Page 33 of Under the Radar

As I was mulling it over, there was a knock on my door. I looked down. I was in my nightgown—a ridiculous white cotton one I loved with long sleeves and lace. But I was covered and decent, so I called out for Chase to come in.

He opened the door and leaned on the frame, gazing at me for a moment.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” I responded.

He scratched at his chin, a habit I had noticed he had whenever he was nervous.

“So, I think we had our first fight,” he said at the same time as I blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

We both laughed, the sound slightly brittle.

“I shouldn’t have slammed the door. I didn’t really mean to…” I trailed off as he shook his head.

“I don’t bring women home, Hannah. Ever. I wouldn’t do that.”

“It’s your house,” I reminded him.

“You live here as well. I respect you too much to do that.”

I strove for levity. “So, you’ll go back to theirs, then.”

He shook his head. “I don’t do that. I don’t sleep around.”

“Me either.”

For a moment, silence surrounded us. He nodded. “Glad we cleared the air.”

“Me too.”

He paused, looking as if he wanted to say something.

“How’s the new bed?” I asked.

“Big.”

I laughed. “Comfy?”

“Yeah, pretty good.” He looked around. “You’re all settled, I see.” He indicated the pictures on the walls and the curtains I had hung. “Looks, ah, pretty.”

“It is. I’m glad I don’t have to—” I cut myself off. “It’s nice.”

“Don’t have to what?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

He frowned.

“Move things around. I got them all in the right places,” I ad-libbed. “No paint touch-ups.”

“You can’t leave,” he murmured. “You were thinking of it, weren’t you?”

“No,” I insisted.

“You were,” he breathed out. “You were thinking you should leave.” He shook his head, his voice panicked. “Don’t leave. Please. You can’t, Hannah. I like having you here. I was in a bad mood, I said a couple of things. I’m sorry.”

I held up my hand. “I’m not leaving, Chase. I like it here. I’m sorry too.”