She pulls keys out of her sparkly bag and opens the smaller door at the far side of her shop, which leads to her upstairs apartment. She says something to Duncan and laughs teasingly as he follows her in.
The door shuts behind them, and I’m acutely aware of Chase’s commanding presence next to me. I clear my throat.
“My house is this way.” I point to the end of the block. “But you really don’t need to walk me home.”
I can’t figure out why he’s still here. I pull his coat tighter around me. Why did he give it to me? He didn’t put the coat on his sister, Daisy, even though she was dressed almost as scantily as me. I give him a side glance, my heart stuttering as I take in that famous profile.
“I want to,” he says.
I follow him toward my house in bewildered excitement. His steps are slow, as if matching the stride of my shorter legs. I can’t figure him out. Silence stretches as we walk side by side, arms almost touching. The click-clack of my heels is loud in the stillness of the street.
“Well, here’s my place,” I say when we get to the pale-pink Victorian.
I try to see the house I know and love so well through his eyes. It seems older, sadder. The sagging steps and chipped paint are like glaring scars on the once-elegant visage. He probably lives in some ultramodern palace with nothing out of place.
“It’s beautiful,” he says.
When I turn to him, he’s looking at me and not the house.
“Just like I imagined,” he murmurs, tearing his gaze from mine and taking in my childhood home, as if fascinated.
“Imagined?”
A car passes, and he turns his head, his arm coming up to block his face. It reminds me we’re in the open, where anyone could walk by and snatch a photo.
But would that really be so bad?
“Well, I guess this is goodbye?” I don’t know why I say it like a question. He’s leaving tomorrow. This will be the last time I’ll see him, unless you count on a movie screen or in a magazine. Sadness flickers at that thought.
A line forms between his eyes. “I guess it is.” His voice, low and rough, skates over my nerve endings.
But instead of walking away, he closes the distance between us with a step. My pulse races. A gust of wind whips my hair into my face, but I don’t move. I can’t. I’m frozen by his intoxicating nearness and intent gaze. He leans down and pushes my hair back with gentle fingers, tucking the strands behind my ear.
I snuggle deeper into his jacket. It smells of him, as if I’m being wrapped in his embrace. I don’t want to give it back. Ever.
The silence between us stretches like a band about to break.
Take a risk, Olivia. You won’t get this chance again. Don’t waste it. That thought whispers through my mind, as clear as if Nanna is standing next to me speaking it.
“You must be tired. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?” I say before I change my mind. “You can take it to-go. If I know Daisy, she doesn’t have much more than a box of Pop-Tarts and maybe olives for martinis in her kitchen. It’s the least I can do.”
As embarrassed as I am at my forwardness, I’m also proud. There’s a rush of freedom that flows through me. I took a risk.
He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, as if debating my offer. My fledgling pride at my boldness starts to deflate. Gah. Risks are overrated.
“Never mind. You must be so busy.”
“No, I mean yes—I’d love to. Duncan will be a while. And you’re right. The odds that Daisy has coffee are not good.” His gaze flicks over my abundant cleavage before returning to my face, and I self-consciously burrow myself into his jacket.
“Awesome! Great!” And then I panic, trying to remember if I tidied up before I left for the club last night. I’m generally neat. I actually enjoy keeping a clean house and find domestic chores relaxing. But even so, there is normal neat, and then there is entertaining-the-Sexiest-Man-Alive neat.
He follows me up the stairs, and I’m conscious of the drooping roses. No matter how hard I try, I don’t have the green thumb Nanna did. And then my awareness shifts to something even more alarming. He’s behind me while we walk up the stairs. Why the hell am I worrying about my gardening skills when Chase James is getting an up close and personal look at my cellulite in the light of day?
I tug my dress down with one hand while my other roots around my purse for keys. I come up empty. Finally, my fingers settle on a familiar metal shape in the corner of my bag.
“Hurrah!” I hold up the keys in triumph.