More Than I Could (15)

She blinks slowly.

“I told you it wasn’t safe to drive around,” I say, frustrated with her lack of concern for her safety.

“Well, I had an appointment this morning. You know, to have brunch with a family I would be staying with to help them out of a pinch.”

The intensity flowing from one to the other makes my heart pound. I have no idea what I’ll do with her or how to handle this situation, but I better get a grip on it and do it fast.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mom says, picking up her cell phone off the table. “I’m going to step outside and call Kate to book the massages we discussed last night. God knows I’m going to need one. And, while I do that, the two of you will work this out. Understood?”

Megan and I stare at each other, the energy between us crackling.

“You have ten minutes,” Mom says, heading for the door.

Ten minutes to work this out.

Like that will be possible.





Chapter Six





Megan




The door shuts with a boom.

Point taken, Maggie.

Chase works his jaw back and forth, watching me like I’m the enemy. I roll my eyes at his ridiculousness, hoping it irritates him as much as his behavior irritates me.

His gaze narrows.

I smile. Fucker.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” I say, jumping into the thick of the matter. “I’m not begging to be here. As a matter of fact, I don’t even want to be here. So don’t act like you’re doing me a huge favor by letting me watch your daughter.”

He takes a breath and grabs the back of a chair in front of him. The severity of his features eases. A wariness, a cautious curiosity settles in its place.

“Tucker does basic mechanic work,” Chase says. “Have him look at your car today.”

I lift a brow. “That’s what you want to spend the next ten minutes talking about?”

He releases the chair and then paces the kitchen.

Frustration drips through my veins as I watch him blatantly not talk. Not look at me. Refrain from giving any indication that he wants to have this conversation.

If that’s the way he wants it, fine. I’ll go back to Dallas and get on with my life.

“Your point is taken,” I say. “When your mom comes back, I’ll let her know this isn’t going to work for me.”

He stops pacing and sighs. “Megan …”

“What did you say to me last night? Good luck to ya? Well, good luck to ya, Chase.”

He rolls his eyes. “Will you shut up?”

I gasp. “No, I will not.”

“Of course not. What was I thinking?”

“At least I’m not acting like a child. Are you sure your mom didn’t need a babysitter for you?”

He throws his hands in the air.

I move around the room—careful to stay on the opposite side of the island from Chase. My heart pounds as the words I just spoke echo back at me.

What are you doing, Megan? Don’t act like this.

“I’m sorry for saying that,” I say, stopping beside the sink. “I’m just … worked up.”

He pulls his hands down his face. “That makes two of us.”

The tension between us thickens. It’s heavier and more cumbersome. Even if we’re firing back and forth, the levity we've shared seems to have evaporated.

“I’m sorry too,” he says, blowing out a breath. “You just surprised me.”

I see my opening—the sliver of an opportunity to bring some light into this conversation—and take it.

“When I walked in on you practically naked?” I ask.

Chase stops in his tracks and smirks. The longer I say nothing, the deeper his smirk grows. The deeper his smirk grows, the more his shoulders relax and the lines in his handsome face ease.

“What?” I ask, playing it cool. “Do you want me to be embarrassed that I saw you in your boxers?”

He shrugs.

“I’m not,” I say, hoping my voice is void of the tremble in my stomach. “I think your romantic, inspirational car repair side was my favorite. It turns out that I prefer you naked and not talking.”

“Maybe that’s our problem.”

“Excuse me?”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his grin slipping. “Nothing. Never mind.”

I don’t know where to go with this. We aren’t getting anywhere, and I don’t foresee progress. We might have partially defused the situation, but the problem remains.

The thought of disappointing Maggie—and my mother—hurts my heart, but what can I do? This is out of my hands—even if I wanted to stay. And, at the moment, I don’t.

Finally, he sighs and folds his arms over his chest. “You called me a grumpy cat. What kind of a description is that? A grumpy cat?”

“It’s a meme you would know if you had social media.”

Shit. This is why I didn’t want information, Calista!

A shadow falls across his face for a split second.

“But I didn’t say you were a grumpy cat,” I say hurriedly, hoping he doesn’t catch my slipup. “I said you have the personality of one, and, you know, my observation wasn’t wrong.”