“What are you talking about? I brought my snowmobile.”
I laugh out loud. “A snowmobile date, now that would be interesting,” I say. Is this a date? I think. Maybe I shouldn't have said “date.”
“I know you get snow in Madison, but I'm guessing that you don't regularly see the kind of snow we have here on Lake Superior. I can pick you up tomorrow after the plows come through and take you back here to get your car. Sound okay?” I ask, hopefully.
“I can have someone from my family take me back to get it tomorrow. Oma is here, so we can use her car.”
“Oh, okay,” I smile, but I'm a little disappointed. I would happily accept another excuse to see him.
“Just wait for the plows to come through before you come and get the car!”
“All right, Miss Over-protective! I won't leave the house tomorrow until every last bit of snow is gone.” His exaggeration is obvious, and he's convinced me that he's not offended by my bluntness. He proceeds, “but, we're still going for coffee, right? Or will we get stranded at the cafe? That might be a nice way to spend more time with you.”
I'm beaming as we head to the truck. Sure enough, my good old reliable Ford treks out of the parking lot with no problem.
“Like I said, classical isn't my favorite, but tonight was nice,” I comment. “Speaking of which...” I turn on the radio. It's currently set to a country station and I quickly say, “You can change it to something else if you'd like. Most of my friends can't stand country.”
“It's fine,” Chase reassures me. “I'm a closet country music lover myself.”
“Really?” I ask. “You're not just making fun of me?”
“No, seriously. I like the stuff, but I won't admit it to many of my friends either. We should form a support group for people like us.”
I laugh, squeezing my eyes shut, and I almost steer the truck off the road, which isn't hard to do in these slippery conditions. Once I regain control, I ask, “So, what else do you like to listen to?”
Chase tells me that he listens to a lot of popular Christian music, but he's into a little bit of everything. “Anything but Opera” are his exact words.
“Well, I love acid rock,” I say.
“No way!” Chase laughs. “Seriously?”
“No, I don't even know what acid rock is. I like a variety of sounds, too. But, you can't go wrong with top 40, I guess.”
When we arrive at Sue's Brews, it looks completely deserted. Good, I think. Fewer distractions, more time with Chase.
Sue's Brews is probably the most unique restaurant in Eagle Canyon. Sue and her husband Mitchell run the establishment, but it is separated into two sections. Sue offers the best coffee and specialty coffee drinks I've ever had. Mitchell has a small-time brewery and he creates exclusive beers using some local ingredients.
Chase and I choose to sit in the cafe rather than the pub.
“So, now, tell me more about you, Chase Nichols,” I fold my hands and stare at him as I wait for him to respond.
“Well, I'm a Libra, I like long walks on the beach, and I'm not afraid to cry.”
I lift my eyebrows and comment, “Oh, is that what your online dating profile says?” He laughs and I think I would say just about anything to hear the sound of him laughing.
Chase played just about every sport imaginable throughout his childhood. He started playing baseball when he was four. He shows me the scar from the baseball that hit him in the eye when he was little. It's hardly noticeable – just above his eyebrow. But now that I see it, I can tell it's there.
As I watch Chase's lips move and his face become animated with our discussions, I can't figure out what has me so drawn to him. He is incredibly handsome, warm, welcoming, funny, sweet. Still, that doesn't even come close to summing it up. I see something else in Chase. Something real.
Three hours pass too quickly and Sue has to chase us out. We head out into the storm once more, but I stop Chase before he hops into the truck. “Thanks for a great night. I'm glad you invited me to the concert.”
Before getting in the truck, I chance a look at the sky. “Chase, look,” I say, pointing toward a patch of starry sky between the clouds. The snow has stopped, at least for a little while. There are still many heavy-looking clouds threatening to drop more snow on us, but the few open patches provide me the opportunity to share a little more of my passion with Chase.
As I'm pointing, I draw the outline of one of the constellations. “There's Orion,” I tell him.
“I've heard of Orion, but the only other ones I recognize are the Big Dipper and Little Dipper,” he says.
“Those are the easiest to spot,” I tell him. I trace out the outline of Orion. “Orion is the hunter. See his shoulders? And the three stars in the middle make up his belt, and then another little line of stars makes up his sword.” I can't tell if Chase is really following what I'm saying, but he's leaning over my shoulder, breathing next to my ear. I can feel his warmth on my cheek, and I can hear his soft breath. My knees start to feel weak. At least he's pretending to be interested.
“Then, look to the left of Orion.” I move my finger along the sky and try to trace out another constellation. “Those two are known as Gemini, the twins.”
I continue in almost a whisper. “If there were no clouds, you could see Taurus over there, and Pleiades, the Seven Sisters. Do you see how bright the stars are when there's no light pollution?”
“They're fantastic,” he says. He's so close that I think his lips might be brushing against my ear. I want him to kiss me. If I turned around and caught his lips with mine, would he kiss me back? I wonder. I'm too shy to find out.
I pull up as close to his cabin as possible, and just as he's getting out, Chase turns back to me and asks, “We're still on for brunch on Sunday, right?”
“Yes!” I remember and tell him, “I'll text you my address.”
I can barely keep my attention on the pastor's sermon this morning. My thoughts keep drifting off to a certain chocolate-haired guy. I have to keep dragging my brain back to the here and now. When I was little, I used to get in huge trouble if I was distracted or misbehaving during church. Without thinking, I check to see if my parents have noticed my wandering attention. They wouldn't discipline me for it now that I'm an adult, but it's an automatic response after years of being redirected.
After church, I brew a fresh pot of coffee and start making my mom's famous Cinnamon Crumble recipe. It's the best coffee cake in town, confirmed by the county fair board three years in a row.
The knock at the door starts my heart racing. Since my hands are full of cinnamon and brown sugar, my mom opens the door. I hear her exclaim, “Oh, Chase, you didn't have to do that!” She returns from the kitchen door with a huge poinsettia in her hands. There is a small rope suspended above the flowers, almost like a hanging plant, and I quickly realize that Chase must have rigged it so that he could carry it inside.
I turn, with my hands still in the mixing bowl. “Hi! Sorry I can't come over to shake your hand just now.” I smile as he makes his way to look over my shoulder. “Hi,” he whispers right next to my ear. “That looks great.” My face feels flushed as he heads to the table and sits down.
Just then, Marcus barrels in and yells, “When is brunch going to be ready? I'm starving!” Typical middle school boy. I'm so grateful he hadn't walked in when Chase was whispering in my ear. I would have never heard the end of his ridicule.
However, being the obtrusive boy, Marcus finds another way to embarrass everyone in the room. “Hey, what's with the crutches? Did you break your leg? I broke my leg once and had to wear the cast for six weeks. And then I used the dumb crutches for another six weeks. You probably slipped on the stupid ice, right? Yours are different, though. Can I try them?”
“Marcus!” My mom says sharply, trying to distract him. “Please make the orange juice.”
I bite my bottom lip and look at Chase to see his reaction to my brother's brainless questioning. “I'm sorry,” I
mouth out to him.
He smiles reassuringly at me and then looks at my brother. “I've had them a lot longer than six weeks. Both of my legs are weak, so I use them all the time.”
Thankfully, that satisfies my pea-brained brother's curiosity. He finishes the juice and leaves the room yelling, “Let me know when the food is ready. I'm starving.”
“You mentioned that!” I yell back. Chase and my mom both laugh.
“I hope you like bird's nests,” I tell Chase as we transport all of the food to the table. The confused look on his face prompts me to explain. “These are bird's nests,” I motion to the plate filled with bread that has been fried with an egg in the middle of each, where a small circle of bread has been cut away.
“And this is my mom's famous Cinnamon Crumble,” I inform him proudly. I haven't met anyone who hasn't loved the stuff.
Brunch is a pleasant mixture of food and conversation. Of course, my parents ask Chase about college. He tells my parents that he is studying to become a physiatrist. He goes on to explain the unfamiliar term, “It's a doctor who specializes in rehabilitation. The full title would be Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation Specialist, but that's kind of a mouthful.”
I wonder again about his crutches. It has only been a few weeks, but it seems like I've known Chase forever. However, it strikes me as odd that I still don't know why he uses the crutches. I assume that it's not the best time to ask him, during brunch, in front of everyone.
“Where are you planning on going to medical school?” My father questions.
“Well,” Chase begins, “I was telling Kate that I haven't gotten that far yet. I still have to apply to schools and take the Medical College Admission Test. I will get my Bachelor's degree this spring.”
My mother chimes in, “Well, Katherine will also be finishing at the community college this spring. She is still researching schools as well. Such a busy time in both of your lives, so many big decisions. I can't imagine either one of you have space in your life for much more than that.”
She is probably just trying to make pleasant conversation, but it feels to me as if she's trying once again to drive home her point that neither one of us is ready for a relationship.
“Where do you go to church, Chase?” My father asks. It seems like that could be a much more loaded question than my mom's little jab about school. But my dad is more masterful at making conversation, so he can make a potentially tricky question sound like he wants to talk about the weather.
“My family is Roman Catholic, sir.”
“Ah, so have you been going to Holy Cross while you're visiting? It's such a beautiful church.”
“Yes, we went last weekend. It is a fantastic piece of architecture. But we often go to my grandmother's church in Ontonagon on the weekends. We were there last night.”
Chase goes to church. Is that why I see something different in him? I go to church, too, but I don't think anyone is particularly drawn to me because of it. How could that make him so much more attractive?
We spend the remainder of Sunday afternoon playing board games. I vanquish Chase in a game of Scrabble, and then he crushes me at Monopoly. We join my parents who are watching a football game. Apparently, my dad is a Badgers fan, which I never knew. Chase and my dad prattle on about the team, the coach, the season. I quickly become bored and excuse myself.
I head to my room to get ready for work. But first, I send another text to Dani: Chase is here!
From Dani: PICTURES NOW!
I run downstairs and tell Chase to smile. Before he figures out what happened, I've already hit send. Hopefully he's not too weirded out that I'm sending a picture of him to my best friend.
By the time I reach my room, Dani has responded: Holy skunk, he's cute!
That's Dani for you – a combination sophisticated art student and granola-eating tree hugger and eccentric scholar of life. She says the goofiest things and couldn't care less what people think. I'm glad she approves.
When I'm ready to leave for my shift, Dad and Chase are still talking, so I leave them to it.
“Are you sure you don't want to ride the trolley again?” I bat my eyelashes in an exaggerated way.
“Yep, I'm pretty sure. I'm still thawing out from last weekend. But, before you go, let me give you this.” He leans in for a kiss on the cheek before I leave.
That spot on my cheek keeps me warm for my entire shift on the trolley.
Chapter 4
It's a long week of classes. It usually drags on at this time of year: the semester will end soon, everyone is eager to have a break for the holidays, and it is unquestionably the coldest first-week-of-December we've had in a long time.
I have a full load of classes this semester, sixteen credits packed into Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I purposely left Fridays open because I knew I would need extra time and energy to work the trolley's ten runs each weekend. It may not seem like a lot, but between keeping warm and smiling for four hours straight each night, I'm usually pretty tired out by the end of the weekend.
On Monday, I run at the high school track again, but on Wednesday, I decide to brave the cold outside.
I cover my face and body as best I can, and I think ahead to where I've seen the least ice on the roads. I decide on a straight route through town, where most businesses will have salted their sidewalks.
I think about Chase. How can I miss this guy so much when I didn't even know him at this time two weeks ago? My mind, and my heart, have already begun to toy with the idea that Chase might be the one. Maybe that's why he seems so familiar to me. Maybe he was made for me. I try as hard as I can to control that line of thinking because I don't want to get ahead of myself. But there is just something about him that makes me think he's different.
As I round the corner to the main street of town, I notice that many people are bundled up, going from store to store, doing their Christmas shopping. I pass a small group of people and I think I hear them speaking with British accents. I wonder if they came all the way from England just to visit Eagle Canyon. Probably not, but it's fun to hear their elegant accents gracing our humble little main street.
Another block ahead, I notice a familiar figure with crutches. I slow to a jog, and then to a walk so that I'm not completely out of breath when I reach him.
“Hey, Chase,” I greet him casually, although my heart is racing. And it's not just from running.
“Hi, Kate. You're a runner?” He asks, with more than a hint of surprise in his voice.
I'm a little surprised at the confounded look on his face.
“Yeah,” I pant, still trying to catch my breath. “I don't usually run outside when it's this cold,” I tell him. “But I can only take so much of the indoor track. It's too monotonous.”
I want to stay and talk all afternoon. All evening. All night. But I know I should continue with my run, or I will lose my momentum.
“Well, I have to keep moving,” I tell him. “But hopefully I'll see you soon.” In other words, call me!
“'Bye, Kate,” he takes off his glove and brushes his warm hand on my cheek before I race off again. I feel him staring at me as I resume my run.
On Thursday after my last class, I bundle up for the walk to my truck. I could practically park at home and walk to the tiny campus, but the parking lot is just a bit closer. Besides, sometimes I stop off at the little gift shops after class to piece together my Christmas shopping, or I pick Fiona up from school. I am thankful for the remote start my dad had recently put on the truck for me.
I click the button and I'm startled by a familiar voice behind me. “Can you give me another ride?” I smile and turn to find that Chase has already grabbed his right crutch with his left hand to move it out of the way, and he pulls me into a firm hug with his right arm. In that wonderfully warm moment, he leaves another kiss on my cheek.
“Wow, you're becoming a stalker!” I laugh. My face remains close to his; he stops for a moment and looks at me as if he contemplates giving
me a real kiss.
Then he smiles and turns toward the truck. “It's not getting any warmer out here,” he yells as he leaves me frozen to the spot with his warm kiss still tingling on my skin.
I have only kissed two guys in my life. One was when I was in ninth grade. I had known the guy – well, “boy” is a more accurate word – forever, and we spent our freshman year “going out.” Meaning, we spent the year holding hands at school, sitting together at basketball games, and occasionally meeting up with friends at the movie theater. There were never any real “dates” since we were only 14. We kissed a few times at the movies. It was nothing serious.
My other kiss – the only kiss I shared with the creep – was with a guy who spent his summer here in Eagle Canyon. He was from Montreal, Canada and he spoke French. I flirted with him shamelessly every chance I got, which was every single day. He came to the pool where I worked as a lifeguard during the summer months. He came to swim laps in the Olympic-sized pool, and he stayed to let me flirt with him. It was easy with his French accent and his killer Olympic-sized-swimming-pool toned body. But the first time he got me alone about half way through the summer, he tried kissing me with his tongue and with his hands all over my body. It was kind of disgusting, actually, and I ended up telling him he was jerk. After that, we had no trouble ignoring each other at the pool. Even so, I was relieved when he finally left to go back to Montreal.
I find that now, I have a desire to kiss Chase in a whole new way. Not as some sappy high school girl. I want to kiss Chase as a grownup. Like I mean it.
But what can I possibly mean after such a short time?
I hop into the already-warming truck and ask, “So, do you really want a ride home, or would you like to come over to my house for a bit?”
“Your house sounds great,” he grins.
“I should have known you had an ulterior motive,” I tell him smugly. “How did you get to town?”
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