by Becky Monson
“Thanks, Dad. So do you.” He’s in a black suit and he looks … relaxed. And happy. With his eyes doing that little crinkling thing in the corner that they do. I feel like I haven’t seen that look on him in a while. Like his smiles have been empty as of late. But this feels like a genuine Nick Cooper smile.
He looks around the tent. “Everything turned out great,” he says, letting go of my hands. “Happy twenty-five years.” He grabs his drink from the bar, holds it out, and does an air toast.
“Happy twenty-five years, Dad. You made this happen.” I smile at him, then add, “Make sure you tell Chelsea how great it is.”
“Already did,” he says. He winks at me.
He gestures over to June, who’s standing next to him with a drink in her hand. She’s in a pantsuit, the jacket sequined. Her dyed-blonde hair goes just past her shoulders. “You remember June.”
I look to June, who gives me a grand smile. And then looks at my dad and shakes her head.
“Does she remember me? Are you serious, Nick? Come here, sweetie, give this old lady a hug.”
She pulls me into a hug, and as much as I didn’t want her to be here, or like the fact that she and my dad have a song, hugging her feels … nice. And familiar. It’s a warm, tight hug, even if she’s a few inches shorter than me.
I stand back after the hug and take in the two of them together. My dad with his graying hair, looking extra debonair tonight. June hardly looks her age, with her beautiful fair skin. She has a classic look with a pointy chin and petite nose. My dad looks happy. I can admit that. And they look good together.
My gut does a clenching thing at that thought. If things hadn’t gone the way they had, it would be my mom standing here with my dad. She’d be fussing with my hair—kind of like Chelsea did—and she’d have a hand on me like she always did when she stood close. On my back or my arm. To comfort me and give me strength.
I blink my eyes a few times, feeling the heat burn behind them. I can’t cry right now. That would be bad on so many levels.
Pretend, Maggie. Pretend.
“You here by yourself?” my dad asks, his lips pulled up into a small smile, his eyes twinkling in the colorful lights coming from the DJ table.
“Hannah is meeting me here later,” I say, even though I doubt she’ll show up. But I don’t want my dad thinking I’m alone and then inviting me to stay with him and June. Plus, I have someone else coming. My stomach clenches again.
“You look gorgeous,” June says.
“Thank you,” I say, rubbing my sweaty hands on the sides of my thighs.
Telling them that I need to go find Chelsea, I excuse myself from June and my dad and walk over to the other side of the tent. I look out at the cars on display. They range from a Mustang to an Aston Martin. My dad’s Lamborghini sits parked partially underneath the tent on the other side of the dance floor.
I think Chelsea and Devon were right. I think that whole “friend” pitch my dad gave us was just that: a pitch. I guess I knew that from their flirty texts, but I may have been holding out hope. Like it was a fluke or just an inside joke or something.
I blink back some more tears and take a big breath. Then I look at my watch and see that I have one minute until Chase is due to arrive. The teary feeling is now replaced by a big sack of rocks at the bottom of my gut.
I’m about to meet Chase.
I don’t even know if he’s the type of person to be early or late. Maybe he’s already here? Will I even recognize him when I see him? I didn’t even tell him what I was wearing so he could find me. Was this the craziest idea I’ve ever had? I invited the man who now has my mom’s phone number to a party—a work party. This might be top on the list of craziest things I’ve done. And I’ve swam with sharks. In a tank, of course, but still.
“Maggie?” a rich-sounding deep voice says from behind me, interrupting my crazy train of thoughts.
I feel my pulse skip and jump. I take a steadying breath before turning around.
Chapter 16
“Chase?” I say as I turn and see a man standing there, wearing a black suit with a white shirt and skinny black tie. His brown hair is messy in a way that looks purposeful. He’s taller and broader than I imagined him.
But it’s him. It’s definitely him.
Chase’s mouth spreads into a huge smile, and before I can say anything else, he closes the few steps between us and pulls me into a hug. It’s a bone-crushing one, and I’m fully wrapped in his embrace. So much that my feet come off the ground for a second as he leans back, taking me with him. He feels warm and smells of a cologne I recognize but can’t remember by name.
“You made it,” I say, after we pull away from each other.
“I made it,” he says, the corner of his lips pulling up on one side.
Then we just stand there, looking at each other.
“Do you want—” I start, at the same time he says, “How’s it been—”
We smile at each other and both do one of those nervous laughs.
“You go,” he says, gesturing to me.
“Um, do you want a drink?” I say, with a backward tilt of my head toward the bar behind me. I look quickly over my shoulder to see if Dad and June have moved away from the bar and feel relieved when I see they’ve gone.
“Love one,” he says.
We walk over to the bar and I order a Coke—not wanting alcohol just yet—and Chase orders a beer. We take them over to an empty high top and set our drinks down, claiming the table.
“So,” he says, that half-smile back on his lips. It’s a nice one, the side of his mouth pulled up with just a peek of straight white teeth.
“So,” I echo.
“It’s nice to officially meet you.”
“Same.”
“I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
I let out a breath. “Neither was I.”
“I didn’t even know how to find you; we didn’t set anything up.”
“But you found me,” I say.
“I found you.”
“You look … great,” I say, pointing toward his suit.
“Thanks.” He looks down at himself. “Got this for the funeral.”
“Ah,” I say. It’s easy to forget that Chase’s mom died not that long ago. He seems so normal standing here in front of me. So casual. Of course, maybe this is Chase in pain. How would I know? He looks in better shape than I was at this point in my grief.
“Sorry, didn’t meant to dampen the conversation.”
“You didn’t.” I give him a reassuring smile.
Chase looks down at his hand resting on the table, holding his beer, his thumb running across the corner of the label.
He looks back at me. “You look great too,” he says with a head bob toward me.
“Thanks.”
“I like the dress.”
“This old thing?”
We both laugh at my dumb joke, still with the same underlying tones of nervousness.
“So,” he says.
“So,” I reply. I realize that in order for this to go anywhere, we have to move past this awkward meeting stage that we seem to be stuck in. I’ve never done anything like this before. It would seem—with the silly smiling glances that we keep giving each other—that Chase hasn’t either.
“What do we do now?” I ask him.
“Hi, Mags.” Devon sidles up to the table before Chase can answer. He’s got a cocktail in one hand. “You said Hannah was coming,” he says to me, not even noticing Chase standing there.
With Devon’s eyes focused out on the crowd of people gathered around, I sneak a look at Chase, who gives me a sly grin and then mouths, “Devon.” I give him a quick nod.
“She’s not here yet,” I say. “Had to work late.”
“Bummer,” Devon says, and then takes a sip of his drink, still keeping his focus on the party. He turns just slightly to the side, sees Chase standing there, and does a double take. “Sorry, man.” He reaches out a hand to shake Chase’s. “
Didn’t see you there.”
“Not a problem,” Chase says. His eyes dart to me and we give each other knowing smiles like we have some sort of inside joke going on. I suppose we do.
“Sorry,” I say. “Devon, this is Chase Beckett. He’s interested in having his car wrapped.”
I’m not sure where those words came from, but they roll off my tongue easily. It was a split-second decision on my part. Telling Devon that Chase was a friend would bring up too many questions. Like where did we meet? Why did I bring this “friend” with me without telling anyone first? My family is too smart and way too nosy. They’d never just accept that he was a friend that I’d never mentioned before and leave it at that. They’d need details.
“Excellent,” Devon says. “We’d love to hook you up. What kind of car you got?”
Chase looks to me; I see his eyes widen briefly before turning back to Devon. “A Honda Accord?”
Devon’s brows pull inward at this. Chase is clearly not as smooth of a storyteller as I am.
“But he’s buying a Lexus LC five hundred,” I add quickly. It was the first car I thought of. We had one come through the shop not that long ago.
“Solid,” Devon says, sounding impressed. “The touring or the sports package?”
“Uh … sports,” Chase says, his answer coming out more in the form of a question. He looks to me, and I give him a small nod.
“Good choice,” Devon says. He reaches into the inside pocket of his navy tailored jacket, pulls out a business card, and hands it to Devon. “Give me a call when you’re ready for a wrap.”
“I’ll do that.” Chase takes the card from him.
Devon looks at me. “Tell Hannah to find me when she gets here.” He gives me a wink and a smirk before walking away.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I say loudly, calling after him.
“Devon and Hannah, huh?” Chase asks, with a double eyebrow raise after Devon is out of earshot.
“Over my dead body,” I say. “It’s the chase. He knows she’s off-limits.”
“And what does Hannah think?”
“She thinks he’s a creeper.”
Chase laughs at that.
Chase holds the business card up, the black lettering of Devon’s name stark against the white background. “I guess I have to buy a car now. How much will the LC five hundred set me back?”
“Ninety K,” I say, and give him a sheepish grin.
“Yikes.” Chase’s eyes go wide. “Better get a second job.”
I snort laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t want Devon asking questions. He would have. Protective brother and all that.”
“I guess I didn’t realize that you didn’t tell your family about me having your mom’s number.”
My eyes go wide. “I haven’t told anyone. No one even knows about all the texting I did to my mom. They would probably think I need to be put away.”
“Really?”
“I honestly don’t know what they’d do, but I don’t want to find out.”
“Got it,” Chase says. “So that’s my cover story tonight?”
“Sure, why not?”
“I probably need to google the car, then,” he says. “So I don’t sound like an idiot.”
I laugh again. “Don’t worry about it—I’ve got you covered.”
“I believe you,” he says. “I bet all the guys like your car knowledge.”
I think about that for a second. It hasn’t really helped me all that much. “I don’t know about that.”
“Well, I’m impressed.”
I smile at him and he gives me that same side smile again. I know I just met him in person, but so far, it’s my favorite thing about him. There’s something so warm and accepting wrapped up in that half-grin.
I look around the room and spot Dawson standing by the dance floor. I clear my throat. “So how does this work?” I ask.
“How does what work?”
“The wingman thing,” I say.
“Right,” Chase says, and then takes a quick pull from his beer. “Let’s go find Dawson.”
I pull my head back, my lips pulling into a frown. “And then what?”
“You talk to him,” he says.
“Um … that’s not what I thought a wingman did.”
“Well, I mean, normally I’d introduce you to him: ‘Have you met my girl, Maggie?’” he says, holding his hand out toward me, pretending to introduce me to a fake Dawson. “But since Dawson already knows you and has no idea who I am, that won’t go so well.”
“Right,” I say, and then nibble on my bottom lip.
“How about you bring me over and introduce me as a client? Then we’ll go from there.”
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go find him.”
Chase holds out a finger. “Hold up. Let me try to find him by your description.” He starts looking around the room, and I crinkle my nose trying to remember how I described Dawson to my mom. I spy Dawson still standing off to the side of the dance floor, now talking to Chad, his hand on Chad’s shoulder.
“Hmm,” Chase says, resting his chin in his hand. He takes a breath through his teeth. “I don’t know; there are a lot of great butts out there tonight.”
“Shut up,” I say, through a laugh. “He’s standing by the dance floor, near the DJ table.”
“The guy in the gray suit?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, yes,” Chase says after he spots him, nodding his head. “Good-looking guy. I would’ve never recognized him from the front, though.”
“Oh my gosh,” I say, laughing again. “Why couldn’t my mom’s number have gone to an old senile woman?”
Chase shrugs. “Someone named Gertrude?”
“She’d totally be a Gertrude.”
“But what kind of wingman would Gertrude even be? No way would she be better than this.” He drags a hand down his torso.
“I haven’t exactly seen your skills yet, have I? Plus, Gertrude wouldn’t remember all my texts.”
“I can’t apologize for my genius brain,” he says, tapping the side of his head.
“I’m not sure that makes you a genius.”
“It does,” he says. “Trust me.”
Chase sets his beer down deliberately and then stands up straight and says, “Let’s do this.”
He walks around to my side of the table, grabs me by the hand, and starts dragging me toward the area where Dawson is standing.
“You can’t … what are … would you …” I sputter as I try to keep up with Chase. I wasn’t ready. I have questions. I was supposed to drink something to loosen myself up, and I haven’t done that yet.
But before I can get any of that out of my head, we’re standing next to Dawson, who’s still talking to Chad. He looks over at me, gives me a relieved look, and then, giving Chad a tap on the back with his hand, excuses himself and walks over to me and Chase.
“Maggie,” he says as he approaches. “You saved me. Chad was getting pretty sentimental there. I think he’s had too much to drink already.”
“Great,” is all I say. I do add an eye roll for emphasis, but that’s it. I’m choking already. I can feel it. KFC, here I come.
Chase puts a hand on my back and very subtly pushes me forward. Right. I’ve got backup. I can do this.
Dawson’s eyes move up to Chase standing just behind me and then back down to me.
“This is Chase Beckett,” I say, taking a step to the side and gesturing toward him with my hand. “He’s interested in having his car wrapped.”
“Sweet,” Dawson says, giving Chase a wide smile. “We’d love to hook you up.”
Dawson is great at running the shop, but I bet he’d give Devon a run for his money with sales. He just oozes charm.
“I’ll definitely be hitting you up,” Chase says. “Maggie here has been giving me all the details.”
Dawson looks at me appreciatively. “Couldn’t run this place without her,” he says, and then gives me a wink.
The music suddenly m
oves up a bunch of decibels, and the DJ gets on and announces that it’s time to dance. He asks that the team at Cooper’s get this party started and invites us all to the dance floor as he plays an upbeat Beyoncé song.
“I guess we’re supposed to dance,” Dawson says, his voice now loud so he can be heard over the speakers.
“You and Maggie should get out there,” Chase says.
“Right,” says Dawson. Then he holds out a hand to me and my heart speeds up as he says, “Shall we?”
Chase puts his hand on my lower back and nudges me toward Dawson, again. Apparently I was stuck in place.
I put my hand in Dawson’s and pray that my sweaty palms aren’t obvious, then follow him to the dance floor. He grabs my other hand in his and swings me out, pulls me in toward him, and then lets one hand go and swings me out again, spinning me as he brings me in once more.
My eyes widen and I smile. Dawson can dance. Not that I’m surprised by this. He looks like someone who’s good at a lot of things. Like kissing. My stomach is instantly full of butterflies at the thought. I bet he’s an amazing kisser. With just the right amount of tongue.
Focus on the dancing, Maggie. No stepping on toes.
I let myself indulge in the feeling of dancing with Dawson as he continues to lead me. It’s so enchanting that I find myself laughing as I let him guide me around the floor. Dawson is laughing and smiling too.
Well done, Chase the wingman.
I look over Dawson’s shoulder to see my dad and June joining everyone on the dance floor, my dad doing his best “dad” moves as June bops along with him. So many thoughts enter my mind at once, but I push them out and focus back on Dawson. I need to stay in the moment. And this is the moment. Or at least the start of the moment.
When the song ends and a jazzy slow number starts up, for a moment I wonder if I should ask him to dance, if I should make a move, but then Dawson gives me a look. His blue eyes are bright, and it feels like there are so many words written in them. Without saying anything, I move in and I feel his hand on my waist, pulling me toward him. My heart skips a few beats as I go to put my hand on his shoulder. I feel drawn in by his eyes, which seem to be penetrating mine. This is turning out better than I’d hoped.
