“Fiona, this is Chase. Chase, this is my sister Fiona. I met Chase on the trolley tour last night.” I try to emphasize to Fiona that I haven't known Chase any longer than that. “And this is my brother, Marcus, my mom, June and my dad, Ed.” I motion toward my parents who have just reached the table in time to shake Chase's hand.
Chase reaches out to my mom and dad, saying, “Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs...uh, I guess I don't know your last name.”
“Galliver,” my dad smiles. “But you can call us Ed and June.”
“Do you want to join us?” Chase asks. It's a smart move on his part. My parents always wants to be involved in my life when guys are concerned.
My mom is about to accept when my dad quickly interjects, “No, thanks. We'll sit over there,” he says, motioning to the large booth at the back of the diner.
While the rest of my family sits down, my mom takes another moment to invite Chase to brunch the next morning. Our family has this tradition of making a huge brunch almost every Sunday after church. We usually invite friends or new people from church. My parents are what I call “chronically hospitable.” It's no surprise to me that she has invited Chase, but I silently hope that he doesn't think that my parents are reading too much into our friendship.
“Tomorrow actually doesn't work,” Chase answers, and my heart drops a little.
He's trying to bow out gracefully, I think.
He checks his phone quickly. “How about next weekend? I'm free on December 2,” he politely suggests to my mom.
She smiles and says, “Sounds good,” and then she turns to make her way to the booth where my dad and my siblings have already found a seat.
Once she is out of earshot, I give Chase an uneasy smile, “Don't feel obligated, okay?”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“Yes, of course. I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable. You've known me for a day and you just met my parents.”
“I'll be there,” he smiles.
He takes a long sip of his coffee and then closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he says, “Tell me more about Kate Galliver.”
I hesitate before telling him about my favorite hobby. What if he thinks I'm a total nerd? But somehow Chase puts me at ease, so my anxiety dissipates. “I'm an amateur astronomer.”
To my surprise, he responds, “That's cool.”
I divulge more. “I'm really an Amateur Astronomer, like, an official member of the Amateur Astronomer's Society. I have an ID card that gets me into any planetarium in the state. I subscribe to an astronomy magazine. I can tell you every constellation that is visible in the Northern Hemisphere in a given month, and I can name almost every star in those constellations. I even saved money to buy myself a $1200 telescope when I was thirteen.”
I can see that Chase is absorbing the information.
“Kind of geeky, right?” I venture.
“No, it's interesting.” He catches the look of doubt on my face. “Really,” he insists. “I was wondering how you knew so much about the stars when you were going on about them last night.”
“Was I really going on about them?” I avoid his eyes for a moment.
“A little, but it was fascinating,” he says as he reaches across the table to squeeze my hand, reassuring me.
“I would have majored in astronomy, but I doubt there a lot of jobs out there for star nerds like me,” I laugh. I can't believe I just told Chase about something that most of my high school classmates never knew, and that he didn't make fun of me at all.
Chase and I spend hours talking as if we've known each other for years.
I send a quick text to Dani before I go to bed: Saw Chase again. Think I'm in love.
The next morning, my alarm goes off and I'm more than happy to hear the chickens squawking at me. I haven't had a chance to change the alarm tone yet, but it's a welcome sound this morning, because I wake up remembering my second date with Chase. Was it a date? I scold myself for getting so excited about a guy that I just met two days ago. But I can't help it. He is very sweet, easy to talk to, not to mention adorable. But there's something else I can't pinpoint. I feel very comfortable with him, like I've known him forever.
I start a hot shower and try to warm up my feet on the bathroom rug before subjecting them to the abrupt change in temperature. The tile floor in the bathroom is frigid, and I haven't seen my slippers since yesterday. I'll have to check Fiona's room. She's always “borrowing” my things and forgetting to return them. I can't complain too much, though. I raid her closet on a regular basis as well, and since we can fit into most of each other's clothes, it's like having a wardrobe twice the size of my own.
The only thing we don't share is pants. Through some twist of fate, Fiona has about three inches on me, and it's all in her legs. My dad's side of the family has some height, but it seems unfair that it is so unevenly distributed between my sister and me.
Once the water is warm enough, I let it engulf me. I grab the new shampoo and find myself wondering if Chase will like the smell of sweet pea in my hair. I stop, mid-thought and scold myself once again. You have only known him for two days! Besides, you won't even see him today.
As my hair is starting to dry, I apply my makeup and a little extra lip gloss. I'm making sure that the lip liner is even when I find myself thinking about kissing Chase. Stop it! I tell my brain one more time. But one thing is obvious: I've already developed a huge crush on him.
I finish my poker-straight blonde hair with a blow dryer. It's the only way I can get any extra body into this otherwise flat head of hair. Most people admire my hair for its natural color and shine. It seems odd to me because I think my hair is the color of straw, and people have no idea how hard I work to make it look more full. How I wish I had some body or curl in the dumb strands, but no amount of curling seems to take. So my hair has always been long, straight and flat. I know I shouldn't fret too much over it. It's easy enough to throw into a ponytail when the need arises.
My face is my biggest source of grief. Although I've been blessed with very little acne during my teen years, still there's nothing I can do about the freckles. I'm not talking about just a few freckles on my nose and cheeks. There are freckles everywhere: my forehead, chin, jaw, and even on my ears. They are not quite as dark as the dots I've seen on some redheads, but I still consider them a curse.
And guess who didn't get any freckles? Fiona. Not one single dot. However, the playing field is level when it comes to our hair. She has the exact same lifeless blonde that I do.
With the right kind of concealer, I can usually make my freckles blend in a bit so they're not so noticeable, but I know they will never completely disappear. I could have beauty problems that are much worse, but I tend to think my freckles have relegated me to an eternal state of “cuteness” rather than the grown up beauty I desire.
Maybe that's why my mom keeps forgetting I'm an adult – I still look like Holly Hobbie, while my younger sister looks like Gwyneth Paltrow.
After Church, our family sits down for our weekly brunch, without guests this time. My parents use it as an opportunity to start the questions, or statements, at least.
“Chase seems really nice,” my dad begins, probably hoping that I will expound on his statement. I just smile and nod.
Mom breaks in and asks, “So, what did you two do last night?”
“Well, you saw us at the diner, remember?” I laugh. “We had coffee, talked, and then went home. Nothing major. He's visiting for the holidays, so I probably won't see much more of him.” Even while the words are leaving my mouth, I hope and pray that it's not true. I can't wait to see him again.
“Not so sure about that, honey,” my dad offers. “You've been smiling like a lunatic all morning. I'm guessing that if you have any say in it, you will see him again.”
“Honey,” my mother addresses my dad. “Kate has to think about finals and registering for her last semester of classes. Chase is just a friend, and you heard her;
he's only here for the holidays. He lives in Madison. That's over four hours away. It's hardly the time for either of them to start a relationship.”
“I don't know, Kate,” my sister interjects. “He is pretty hot.”
My mother flashes her a sharp glance as if to say, “stay out of this.”
Fiona smiles and goes back to finishing her eggs and perusing her latest fashion magazine.
My mother speaks as if her way of thinking is flawless and that everyone else will just get with the program when they hear her reasoning. I'm not planning to marry Chase, for heaven's sake, and I resent the way she assumes that she can just say one thing and that it will convince me that she's right.
Besides, I consider myself to be pretty level-headed. I get nearly perfect grades, I was never much of a trouble maker, and I hardly dated at all when I was in high school. If this is my only real “rebellion” and I end up with someone as fantastic as Chase, then what's the big deal? Eventually she has to let me live my life.
When will she figure out that it's my life?
My trolley shift is downright disappointing. There's no sign of the charming guy who invaded my life two days ago. Obviously, I can't expect him to keep riding the trolley over and over again. He did say he had to go back to Madison for finals this week, so I'm sure he has already left.
I try to keep my thoughts focused on my job, but they keep drifting off to Chase. Will I see him again? When? How? Where? He said he'd come for brunch on Sunday, but did I tell him where I live? He doesn't even have my number. He was probably just being nice.
Chapter 3
I go through my classes with a half-hopeful feeling. I think way too much about the times I've spent with Chase. Should I stop by his place and say hi? Was he just being friendly and now he's making other friends while he's here?
I try to distract myself as much as possible. On Tuesday, when I'm finished with classes, I head to Eagle Canyon high school so that I can run on their indoor track. Ours is by no means an affluent community, and it is almost unheard of for a Class D school to have an indoor track as well as a swimming pool. But, about ten years ago, an alumnus of Eagle Canyon High School made a hefty donation to the school, specifically for the purpose of providing better facilities for the sports program.
I prefer to run outside where I can enjoy the beauty of my surroundings, but when it gets too cold, it's more comfortable, and safe, to run inside. Besides, when I run on the indoor track, I usually catch Fiona when she's done with school.
I start with a slow jog to get my muscles warmed up. Then I take it up to a faster jog. After a few laps, I realize that I must not have run for several days because I'm getting winded quite easily. Nonetheless, I push myself into a full run. I only manage to do a few miles, and then I cool down. It always feels better to do even a little bit than to do nothing at all.
As I predicted, Fiona meanders in just as I finish stretching and I'm putting my sweatshirt back on.
“Hey, why didn't you wait for me?” She jokes. We both know that there's no way she would ever run voluntarily. Not only is Fiona tall and gorgeous, she doesn't seem to need exercise to keep in shape the way I do. This is a good thing because she hates sports. We are opposites in so many ways, but my little sister is still one of my best friends.
“Do you want a ride home?” I ask her.
“Of course! Isn't that why you're here?” She teases.
On the way home, I ask, “Fi, do you think I'm crazy?”
She answers in absolute seriousness. “Yes.”
“No!” I chuckle. “I mean, I just can't stop thinking about Chase, and I think I'm going crazy. Am I crazy to be so obsessed about someone I just met?”
“By obsessed, do you mean infatuated, or just captivated?”
“Captivated, for sure. I mean, I just can't wait to see him again. I want to know everything about him, and I hate when we have to say good-bye. That is a little excessive after just two dates, right?” I ask.
“Not if he's the one,” she says dramatically.
It's ludicrous to even consider him that way yet, so I push the thought out of my head.
In my psychology lecture on Wednesday, the instructor announces that we will have a guest speaker, Professor Tom Nichols from The University of Wisconsin.
Did he say Nichols? From Wisconsin? That's where Chase is from, right? This must be his dad!
As Dr. Nichols approaches the podium, all doubt is erased from my mind. I can see exactly where Chase got his coppery eyes. He's a little taller than his son, but Chase is built with the same muscular physique as his father. Dr. Nichols' appearance seems inconsistent with his attire. With his broad shoulders and square jaw, I would expect to see him in a football jersey with a coach's whistle around his neck, but wearing a coat, tie, and shiny dress shoes, he doesn't quite fit my idea of a professor of psychology.
I listen intently to the lecture, well at least for the first few minutes. It becomes evident that Dr. Nichols is a knowledgeable professor as well as an athlete. Soon, however, my interest in the lecture wanes as I begin to think of ways to talk to him so I can get in touch with Chase.
Hi Dr. Nichols. I met your son on the trolley last weekend.
Hey, Professor, what's up? Give Chase a shout for me, okay?
Dr. Nichols, I might possibly be in love with your son.
Ugh, I'm so bad at this. I finally decide to simply write my cell number on a piece of paper and give it to Dr. Nichols after class.
When the lecture is finished, I gulp down my hesitation and approach the front of the lecture hall. “Hello, Dr. Nichols? Professor Nichols?” Shoot, what is the right thing to call him? I stumble on, “Could you please give this to Chase? I mean, he can call me if he wants to.” I'm sure that my face is turning the color of a tomato right about now. But it's worth it if I get to see Chase again.
Dr. Nichols ask, “Are you Kate?” When I nod yes, he continues, “Chase has been talking about you.” He takes the piece of scribbled paper. He nods, and I make a hasty exit.
I can't decide what my emotions are doing as I head back to my truck. His dad said Chase had been talking about me. Not that he mentioned me once and dropped it. “Had been talking about me” sounds like he talked about me more than once? Maybe twice? Or maybe as often as I thought about him?
But Dr. Nichols had seemed kind of abrupt, almost accusatory, as if I've invaded Chase's life, his family's life. His look seemed to say, who are you and why is my son suddenly so interested in you?
Maybe I'm over-thinking his response. I probably just caught him off guard. I shake off any residual uneasiness as I arrive at home and begin my homework.
I'm just helping my mom get the finishing touches on dinner when I feel the familiar buzz of my phone. I hadn't turned the ringer back on since class. My heart leaps into my throat when I see the caller ID: 608-555-8725. I don't recognize the number, but as I accept the call, I feel fairly certain that 608 is a Wisconsin area code.
“Hello, it's Kate,” I answer with my standard greeting, trying not to let quiver in my voice come through.
“Hi, Kate, it's Chase. Remember me?” Oh, my gosh! Do I remember him? DO I REMEMBER HIM???
But I play it down a bit, “Sure, from the trolley, right?” Yeah, the trolley and five hours of hanging out and letting me fall in love with you.
“Yes. My dad got tickets from the community college for Handel's Messiah tonight at 7:00. Would you like to go with me?”
“I'd love to go! It's at the Baymont Center on campus, right? I know right where that is. Meet you there? Or do you need another ride?” I'm poking a little fun at him, but he doesn't sound bothered by it.
“No, I'm fine. I'll meet you at the front entrance a few minutes before 7:00, okay?”
“See you then!” I hit end with a satisfied sigh.
Mom gives me a sideways glance but says nothing.
I trudge through the falling snow, up to the Baymont Center. I wonder how Chase will handle the accu
mulating mess. The plows surely won't come through until this storm is over. I catch sight of him a moment later, and he's cruising through without a problem. My heart gets a little jolt when he flashes me his awesome smile.
“Hi Kate. I'm glad you gave my dad your number. After I left the diner last weekend, I couldn't believe I hadn't gotten it from you. I was going to have to book another ride on the trolley to find you.” His grin is unbelievable. As he's talking, I ponder his lips and wonder how they would feel on mine....
“Kate?” Chase questions my spacey look.
“Oh, sorry, um, yeah. Glad your dad gave you the message.” Oh, I've got it bad! I change the subject to avoid incriminating myself. “To tell you the truth, I'm not a huge fan of classical music, but I do like to see a Christmas concert at least once during the season.”
Chase laughs his perfect laugh and admits, “It's not my favorite either, but there's not a whole lot to do in this little town.”
I agree, “You can only take the trolley tour so many times.”
We find our seats and I lean in a little closer to him as the music starts. The subtle scent of Chase's cologne reaches me, and my heartbeat speeds up a little.
It turns out we are both enchanted by the ensemble. Or maybe we are enchanted by each other. I feel like I could sit through anything just to be able to spend time with Chase Nichols. However, there are some really lovely music pieces that I discover I actually enjoy.
When the concert is finished, we head to the glass exit doors but stop dead in our tracks. The snow has created quite the blanket already, and it's still coming down in heaps. I turn to Chase. “Would you like to go out for coffee again? I know another good place in town.” I don't mention that it's also quieter and darker than the diner we had visited a few days before. “Why don't you ride in my truck? I know it will get through the snow, and whatever you're driving will not, unless it's four-wheel drive.”
Strong Page 3
