Nichole had argued his father deserved a second chance for simply being Chase’s dad. Chase had replied: not all fathers are created equal.
He’d never wanted Nichole to gain that kind of clarity, especially at Wesley’s expense. A different ache settled into his chest. One for a young boy who’d deserved so much more. So much better. He wanted to find Professor Dillon and lecture him. Right now, he wanted to pull Nichole into his arms and hold her until she forgot her pain. “Wesley is a really terrific kid.”
“I know.” A bitterness constricted her voice, squeezing her words together. “His biological father wasn’t interested in knowing anything about his own child.”
“He never met Wesley.” Even Chase’s father had a few years with his own children. He at least knew their names. Chase’s lecture for the professor intensified. That ache in his chest—the same one he knew Wesley felt—worsened, and he wanted to take care of a boy he hardly knew but understood.
“Myles doesn’t even know if he has a son or daughter.” The bitterness seized control of her words. “That was entirely his choice.”
Chase’s mother had glowed in the early photographs of her pregnancy with Ivy, framed by his father and a young Mallory. Nichole would’ve glowed too. Chase had seen her love for Wesley at the school. That same love would’ve already lit her from the inside at the very first news of her pregnancy. How could Professor Dillon not have been captivated by an excited Nichole? “You told the professor you were pregnant, and he walked away?”
“I told him I was pregnant.” Nichole focused on Chase. Strength in tone. “Then I walked away.”
“He never came after you.” Chase would’ve gone after Nichole. If he loved her. If he loved her, he’d have to show her his true self. But Chase’s love hadn’t been enough for his father to stick around.
“We wanted different things,” Nichole said. “It’s much better this way. Wesley doesn’t have to deal with the disappointment of a disinterested father.”
Chase had finally stopped dealing with his own disappointment one year after his father had left. He’d forced himself to concentrate on football. On the field, the physical pain was real. Every tackle, sack and collision strengthened him. “What did you tell Wesley?”
“I told him the truth. His biological father never wanted to be a dad.” Her voice sounded waterlogged. She’d accepted her own broken heart, but not Wesley’s. She’d found strength for her son. She added, “I didn’t want him to have illusions about his father.”
Chase understood. He’d spent his entire first grade believing his own dad would realize everything—everyone—he’d left behind was worth fighting for and come home.
Now Wesley had been forced to learn his own lessons from a father who’d never wanted to know him. Chase ground his teeth at the pitch of grief for an innocent boy. “My mom had wanted my dad to be better for us, but she’d known. Even warned me a few times not to get my hopes up.”
“Did you?” Nichole asked.
“Of course.” Chase stretched both arms out in front of him as if that proved he no longer hurt. “Each time my dad failed, it hurt a little less. Until finally it didn’t hurt at all.”
Nichole nodded. “Then you’ll understand when I ask you not to get Wesley’s hopes up.”
He understood but didn’t want to listen. “Get his hopes up?”
“He’s a huge fan of yours,” Nichole stressed. “But he doesn’t know you.”
“What does that mean?” Chase crossed his arms over his chest, blocking the jab of her words. His fans, even the kids, wanted his autograph on their jerseys, footballs, hats. Wanted pictures. People wanted to know him everywhere he went. “Are you saying I’m not worth getting to know?”
“That’s not it.” Nichole covered her face with both hands. Inhaled. Exhaled. “Let me start over.”
Chase waited. He might not be worth falling in love with. What was wrong with getting to know him?
“Wesley believes in the image of you. The superstar athlete with the superstar lifestyle.” Nichole rushed on. “You’re the guy all the kids want to grow up to be.”
That was much better than wanting to be like his own disinterested father or even Wesley’s negligent biological dad. “And that’s a bad thing, to want to be me?”
“Your reputation does need some polishing.” Nichole tied her hair up as if settling into her topic.
Everyone close to Chase talked about his reputation. Yet the public adored him. Chase scowled.
Nichole lowered her hands. “But that’s not my point.”
“What is?” His voice sounded sour as if he’d sipped Nichole’s bitter tonic from earlier. “That I’m not good enough to get to know Wesley.” Good enough for Wesley. Or even Nichole. He locked his jaw against the discomfort of the truth.
“I don’t want him to get hurt.” Nichole motioned between them. The movement quick and concise like her words. “This is not a family bonding weekend. This whatever it is between us isn’t permanent. It’s temporary.”
“Until our contracts are signed and official,” Chase clarified, restating their terms and disengaging from any sentiment.
“Exactly.” Nichole lay down and tugged the blanket to her chin as if they’d reached an understanding. “When this is over, I don’t want Wesley hoping you’ll continue to be in his life.”
Nichole didn’t want her son waiting at the front door for Chase to arrive. Checking voice mails and text messages every ten minutes for a message. A message that would never come. Chase had done that and more during first grade. He’d hoped and wished and waited for his father. His father had never returned. That old hurt tangled his distress for Wesley. “I can be his friend.”
“He won’t understand.” Nichole straightened her arms on top of the blankets. “He’ll want more. He’ll want the illusion. We cannot create an illusion this weekend.”
Chase stared at the bed. Divided and separated. But walls and defenses could be breached. He should agree with her. She was right. Wesley had to be protected. And he didn’t really want anything more between himself and Nicole. Even if the illusion tempted him. “What do you want me to do?”
“Keep your distance.” Nichole curled under the blankets, away from Chase.
Chase jammed his elbow into the pillows, searching for a comfortable position.
“Wesley will be busy with Ben,” Nichole added. “Those two are inseparable. They can enjoy the snow and their weekend together. And we can...”
“Watch from the sidelines,” Chase finished for her.
He’d never been any good at standing on the sidelines. But for Nichole, he’d try. After all, what did he really know about being a father or a good friend? He’d forgotten the gnocchi. She’d remembered licorice. All he really knew about fatherhood was the kind of father he wished his own dad had been and never was. But he’d stopped wishing in grade school. “I’ll keep my distance.”
He reached over, turned off the light and scooted to the edge of the bed, away from Nichole and her ridiculous pillow wall, as well as his absurd urge to prove to her that what was between them was more than an illusion.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NICHOLE CURLED HER hands around her mug and paced in front of the fireplace. She’d woken up alone, the covers straightened and the pillow cold on Chase’s side of the bed. He’d kept the fire burning and the bedroom door closed to keep the heat inside and Nichole suitably separated from him. Like she’d asked. Like she wanted. She scowled into the steam streaming from her coffee.
Her phone lit up on the fireplace mantel. Congratulations and well-wishes from former coworkers and distant friends filled her text alerts. Two names weren’t on her missed call list or unopened texts: her mom or dad. Perhaps her parents would return home now. Her mother would love the media attention and the subterfuge. Certainly, her father would want to write a script to capture
the storyline. At the very least, Nichole’s news of marrying a celebrity of sorts was worthy of a phone call, wasn’t it?
Nichole scrolled through her contact list and selected the one person who’d always understood Nichole’s long-standing wish for her parents to act like typical parents, even just one time. Nichole’s grandmother answered on the second ring. Nichole waited for her grandfather to pick up the other phone, launched into her apology and veered into an explanation. One her grandmother quickly and efficiently ended with: I always liked Chase. Such a darling boy.
Nichole started her explanation again.
Her grandfather interrupted with: About time.
Followed by a deep hum of approval. Nichole stared at her phone. Where was the disappointment about her secret wedding? About not being included.
Her grandmother jumped into the silence and insisted Chase join Nichole and Wesley the following week for Wesley’s weekend visit. And wished Nichole a memorable ski-moon as if she used that term regularly.
Nichole managed a stunned and awkward thank-you.
Her grandmother promised Nichole once her parents learned about their daughter’s marriage, they’d certainly be in touch. After all, they hadn’t missed important milestones in Nichole’s life growing up. Cards and presents had arrived early for Christmases and birthdays. I love yous exchanged, the call ended.
Nichole flopped onto the bed face-first and replayed the conversation. Chase was darling. Their wedding overdue. And Nichole’s parents suddenly reliable. Even though her parents’ visits had been less consistent and all too often unreliable. Chase and Nichole’s wedding a fake. And Chase...
The doorbell chimed throughout the house. Laughter rolled against the closed bedroom door like an invitation to join the merriment and ditch her self-imposed distance.
Nichole hopped off the bed, opened the door and stopped in the doorway. Chase stood near the massive stone fireplace. A lanky, tall technician in pressed jeans, a pin-striped blue work shirt and steel-toed work boots moved closer to Chase’s side. Both men tilted their heads up to look at the camera on the technician’s phone. The one he held at an angle high above their heads. Several selfies later, the pair broke apart and checked the photographs.
The technician—his name, Alden, embroidered above his shirt pocket—greeted her. His blond curls covered his forehead, brushed over his brown eyes as if reaching for his twin dimples. “The heat is not quite fixed yet, but it will be. I promise.”
“It’ll be warmer if you shut the bedroom door,” Chase said. His jacket hung on the back of a kitchen chair. A pair of gloves and a hat rested on the table. He appeared more than immune to the walk-in-refrigerator-level cold in the house.
Nichole leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest. Her toes curled inside her thick socks, willing her to retreat into the bedroom and the welcoming warmth. But Chase gripped Nichole’s attention as firmly as Chase’s hold on his permanent marker. Chase signed everything Alden set on the counter.
“I think we’ve covered all my family.” Alden dug through his tool bag on the floor. The sheer joy on Alden’s face saturated his voice. “Could you sign these gloves for my cousin and a pair for his brother-in-law? They never miss a game.”
Chase appeared in no hurry to stop signing. His excitement rivaled Alden’s. He appreciated Alden’s reenactment of specific plays, added his own version, then steered the conversation back to Alden’s family. Always he brought the conversation back to Alden. Chase was kind, thoughtful and engaging.
“I really appreciate this, Mr. Jacobs.” Alden gathered his items like a kid collecting his winning prizes at the midway in the State Fair.
“Chase.” He grinned and swirled the marker across a work glove. “How long have you been working as a technician?”
“Little over two years.” Alden tucked his autographed merchandise away as if he’d never take it out. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, his voice timid. “I’m saving up to buy my girl a ring.”
“That’s special.” Chase handed the gloves to Alden. His smile genuine, his voice sincere. “She’s really lucky to have you.”
Nichole watched Chase. Surely Chase would advise the young guy to wait longer to get married. Have more fun before tying himself down. Surely the city’s favorite adventurer bachelor would dissuade Alden, discourage marriage and laugh off love.
“Could you sign something for her parents?” Alden scanned the living room as if the chateau was his personal Pioneers’ fan store. “They’re big fans too.”
“Absolutely.” Chase held up his hand, interrupting Alden’s search. “I’m pretty sure I have an extra jersey in my suitcase.”
Chase carried extra jerseys to give out to his fans? Had the sweatshirt Chase loaned Nichole been intended for a fan? And then she understood, his star power came from his ability to center his full attention on someone. To make that person feel valued and important, not a bother or an intrusion. He made her feel recognized. He made her feel noticed and appreciated. Nichole held her position in the doorway.
Chase slowed, squeezed around Nichole. Only his arm brushed against her shoulder.
For a breath, she wanted more of his undivided attention too. She turned and tracked his movements around the bedroom. “You enjoy this?”
“He’s a good guy.” Chase dug through his suitcase and held up a Pioneers jersey. “If this will help Alden win over his in-laws, then it’s time well spent.”
Would he consider their time together, time well spent too? “You’re a good guy too.”
“Don’t forget to shut the door to keep warm until the heat is fixed.” He slipped around her and glanced back. His gaze warm, thoughtful. “Did you make your calls to potential vendors like you wanted?”
Nichole pointed at her phone on the mantel, reminding herself more of Chase’s attention wasn’t what she needed. “Doing that right now.”
Chase handed Alden the signed jersey and followed him upstairs. He asked Alden a series of questions as if he intended to become a technician after his football career ended. Nichole returned to the master suite and her business.
Four phone calls concluded, heat poured through the in-floor vent, warming the master bedroom into sauna-level hot. Nichole rose, stretched her legs and walked out to the kitchen.
Chase and Alden headed toward the front door. Chase carried Alden’s tool bag as if it belonged to him, not the young technician. Alden lifted his 10-foot ladder.
“Thanks, Alden.” Nichole called out. “You’ve saved our vacation.”
Alden’s grin split across his face, his dimples anchoring it into place. “My pleasure, Mrs. Jacobs.”
Mrs. Jacobs. Nichole blinked, tried to cut off the swirl of delight curling through her. She was a fraud. An imposter. Her heart stretched against that caution tape and refused to listen.
Chase closed the front door, moved around the large island and opened the refrigerator. “We’ve got lunch and dinner to plan. Any ideas?”
Banning the use of Mrs. Jacobs would be a good start. Nichole swiped across her phone screen, pulled herself together and restored those boundaries. A new text from Brooke flashed on her phone, distracting her. “Brooke and Dan are coming up early. Wesley and Ben convinced them nothing was happening in school tomorrow since it’s the day before spring break. They’ll be here in about an hour. And everyone is hungry.”
Chase clapped his hands together. “What should we cook?”
We. No, they were definitely not a we. Couldn’t be. They had a business arrangement. Yet everything was starting to feel normal. Too natural. As if they always planned meals together. Always vacationed together. She had to break their connection. Remind herself they were opposites. And opposites could not attract. “I brought boxed mac and cheese and hot dogs just for times like this.”
“You’re serious?” He frowned at her.
; “It’s a family favorite.” Nichole lifted her chin. “It’s one of Wesley’s favorites.”
He stepped closer to her. “Let’s make a deal.”
Deal? Nichole moved toward him and tipped her head to lock her gaze on his. The last deal she’d made with Chase had her married to him. How much worse could it get? “What do you have in mind?”
“You make your food.” He grimaced and recovered. His gaze warmed and searched her face. “I’ll make my version and we see which one everyone prefers.”
“What are you making exactly?” Nichole eyed him. He reached forward, brushed her hair off her shoulder. His touch light and swift. But the effect left her restless and wishful. She cleared her throat. “It has to be healthy, no ice cream or brownies to sway the vote.” No more tugs on her heart to sway her resolve.
“It’ll be something simple. Kid-friendly.” He opened the refrigerator and peered inside. Then turned toward her. His gaze lit up. “Baked ziti with fresh tomatoes, spinach and broccoli.”
“You might want to reconsider so many vegetables.” And she’d reconsider her urge to move closer to him. “It also doesn’t sound so simple.”
“Don’t underestimate a kid’s palate. I’ll add sausage too.” He held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Chase could cook. Very well. Nichole hardly knew her way around the kitchen. She kept her hands in her pockets. “What happens when you lose?”
“The loser has to cook breakfast for everyone for the rest of the weekend.” He grinned at her.
“Done.” No way would she lose this. She knew both the boys too well. Spinach would stop the conversation before it started. Nichole set her hand inside Chase’s.
A jolt of awareness bounced between their palms and vaulted toward her chest. And she wondered if she’d made a different sort of bargain. One that had nothing to do with cooking and everything to do with distance. And not keeping hers.
Chase filled a pan with water, turned on the front burner, then adjusted the oven to preheat. Vegetables and several cheeses shared space on the large island with mixing bowls and cutting boards. “Don’t you want to prep anything?”
Her Surprise Engagement Page 14