I like it way more than I should that she didn’t.
“The quitting I was referring to was about the time I worked at a pancake house when I was a teenager. I only lasted two hours and forty-five minutes.”
Erin throws her head back and laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. A sound I want to keep hearing over and over. Somehow, it makes me comfortable enough to be a little honest with her.
“I’m currently out on injury,” I find myself saying voluntarily.
Not exactly the whole truth. But not a full lie, either. On paper, I am out on injury.
“Are you alright?” she asks, immediate concern coating her gentle features.
“Yeah,” I say, the curve of my lip is weak. I don’t tell her how much it’s messing with my head, or how uncertain I am about the future. But I realize there’s a part of me that wants to, that being around Erin makes me want to share things, things I’ve kept buried for too long.
It’s foreign but…freeing.
“Do you have plans tomorrow?” I ask her.
Hesitation envelopes her face. The war raging behind her pupils is evident as I wait for her to answer.
“Just lunch plans with Brodie and Bella.”
“Can I come, too?”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you tagged along.”
A pang of disappointment hits.
She doesn’t get it yet. Not that I should expect her to. I haven’t even told her how much I’m enjoying spending time with her. But two days in a row? It’s a start. So, I consider that a W.
Spendingtime with Chase has been a breath of fresh air, a book I never want to end.
My mantra to keep my mother’s voice from reaching me still appears to be working. So far she hasn’t managed to infiltrate my thoughts since meeting Chase, and I want to keep it that way.
Desperately.
But I know I need to be on high alert.
The chalet’s location comes into view as we round a corner on the street. It’s a brand-new place that opened earlier this week, built by a group of college friends. The decor is simple yet elegant, all natural wood and cozy nicknacks. It’s giving mountain retreat vibes; the kind of place you’d take a ski lift to get to. It’s in a big area away from everything else but close enough to see what’s around. I’d love to see it during the night.
The four of us are shown to our seats by a waitress. Wicker baskets filled to the brim with bread sit at the center of the table, and water glasses are already filled and waiting for us.
I notice a group of guys who I’m guessing are the owners of this gorgeous joint, are split off and shaking hands with guests.
One of them turns in our direction, and his gaze catches on me. He holds it a beat too long before looking away, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
“Hey there, I’m Matt. Part owner of Napkin Scribbles. Just want to say thank you on behalf of myself and the boys forchoosing us to host you this afternoon. It—holy shit balls—you’re Chase Harper,” he blurts.
Chase stretches his hand out as if this is no big deal.
“Nice to meet you, man. This is an amazing establishment.”
“I can’t believe a Tornado is sitting at Napkin Scribbles.” Matt gloats proudly.
Chase chuckles. “You’re a fan then?”
“Oh, the biggest.”
Matt turns to me. “I was hoping this would be one of those once in a million, lucky situations where you’re just a group of friends, and I could shoot my shot and get your number. But, um…” he gestures at Chase, “even my restaurant can’t compete with that.”
