or making a joke to deflect. “I’ve been thinking about you since I bumped into you on the sidewalk. And then you were here, and the food was incredible, and I thought maybe—” He stopped and sucked in a breath. “I don’t do this, the flirting thing. I worktoo much, and I’m terrible at it, and I usually just avoid the whole guy-dating-disaster situation; but Diego—he’s my best friend—keeps telling me I need to try talking to people instead of just working myself to death. So, here I am, talking and . . . trying . . . I guess.”
I stared at him.
He’d been thinking about me.
For weeks?
“I’m terrible at flirting, too,” I admitted. “In case that wasn’t obvious from my incredibly smooth ‘so how was your food’ pickup line.”
“I thought that was charming.” Then his brow scrunched. “You were trying to pick me up?”
“No. No! I mean maybe. Not pick you up as in that . . . I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to do . . . that . . . with a hot guy . . . I mean you . . . not that you’re not hot because . . . well fuck a fucking duck. I’m making a total mess again.” I covered my face with my hands as Chase’s gentle laughter rumbled across the table to wrap me in its warmth.
“I think you’re adorable.”
I peeked from between my fingers. “You’re either very kind or you have low standards.”
“Probably both.” Chase was chuckling again. “But I wasn’t lying. I’ve been coming back here because—” He gestured vaguely. “This placeis great . . . and for the first time in months, I’ve had somewhere to go that isn’t work or home or Diego’s house for mandatory friendship maintenance . . . and, well, there’s you.”
“Mandatory friendship maintenance?” I latched onto the safest subject I could find.
“He makes me come to dinner once a month so I don’t lose touch with reality—his words, not mine.”
