Take a Chance on Me(31)

Gracie’s cupid-bow mouth pulled into a frown. “I think—”

“You know what you need?” Sam cut her off, using a low, soothing voice that acted like a salve, diffusing the tension. The strain in Mitch’s shoulders eased and his jaw relaxed as though the room itself had breathed a sigh of relief. Mitch had no idea how it worked, but he’d seen Sam stop more than one barroom brawl before the first punch had even been thrown.

“What?” Mitch asked, shifting his attention to Sam, lounging at the table.

“A game of pickup,” Sam said in his slow, drawling tone.

What. The. Fuck. How was that relevant? He had things to do. “This isn’t the time.”

Sam jutted his chin toward the door. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Now?” Mitch’s agitation once again started to climb.

“Yeah, now.” Sam stood, the chair scraping over the linoleum floor. He pointed at Charlie. “You too.”

Charlie shot Mitch an exasperated, “can you believe this guy?” look. Mitch shook his head, and despite his agitation, a grin tugged at his lips.

Sam stretched his arms above his head like a lazy cat. “I’m in the mood to kick your asses.”

“Good luck,” Charlie said. “Don’t cry too hard when we mess up that pretty face of yours.”

Mitch glanced once at the door and then to the stairs leading up to the bedroom where Maddie slept, before returning to his friends and following them out to the backyard.





Maddie was grateful and surprised that she’d slept. It had all been too much: bailing on her wedding, running away, the car, the credit card being reported stolen, and Mitch. Unable to process any more drama, her brain had finally shut down. After the deep, dreamless nap, she felt human again and ready to face whatever new challenges lay in front of her.

Plus, things weren’t completely dire.

She had clothes to wear. A toothbrush. A bra. She was pretty sure it was the alternator that had blown on her car, so with the cash advance she’d taken from the ATM at Target, she had enough money to cover the repairs. Of course, she didn’t have the funds to stay in a hotel, which left three options: stay with Mitch, call her friends for money, or go home.

In the end, the decision had been simple. He wanted her to stay. She wanted to stay. Wrong as it might be, there was something here. Something tugged at her, whispering to throw caution to the wind.

The question was, what? Was it that girl she used to be, long ignored, stirring up trouble, or something real? She wasn’t sure, but couldn’t deny that she wanted to find out.

On bare feet, she crept down the back stairs and into Mitch’s kitchen.

The room was empty. She scrounged through cabinets until she found a glass, then walked over to the kitchen sink and flipped on the faucet.

A picture window overlooked his idyllic backyard. It was so serene and perfect that she wanted to sit under the huge weeping willow tree forever. Her fingers twitched as a sudden desire to paint the scene burst inside her like a firework.

How odd. That was twice in one day.

She’d completed her last work of art a month before her father died. The graffiti mural on the side of a convenience store had earned her a fine and a hundred hours of community service. The owner of the store had pressed charges, but kept the abstract cityscape depicting Bridgeport. She’d complained at the injustice, but her father had told her sternly that she’d broken the law and now she had to pay.

Despite her sullen, teenage front, she used to walk by the mural on the way home from school so she could look at it. Secretly, she’d been proud. Her dad had been proud, too. About a week before he died, she’d found the pictures he’d taken of the mural, stuffed in the back of his desk drawer.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes at the memory and she brushed them away. Why did she keep thinking of him? Here, in all places?

She looked down. The glass overflowed, the cool water spilling onto her hand. She flipped off the water and spilled the excess liquid in the sink.


Out the window, movement caught her attention. She shifted and her breath caught at the scene before her.

Three shirtless men, their toned, sweat-slicked muscles gleaming in the early evening summer sun, played basketball in Mitch’s driveway.

Her throat dried up. Mitch, the sheriff, and the bartender from last night all clustered under the basket, pushing and shoving each other as they vied for the ball.

Mitch jumped up, tipping the ball away from Charlie and into Sam’s outstretched hands.

“They’re quite the sight, aren’t they?” a female voice asked behind her.

Maddie shrieked, whipping around.

Mitch’s blond cupcake of a neighbor stood framed in the open doorway, a crooked smile on her lips. “Sorry about that.”

“Gracie,” Maddie said, her pulse slowing back down to normal. “You scared me.”

“Did you have a good nap?” Gracie closed the back door, moving fully into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I did.” Maddie smoothed her mess of hair. She’d removed her ponytail before she’d laid down because her temples had started to ache from the weight, and she’d forgotten to tie it back again.

“Come outside; the view’s better.” Gracie wrinkled her nose. “Except for my brother. It’s not his fault we’re related so I try not to hold it against him.”