Then she was gone.
And it was Chase and me.
Alone.
With Evie gone, the room became very quiet. As Chase walked around my apartment, his height was exaggerated in the compact space, and it started feeling as if the walls were closingin on me. My breathing hitched as I watched him glide through the room, not sure of the reason for his visit. He stopped at the table by my couch and touched the petal of a white rose.
“They look even better arranged in a vase.” He looked at me before gesturing back to the flowers. “Was Evie here because of these?”
He cut straight to the point.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “But all she knew was you sent them. I couldn’t tell her much else. I don’t know why. I may have if you hadn’t shown up.” My legs got all shaky as he stared at me, making me need to sit before I fell over. Once I did, I gazed up at the man who filled my thoughts each night as I lay in the bed behind me, unbeknownst to him. “Chase, why are you here?”
“Did you read the note with the flowers, Mare?”
I nodded.
“Your place is nice,” he said, changing the subject.
I laughed. Hard.
“What’s funny?” he asked.
As he continued surveying my studio apartment, I felt the urge to tidy up my almost perfectly tidy space. My place was perfect…for me. Not so much a Parker. My entire apartment could probably fit inside his foyer.
“Nothing,” I said.
He continued looking around, which didn’t take long. First, he admired the few picture frames I had on a table near the window, picking up the one of me and Evie at the beach. Then he spent a moment looking at my bed. The crisp bedding and bountiful pillows were one aspect of my space I loved most.
“It suits you. It’s exactly how I’d expect it to look,” he said, returning his attention to me.
His comment made me feel…exposed. And raw. Like he saw inside my soul simply by standing here with me.
Like he could figure out my secret. And what would he think of me if he did?
He continued looking around my space. He reached down, picking up my writing journal, and I froze.
“What’s this?” he said. Thankfully he didn’t open it.
As I walked closer to him, he handed it to me. He appeared to understand it was something of importance.
“It’s just a journal, I write sometimes.”
He left it at that.
Then he wandered back to the table, to the flowers, and found the note still tucked inside them. He took hold of it, pulling the cards slightly from their envelope.
“Well, this should explain why I’m here.” He looked at me again.
He sat next to me, taking my hand in his.
“If my brother is the only thing standing in our way, I can take care of him. He won’t be a problem, I can promise you that.” He threaded our fingers together as he spoke, rubbing the back of my hand.
If that were the only thing standing in our way, I wouldn’t be concerned either.
I couldn’t tell him. Or could I?
“I can see the wheels turning. What’s going on in your head right now? Talk to me, tell me what you’re thinking.”
