MONDAY, OCTOBER 15
Jaime’s phone pinged, and she picked it up. What was this? A photo of her walking to the truck with Chandler, followed by another showing them in her parents’ backyard the day before, and a third showing her in the lobby at her apartment complex. The fact that someone was watching her this closely was terrifying. It had to be her uncle’s doing.
She stared into the bedroom mirror, her thoughts swirling into fear.
Chandler would be at her door any minute, and her heart wouldn’t stop somersaulting.
“Do you want the questions to plague your life? Do you want a relationship with Chandler more than you want to cling to fear?”
She whispered the questions into the emptiness of her small apartment. She’d spent so much time fighting what she wanted or desired, she didn’t know if she could risk wanting more. Or if she even should.
What was that verse Caroline had told her? God doesn’t give us a spirit of fear?
The thought that it was coming to her mind in this moment made her laugh even as she wanted to cling to the promise. Could there really be a promise of no fear? A way to trade her longtime companion for one of love and a sound mind? It was such an odd way to think, but she found comfort in it.
Maybe without the fear she could wrestle her questions about God and His absence to the ground.
“While it’s a nice thought, it won’t get me ready before that man knocks on my door.”
Jaime never talked to herself. Maybe she should warn him that in the short time Caroline had stayed with her, she had lost her mind. Instead of feeling like a place of safety, her apartment carried the weight of solitude with a side of depressing and lonely.
Jaime stepped from the mirror and pulled on a pair of olive-green skinny jeans and a loose-weave silver sweater that she threw over a cami. With a pair of boots that would bring her to Chandler’s height and a chunky necklace she could use as a weapon if needed, she felt ready. She could hold her own and stand her ground. She pulled her hair into a loose bun on top of her head and teased a few strands from the edges. A stroke or two of makeup and a swipe of mascara, and she stopped. Anything more would look like she was trying. She paused long enough to inhale a whiff of lavender oil, begging it to calm her nerves.
A knock at the door as she stood brushing her teeth made her freeze. She spit and then wiped a towel across her lips as he knocked again.
She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath that she blew out slowly.
Time to go.
Had Jaime changed her mind?
If she didn’t open the door quickly, he might slink away so neither of them was embarrassed by her change of heart. He rapped on the door again, then stepped back, swinging his arms as if the motion would release his nervous energy.
How could one woman unnerve him like this? Even trying to narrow down the soldier who was harassing him was nothing compared to the knot in his gut about what she would say and do. He heard steps and froze his arms at his side. A moment later the door eased open. If he hadn’t already been locked in place, he would have been rendered incapacitated. As it was, his voice abandoned him.
Those boots brought her almost nose to nose with him. She carried herself with the regal bearing of an Amazon, and she wore her casual outfit like armor, any softness counterbalanced by the guarded look in her eyes. Words whooshed from him. “You look great.”
A slow flush of color climbed her neck, and he resisted the urge to fist pump. She might be a standoffish woman, but she still wanted to be told she was a princess warrior worth his time and attention.
“Thank you.” The words were a breath that had him leaning closer.
He didn’t want to miss a word, but as she flinched slightly, he eased back. There was still a piece to her past he needed to understand. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was the classic domestic violence victim, only the violence had occurred when she was a child, and made a deeper imprint. He struggled to reconcile that with the hard-as-nails woman he’d seen in the legal arena.
“Ready to go? Busboys and Poets has a poetry show starting in a little over an hour.”
She met his gaze with a directness that left him feeling he could read her mind.
“I don’t really like poetry.”
“You’ll like this.”
She frowned, then smoothed her face back to neutral. “I’ll let you convince me.” She visibly relaxed her shoulders and turned toward a table he could barely see from his vantage point in the hall. A moment later she held her purse and keys. “I’m ready.”
“Isn’t it customary to invite someone in for a moment before you depart?’
“Not for me.” She smiled, but there was distance coloring it. As if she wanted to test how he’d react to her attitude.
That was all right. He could skirt the fight. “I’m ready for a good steak and some entertaining poetry.”
The walk to the elevator and ride down was quiet, but he decided to feel comfortable in it. She could set the tone for the conversation and evening. He’d provide the food and the diversion as needed.
Thirty minutes later they’d parked at one of the Shirlington lots and walked toward the restaurant. “You know, we can see a movie if you’d rather.”
“I’m willing to try poetry. If you like it, I’ll try to find value in it.” There. The touch of sass was back in her voice as she slid her hands into her jeans’ back pockets and sauntered nonchalantly down the sidewalk. Next to him. She seemed oblivious to the admiring gazes from the men they encountered, but he noted each one. Why was she so impervious to her own beauty? She was proving to be someone who made the chase interesting, and that made him more determined than ever to figure out what made Jaime the intriguing woman she was.
Jaime loved the neighborhood vibe Shirlington cultivated. She really should visit more often than the one evening a year she usually spent there.
As they walked down the sidewalk, Chandler stayed on the outside nearest the road. Who had taught him such a level of courtesy? He never talked about himself other than the mention of his divorce. It was almost like he’d been on ice for thirty years and lacked a history, but that wasn’t possible.
Jaime glanced at him again, noting how his hair curled around the edges of his ears. It frustrated her when men took such pains with her. In some ways it made her feel like they thought she wasn’t capable—but with him it ignited a cherished feeling. Not even her dad had treated her with such care. She glanced at Chandler. What did he see in her?
Somehow, he seemed immune to the blot that stained her life. She wasn’t sure whether to call him a fool or cry in relief that her deepest secrets hadn’t caused him to flee. She swallowed against sudden tears that threatened to spill over.
“Hey, you’ve gotten quiet.” He nudged her with his elbow, a light, playful touch. “Everything all right? We could walk the trails if you’d rather.”
She glanced down at her boots and chuckled. “Not in these.” He guided her around a lamppost. “Why do you do that?”
He stopped and looked at her, his gaze boring into her. “Do what?”
“Why do you make sure I’m safe?”
“My mama taught me to treat women well.”
“Hmmm.”
“The restaurant’s right there.” He checked for traffic, then led her across the street to a brick building painted a soft butter and past a small section of outside seating with green and mustard-yellow umbrellas. She shivered and glanced around.
Chandler stilled beside her. “Everything okay?”
“It is.” But as she said the words she glanced around. Why did it feel like a presence lurked? She froze.
Over there.
A shadow.
Was it simply the light from the setting sun casting long fingers of darkness? Or was someone really lurking there?
“Jaime?”
“Is there a shadow over there?” She pointed, and the shadow shifted.
“Stay right here.” Chandler eased her toward the pool of light from a storefront window and then leaned close. “Pretend you’re enjoying this.” He ran his fingers along a strand of her hair before tucking it behind her ear.
A traitorous tickle snaked up her spine, and she looked down.
“I’m going to check it out.” He raised his voice. “I left my wallet in the car. I’ll be right back.”
Then he spun and hurried toward the shadow. Before he got there, the shadow bolted. Chandler started after him, and Jaime shivered. What had started as a nice evening now had a sinister tinge. Had it been Dane? He’d been quiet since the ball, but she knew it couldn’t last, not if he wanted the appointment. He had to know she wouldn’t simply walk away.
A stiff wind tossed a few leaves down the sidewalk, and Jaime wanted to go inside and hide from the shadows and the wind.
Chandler hustled back, barely breathing hard. “Whoever it was took off.”
“What was he driving?”
“An SUV of some sort. Dark. I wasn’t expecting him to bolt that direction.”
“I’m ready to eat.” And push the last five minutes aside. She would physically shove the thoughts aside.
Chandler held the door for her. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”
“Yes.”
When Chandler held the door, she stepped inside, curious to see the restaurant. Wooden tables were mixed with a few red high-backed armchairs, resting on tile and then carpet. Behind that were floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves loaded with an assortment of books.
She loved everything, from the bright paint to the eclectic paintings hanging behind the bar. “What a fun environment.”
Chandler placed a hand at the small of her back as he led Jaime to the hostess stand. “It is.”
She pointed to the bookshelves. “Is that really a bookstore? What a perfect place to wait.” She’d take the opportunity to recover among the books. There weren’t many—it was just a nook—but she loved the look of the dark wood bookshelves interspersed with beautiful book spines and covers. The floor-to-ceiling red curtains grabbed her attention. “Is that a table perched on a stage?”
“That’s where the poetry reading will be.” He gave the hostess his name, then led Jaime to the bookshelves. “We’ll have a few minutes before a table opens up.”
She ran a hand over one of the sliding ladders attached to the bookshelves. “Every time I see one of these, I want to pretend I’m Belle and sing my way across the shelves.”
“Belle?” Chandler’s eyebrows knit together as he frowned in confusion.
“From Beauty and the Beast. Did your mama forget to let you watch Disney classics?”
“Guess my dad was too busy taking me to Star Wars movies.”
She grimaced and stepped closer to the books. The shelves were filled with an eclectic mix of authors, with modern art filling the space between bookshelves. “Your education was clearly incomplete.”
“You can help me rectify that.”
She turned and looked at him, lifting her chin to meet his gaze head on. “You realize that would involve cartoons. About princesses. And singing teapots and candlesticks.”
He shrugged. “How bad can it be?”
He had no idea. “All right. Then when we’re done here, come to my place, and we’ll watch it.” She wanted to bite back the words the moment they escaped, but she’d gotten caught up in their banter and he nodded before she could, almost as if he sensed she might revoke her invitation.
“Some really good salmon, then movies at your place.”
“Instead of poetry?”
“Only if you’re sure.” He winked at her, and part of her heart melted.
“The chance to see you watching not just any movie but a classic princess cartoon? I’m completely in.” She couldn’t wait to see his Marvel loving reaction to such culture.
The conversation over the meal flowed easily. She even got him to open up some about his family and childhood. After a meal that left her groaning she was so full, Chandler insisted on getting dessert for later during the movie.
She looked from him to the waiter. “The only way I’ll have room for that is if we walk home.”
“Don’t worry, by the time we watch your movie, you’ll be begging to eat the key lime pie.” He grinned and held up two fingers. “We’ll take two slices.”
And funny thing, two hours later she was. Chandler had been a gentleman, and she’d slowly relaxed as they went from Belle singing about the small town she lived in to the snowball fight. He looked . . . right . . . in her small space. Where she should feel threatened and on guard, she knew he would honor her in all his actions. He’d certainly demonstrated that as he stayed on his side of the futon, only once stretching an arm along the back. She couldn’t blame him since he was too big for any of her furniture . . . but he may have slid a bit over so his fingers brushed her hair.
The last song played over the closing credits, and she turned to him. “What did you think?”
“It’s not Star Wars.”
“No, but there’s a plot.”
“I would have never pegged you as a happily-ever-after girl.”
She snorted, though with him here, she had whispers that it might be more than a storyteller’s lie. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“I can do that for three minutes.”
“Of course you can.” She rolled her eyes. She didn’t want him to leave. After all, Aslan and Simba were curled next to each other on the floor. So much for dogs and cats hating each other. Maybe she didn’t have to pretend she disliked him either. She held up another DVD. “Want to watch another movie?”
“The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe? Did you read the book?”
“Finished it this morning, and I’d love to watch the movie again. It’s been years.”
“I’d like that.” He leaned toward her until she could feel his breath warm on her face. “You are an amazing woman, Jaime Nichols.”
What couldn’t this specimen of male perfection do? As he nudged toward her, her breath caught on the hope he would kiss her. Was she ready to risk her heart to him?
But then he eased back and stood to clear their dessert dishes from the small coffee table and carry them the fifteen steps to the kitchen. And she knew. She wanted to plunge in and see just how perfect Chandler Bolton was.
As she watched him, their gazes collided. Was it possible he felt the same?