I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(38)

Maybe Chase sees how I bite my lip in contemplation, or how my eyes fill with disappointment. In any case, he ventures, “Are you looking for a place?”

I start to shake my head, and he quickly adds, “We can always negotiate on price, Kay. My first rate was lower. I’d be more than happy with that.”

I see Chase is sincere, but I can’t ask him to take less than what he will surely get for such a fantastic space. Even the higher price is a deal…for someone who can afford it.

Chase must misunderstand my reticence, for he tries to convince me. “This place is completely private, Kay, if that’s what you’re worried about. The garage sits away from the main house, with a whole separate parking area branching away from the driveway. So, it’s not like you’d be stuck seeing me around all the time, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It’s not that,” I slowly answer, since it’s not, not at all. “It’s just…” I trail off.

Chase waits for me to continue, one eyebrow lifted, like he’s saying, Yeah, so what’s the problem?

I try to explain, without bringing up the money part. “I may be looking for a place in the future. Like, this fall. But right now I’m stuck with what I have.” I sigh. “But I have to admit”—my eyes settle longingly on the flyer—“this place is much, much nicer.”

I realize then that Chase has no idea where I live; it’s not yet come up. It’s kind of common knowledge where the Gartner property is, out on Cold Springs Lane. But my place…ugh. It’s not like I run around announcing from the rooftops, “Hey, everyone, guess what? I live in a dump down in the scariest part of town.”

However, there’s no avoiding the subject now. “Wait. Where do you live?” Chase asks.

With a lot of dread and hesitation, I tell him. And—big surprise—his expression morphs from mere curiosity to out-and-out disturbed.

“You’re kidding,” he mutters in a low voice. “Kay, that’s no place for a woman to live, especially by herself.”

“Sexist, much?” I scoff and level him with a no-nonsense stare.

He scrubs his hand over his face and leans back in the booth. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He sounds sincere and I know he didn’t intend any offense, but I just wish he’d drop the subject. I can’t meet his blues; I stare down at the table instead.

“It’s just that it’s not safe down there for anyone, really.” Softly, he adds, “I know exactly where your building is. I used to, uh… I guess you could say I used to hang out down there a lot. That was a long time ago, sure, but the whole area was bad even back then.”

I glance up and something flashes in Chase’s eyes. That something tells me he knows all too well the kind of people who hang out on my side of town—junkies, people searching desperately for their next high. Maybe Chase once sought to score there too? Why else would he be so familiar with the area? I know his past, I know why he went to prison—convicted for dealing Ecstasy. But beyond what’s common knowledge there’s too much knowing in the gunmetal blues of the man sitting across from me.

There’s a well-known dealer that lives just down the street from me, not far from the closed-down glass factory. It’s probably not a far-fetched guess to assume Chase has spent time at that dealer’s house. It’s a popular party spot, and has been for years. I’ve personally never ventured down the dirt road that beckons the drug-needy, but many, many people have, looking for the false salvation the dealer’s selling. Was Chase once among that crowd? I can’t help but think yes, most likely.

The waitress arrives to take the check and I smoothly change the subject. Things lighten up from there. On the way back to the church, Chase and I exchange phone numbers. We start joking around again, flirting like we were doing earlier.

At one point, I ask Chase why there’s no paint on him. After all, he’s supposedly been working all morning. With a smirk he says he’s just that damn good and knows what he’s doing. Yikes. That comment—and the suggestive way it’s delivered—elicits my third blush of the day. And I am quite sure—from the smug look on my flirtatious new friend’s perfect face—that it’s the exact reaction he intended.

I may be blushing, this is true, but I decide that I like this playful version of Chase Gartner the absolute very best.

And so it continues…

Tuesday I get a text, a little before noon: Hey, sweet girl.

The cute endearment makes me grin, but it also thumps my heart.

Hey, artist boy. How goes the painting today?

It’s going, he texts back. Are you hungry? Want to see what’s up at our diner?

Now, my heart actually skips a beat. I like this “our” stuff.

Before the first text arrived, I’d taken a tuna salad on wheat out from a brown paper bag. Now, I hastily stuff it back in.

With an uncontained smile, I text back: Absolutely. Meet you out front in a few.

Five minutes later Chase and I are walking down to the diner, “our” diner. I’m kind of quiet, deep in thought, thinking of how I really like spending time with this guy at my side. A bee buzzes a circle around my head and Chase waves it away, all protective-like. I smile in gratitude.

Chase gives my shoulder a bump with his arm. “Ah, now I’ve got your attention. Not much to say today, huh, quiet girl?” He raises an eyebrow. “Everything’s okay, right?”