More Than I Could (24)

To see the clarity. The caution. The … hope?

“If I made you feel any way, I didn’t mean to,” he says.

I lift a brow and smirk.

The dimple in his chin deepens as he fights a smile.

“Well, if I made you feel any sort of way … I meant to,” I say, grinning.

The air between us shifts. It almost feels natural.

Chase chuckles. “You’re a piece of work. Do you know that?”

“It’s been said.” I take a napkin out of the dispenser and fiddle with it. “So what brought you all the way over to The Wet Whistle?”

He rolls his head around his neck. His eyes never leave mine.

“The grilled cheese is good if you want some lunch,” I say to keep the conversation going. I don’t want to lose whatever rapport we’ve established.

“I’m not here for a sandwich.”

“Oh. Why are you here?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “I need you to reconsider.”

“Reconsider what?”

“I need you to reconsider working for me.”

What?

My eyes widen, and I drop the napkin. I wait for him to recant. Or laugh. Or … something. But the longer we sit at the table surrounded by patrons enjoying their cheeseburgers and persimmon pudding, the clearer it becomes that his words were a complete sentence.

Chase sighs. “I want you to come and work for me.”

“What happened to all that you can’t trust me bullshit?”

“It was bullshit.”

I wait for him to expound, but unsurprisingly, he doesn’t.

“Why did you do all of that, then? Why did you make such a big deal if you’re going to circle back this fast? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I was concerned.”

“And you’re not now?”

His jaw sets into a hard line. “Can’t you just say yes?”

“Come on, Chase. Do you think I’ll say yes and skip off to your house with stars in my eyes?”

He rolls his eyes.

“I think—for your daughter’s well-being more than anything else—that if we were to come to an agreement, we need to clear the air,” I say. “I’ll be in your house for a few weeks. We can’t devolve into bickering every time we turn around. I, for one, don’t have the energy for it. Two, it’s not good for Kennedy.”

He smiles. The bastard finally gives me a genuine smile. It was so worth the wait.

The movement brightens his face, making him look five years younger. There’s a playfulness that I didn’t expect, a warmth that seeps into my soul by proxy. From his smile alone, I can imagine him sitting with a beer and telling stories from days gone by.

It feels so good to be on the receiving end of his smile that I have to look away.

“I just want to make sure that we can get along,” I say, studying the plaque on the wall commemorating the local coal mine like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “I don’t want to feel weird.”

“What do you want from me then?”

I look at him again. I’ll answer you. “I want two things.”

“Spit them out.”

Ignore that. “First, since you’ve apologized for being a dick already, I want your assurance that you won’t be a jerk again. I’m not going to do this if you’re going to have a bad attitude. I don’t need it.”

He starts to speak, then reconsiders. “I won’t be a jerk.”

That was easier than I anticipated.

“What’s the second thing?” he asks, his brows pulled together.

“I want to know why you were so adamant that I wasn’t the right person for the job.”

His smile fades as quickly as it appears. “What does it matter?”

“It matters to me. I won’t look at you daily and wonder what you’re thinking. Whatever your reasoning was, it must have been important for you to jeopardize your mom’s vacation over it.”

His leg stops bouncing.

“Tell me, and I’ll reconsider,” I say, drawing a line in the sand.

Chase sits up again in one swift motion. His hands rest on the table; they nearly touch mine.

Everything about the man just got serious. Stone-cold sober. The severity stills me, making me wonder if I want to do this.

But I do. The flame in my stomach begs me to hear what he has to say.

My heart thunders, pushing blood through my veins so fast that I’m dizzy. A million thoughts shuffle through my brain at max speed—postulating what might come out of his mouth.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asks, his voice rough.

“Yes. And don’t lie to me. We must be able to tell each other the truth, or else I’m not even entertaining going through this.”

I think.

That sounds like a professional answer. It feels like poking a bear all the same.

Fire dances in his irises, the gold flecks nearly taking over the iciness—but not entirely. Just enough to keep me frozen in place while also melting into a puddle.

My mouth goes dry as my attention is drawn to his lips. He licks them slowly. Deliberately.

What are you doing, Chase?

“Okay,” he says. “You want the truth? I’ll give it to you.”