CHASE STEPPED INTO his grandmother’s apartment and scrambled into the kitchen. “Nonna, what are you doing?”
“Boiling potatoes and preparing my statement.” Nonna peered into a large pot on the stove and pointed at her notepad perched on the end of the kitchen counter.
Chase scratched his chin, wondering where to start: the potatoes or the statement. “You’re not supposed to cook without one of us here to help.”
“Nichole. My dear. Thank you for making time to visit me on such short notice.” She elbowed Chase and his declaration aside, then hugged Nichole. “Now, where’s my new great-grandson?”
“It’s Wednesday and a school day.” And a workday, but Nonna had demanded Chase bring Nichole to see her when he’d bailed from the family intervention yesterday. “Wesley had to go to school.”
“That’s unfortunate.” His grandmother scowled. “Being with family should always come first.”
“Wesley was quite upset, Nonna.” Nichole smiled. “He offered to do extra chores for three months if I let him skip school today.”
“Sounds like a good boy.” Delight lifted Nonna’s paper-thin cheeks. “Now let’s look at you. You’re lovelier than ever, dear.”
“You always were too kind, Nonna.” Nichole gripped both of Nonna’s hands as if she wanted to hang on and not let Nonna go.
Chase wanted Nichole to hold on to him the same way. As if she wanted him beside her and never intended to let him go. He picked up a fork, tested the potatoes and pierced his misdirected thoughts. One potential ski-moon had rewired everything. “Nonna wasn’t always kind to me.”
“You didn’t need kindness.” Nonna tucked Nichole’s arm around hers. “Still don’t.”
His grandmother always minced garlic and never words. Chase concentrated on the pot and hid his smile. Arthritis had stolen the strength from his grandmother’s grip but hadn’t slowed the quickness of her wit. “What do I need?”
“You need a good reason to stop seeking thrills and quit avoiding home.” Nonna guided Nichole into her apartment as if Nichole was the guest of honor at a society gala, not an old acquaintance. Nonna glanced at him. “But you just might have found a very good reason to come home.”
His grandmother had been reciting a version of her accusation for over a year now. Despite the fact Chase lived less than ten minutes from her, fifteen minutes from his mom and both of his sisters. He was surrounded in every direction on the compass by his family and home. Family dinners belonged to Sundays and weekday visits happened at least twice a week. Avoidance would not be tolerated by the Jacobs family. Yet Nonna accused him of constantly being on the run. Chase stabbed at the potatoes. “Why are you boiling so many potatoes? You have at least two dozen in here.”
“Haven’t lost your ability to count. It’s good to keep your mind sharp.” Nonna led Nichole to the pair of kitchen barstools. “Your mind will be all you can count on if you reach my age.”
Chase tapped the stainless-steel fork against the pot. “About the potatoes.”
“Those are for the gnocchi we are going to make.” More delight infused her voice. “Together.”
Nonna stressed the word as if to underscore she’d heard Chase earlier about needing assistance. It wasn’t the last Chase would hear about his impertinent reminder of her weaknesses. Still, she could’ve lost her hold on the knife and cut herself. She had a scar on her forearm from just such an accident and that scar wasn’t alone.
“I can’t cook.” Nichole gripped the wrought iron back of the barstool.
“No one in our family cooked as good as my own mother.” Nonna patted Nichole’s shoulder. “We all have challenges we must face.”
“How were you going to overcome the challenge of lifting this pot up to drain the water?” Chase used the fork to point at the oversize pot. Osteoporosis had weakened each one of his grandmother’s bones. A sign outside her apartment door read Fall Risk. Though she’d chopped potatoes and filled the pot as if she’d intended to cook for the retirement home lunch rush.
“I wasn’t going to lift it. You are.” Nonna gave two quick, irritated tugs on her blue-striped apron. “My hands work a little slower these days, but they still work. It’ll do you good to remember that.”
“I was only trying to help, Nonna.” Chase added a dose of remorse to his words. “Mom would scold me if I didn’t remind you of the rules.”
“Your mother needs to concentrate on her own rules and let me live like I’m used to.” Nonna sniffed. “Now find yourself and Nichole some aprons.”
His grandmother intended for them to cook together. Nichole included. But Nonna had always been selective about who she allowed in her kitchen. Who she shared her recipes with. The kitchen had always been reserved for those his grandmother considered family. Cooking was an event from the preparation to the cleanup. An intimate, private experience. Almost sacred. Nichole and Chase cooking together as if they were a real couple. “This was only supposed to be a quick catch-up visit. Nichole has to work on her business.”
“Do you have any family traditions, Nichole?” Nonna shifted away from Chase to focus on Nichole.
Again, Nonna acted as if he hadn’t spoken. Her typical default once she’d heard something that went contrary to her intentions. Chase crossed his arms over his chest, intending to stare his grandmother into cooperation.
“Not opening Christmas presents until Christmas morning.” Nichole’s hands fluttered in front of her. “Homemade eggs Benedict. It’s the one thing I can make.”
“We’ll make eggs Benedict together another time.” Nonna nodded, pleasure spread into the creases fanning from her eyes beneath her round glasses. “Today we’re making one of our family favorites.”
No. No cooking. Chase cooked alone at his house. Never invited anyone he’d dated to cook with him. He couldn’t recall cooking a meal for anyone he’d dated. That would’ve invited a woman into his house, granting her permission to critique his food and him. There were too many obstacles to surpass before they cooked together. Before he knew for certain they’d work well together. Neither Chase nor his past girlfriends had been interested in escalating their relationships beyond casual and informal.
His grandmother believed gardening and cooking opened the mind and the heart to love’s true meaning. Chase already knew what love meant. Love meant exposure and rejection. No one wanted to face that. Besides, he’d avoided his heart for so long, there were too many weeds to find it anymore.
“This is our family tradition. Every new couple learns a family recipe from the current matriarch.” Nonna shuffled into the kitchen beside Chase. “Your grandfather and I cooked with my grandmother. Chase’s mother and father cooked with Chase’s great-grandmother. Of course, Chase’s father burnt the sausage and spilled the olive oil. We should’ve honored that unfortunate sign from Fate.” Nonna nudged Chase aside and opened a drawer. Aprons burst forth like wishes on a shooting star. “Never underestimate the importance of signs, dear.”
His grandmother always packed a lot of words into one breath as if worried she might be on her last breath. As if she might not get the chance to finish her thought and get her message across. There was always a message.
Nichole reached for the apron, her movements slow and hesitant.
But Nichole wasn’t Chase’s real wife. They weren’t a real couple. Surely there was some kind of sign happening now. Something not to be overlooked. But all he saw was his petite grandmother, her shoulders stooped, her faith strong, and Nichole, welcoming and kind and all too appealing. Chase stumbled for an excuse to leave.
Nichole stepped into the kitchen, set the apron strap around her neck and turned her back toward Chase. “Can you tie this please?”
“You have work.” Chase kept his hands at his sides and his gaze fixed away from the dangling apron straps. I never promised this.
“I can go back further in the family tree.” Nonna pulled a stainless steel bowl from a cabinet. “Generations in our family have been honoring this particular tradition and proving that food brings you closer together and love bonds you. We had a rather impressive streak until Chase’s father.”
“I can call on vendors and businesses later.” Nichole twisted and took Chase’s hand, easy and effortless as if she’d been reaching for him always. She squeezed his fingers. “This is important to Nonna.”
It was even more important not to act like a couple. Not to link his fingers with hers or notice how her hand fit inside his as if they belonged. Chase might start to believe in more than a business agreement between them. Chase might start to believe in walks down the aisle, vows and a different sort of future. But Chase only knew how to succeed one way: on his own.
“I wouldn’t imagine you’d want to go out and about at all today.” Nonna set the mixing bowl on the kitchen table next to the cutting board and cookie sheets.
Chase narrowed his eyes. All evidence of crafts had been replaced by cooking supplies. Not a scrap of wreath ribbon or forgotten silk butterfly littered the table. Nonna had planned their cooking session. If he wasn’t mistaken, she had help preparing. Now he had his mother and sisters to blame too.
Nonna added, “I’m sure the media will be tracking your every move.”
“I work from home.” Nichole released him and tugged several strands of hair from beneath the apron strap around her neck. The movement distracted Chase. He wanted her hand back inside his and he wanted to help her. “And nothing I do is all that interesting.”
“But you’re the headline, my dear, and that makes you interesting. The press announced your identity late this morning on the news.” Nonna shuffled into the kitchen and picked up the salt container. “Nichole, if you’re going to be tied to my grandson, you have to make the news part of your morning routine like brushing your teeth and eating breakfast. None of it can be skipped or you risk ruining your entire day.”
“That’s not possible.” Chase had factored in one day, maybe two, before the media figured it out.
“The press knows my identity?” Nichole smashed the front of her apron between her hands.
“Released your full name in the article.” Nonna returned to the kitchen table and her makeshift prep station. “Marie is a lovely middle name, my dear. Is it a family name?”
“After my grandmother.” Nichole fiddled with the apron, her tone distant.
“A touching tribute.” Nonna checked over the table.
Releasing Nichole’s name in the press was not touching or a tribute. “Nonna, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
“I told you I was preparing my statement for the press.” Nonna waved toward her notepad; her focus remained on the table.
Chase summoned his patience. “You won’t need to make a comment.”
“One never knows.” Nonna tucked her hands into the pockets on her apron and looked at Chase over the rims of her glasses. “Last week, Harold Mathis and Mary Lou Tanager spent the night together at a motel. Both of their families were contacted for comments as if we haven’t earned the right to do as we please.”
“I have an agent.” Chase wiped his hands on his jeans as if that would remove his unease. “Travis fields these very things for me. To help protect my family.”
“Where was Travis yesterday?” Nonna eyed him. “If you wanted to remain anonymous, why were you at the school yesterday out in the open together?”
He’d gotten out of the car to support Nichole. Panic had paled her cheeks; worry had drained the color from her lips. He’d wanted to help.
“I was quite certain your whole marriage was a farce.” Nonna stepped over to the kitchen counter and shifted her notepad to face Nichole and Chase. “However, now that you made it simple for the press to identify you, dear, I believe there might be merit to your impulsive union. Such an emotional hug.”
Chase edged closer to the counter, close enough to see the pictures displayed on Nonna’s notepad. Yet not close enough to touch, as if he stood outside a rattlesnake’s nest and feared an attack. The larger picture included Chase, Wesley and Nichole. Wesley had wrapped his thin arms around Chase and hung on. The boy had been enthusiastic and his embrace all-encompassing, as if Wesley had been more than thrilled to call him Dad. As if Wesley had believed Chase could be his dad. Dad.
Chase’s world tilted again. He’d never imagined being called Dad. Never considered the humbling power and overwhelming emotion in one word. He’d clung on to Wesley until his own feet had settled back on solid ground.
After all, Chase knew little about being a dad. Even less about how to be a good dad. But he knew one thing for sure. A good parent was never selfish. He had only to look at his mother, Nonna and Nichole. As for Chase, he owned the title on self-centered and hadn’t earned the privilege of being called Dad.
“And your wedding gown, my dear. Wherever did you find it?” Nonna clasped her cheeks between her hands and shook her head. “I learned to sew at my grandmother’s knee. That gown was not a hasty store purchase.”
Nichole bumped Chase as they both leaned closer to the notepad. The second picture, although smaller, pulsed with energy. Nichole in Josie’s wedding gown. Her hand, with her new ring, on Chase’s lapel. Their gazes locked on each other as if it’d been their actual wedding day. His heart thumped in his chest and picked up its pace. The same as yesterday—it’d skipped at seeing Nichole in the gown. Raced with Nichole in his embrace. So reckless. So careless. And way too alluring.
“What does this mean?” Nichole’s voice barely qualified for a whisper.
“You should leave for your ski-moon early.” Nonna spun the notepad back around and tapped the screen. “That is if you want some privacy and to avoid the press and those pesky statements.”
“Is that really necessary?” Nichole twisted toward Chase.
“Do you have your statement prepared?” Nonna peered at them both, her eyes wide and bold behind her glasses.
Nichole shook her head and swayed against Chase. “We haven’t prepared one.”
“Travis will handle that.” Chase wanted to take Nichole into his arms and promise her everything would work out. Everything would be fine. He hadn’t earned that right. Empty promises never sat well with him. He moved away from Nichole, a reminder they both needed to rely on themselves. He leaned back and gripped the counter, rather than reaching for Nichole. “What about Wesley?”
“He’ll want to call Brad Harrington for a personal bodyguard.” A faint smile wafted over Nichole’s stunned face.
Chase straightened. “I can protect him.”
“As can I.” Nichole tipped her chin up. “He’ll still want the bodyguard.”
“I can be one,” Chase vowed. This was one thing he could do: protect Nichole and Wesley. After all, it was his fault the media had gotten involved.
“You can’t be with him all the time.” Nichole fussed with her apron. “It’s fine. The school won’t let unauthorized visitors inside. Dan is on car pool and soccer practice duty this afternoon.”
“Then you can leave early for the ski-moon.” Nonna beamed.
A notification pinged on Nichole’s phone, lighting up the home screen. Nichole picked up her phone and gasped.
“Everything alright?” Understatement of the year. Chase flinched.
“My grandmother just texted.” Nichole stared at her phone. Her voice distant and distracted. “One of my supposed high school friends just left their house. He works for the local newspaper. My grandmother thinks he’s wonderful and their conversation so delightful, she has invited him back.”
Nonna tsked. “The press will be waiting outside your house too, my dear.”
“Seriously?” Nichole’s phone dropped into the wide apron pocket.
Chase lowered the heat on the potato pot and the bleak edge in his voice. “It’s their job.”
“It was one wedding. People get married all the time.” Nichole paced around the small kitchen; her hands waved in front of her. “At courthouses, churches and backyards every single day.”
“But they don’t marry Chase Jacobs, the city’s favorite adventurer bachelor.” Nonna tracked Nichole’s restless circular path from the refrigerator to the sink and back again.
“I’m really sorry.” Chase stepped in front of Nichole, suspending her pacing. Still her hands drifted from the back of her head to her chin to her waist and back up again. Chase moved closer, locked his gaze on her. Waited. Waited until she concentrated on him. Only him. “I am sorry. And we can stop all this. Right now.”
Her hands settled between them, resting on his chest. Her bewildered gaze searched his face and cleared. “You’re serious.”
“I’ll take the blame. All of it.” Chase locked his elbows and kept his arms stiff at his sides. If he took her hand, he’d forget. Forget this was his fault. Forget he’d exposed her private world to public scrutiny. Forget she wasn’t his.
“What about the fallout?” Her fingers curled into his shirt. “Your reputation. Your contract.”
Chase ignored the warmth from her touch. “I’ll make sure the sale of your app is finalized.”
“That was our agreement.” A smile creased across her lips, only a shadow. She whispered, “I can’t ski.”
Chase blinked. Everything slow-rolled into a tumble and settled. “We’re doing this? The ski-moon?” The pretense. The everything.
“We have an agreement.” Nichole leaned forward, pressed a kiss against his cheek. “Last time I checked we hadn’t signed our contracts.”
Last time he’d checked, kissing Nichole Moore hadn’t topped his priority list. His cheek tingled. “I’ll teach you to ski.”
Nichole stepped away from him and pulled out her cell phone. “I need to call Brooke and the school.”
Chase gave in and curved his palm around his cheek. “I’ll call my agent.”
Nonna dashed around the kitchen, grinning into her potato pot, humming into the flour container. “The potatoes are ready.”
Chase slid his phone into his back pocket and picked up the pot from the stove.
“I like Nichole.” Nonna adjusted the colander in the sink and nodded at Chase to empty the pot. “I like her a lot.”
“I like Nichole too.” And he did. More than he wanted to admit.
“You can’t treat her like the others, Chase.” Nonna picked up the potato ricer and handed it to Chase. “Her heart is good. She’s not used to your lifestyle.”
“What others?” Chase grabbed another mixing bowl and the potato ricer. He’d dated other women. Nothing serious. Nothing lasting. He wouldn’t have asked any of his past girlfriends to act as his pretend wife. One would’ve misinterpreted the pretend part. Two would’ve reminded him that marriage wasn’t part of their five-or ten-year career plans.
“The ones you kept at a distance and used for the occasional photo opportunity.” Nonna scooped steaming potatoes into the ricer. “Those others. Nichole isn’t like them, Chase.”
Nonna’s wisdom set Chase back at times. She was no ordinary grandmother. And Nichole was no ordinary single mom either. She was a longtime friend. Nothing more. “I know who Nichole is.”
“I don’t suspect that you do.” Nonna waited for Chase to squeeze the potatoes into the bowl and added more. “But you’ll see what I’m talking about soon enough. Time brings insight. Look at me, at my age, I’ve gained more wisdom and clarity than a library.”
He knew all he needed to know about Nichole. He didn’t need more time. He wasn’t interested in learning more or discovering secrets she’d never shared with anyone.
Nichole returned to the kitchen. Chase wondered about her secrets. Wondered about the intriguing woman she’d become. “Everything good?”
“Brooke and Dan will take Wesley the next two nights and meet us in Tahoe on Friday afternoon. The school is on notice.” Nichole rocked onto the balls of her feet and back down, rubbing her hands together.
Exhaustion tinted the skin beneath her eyes. Or perhaps that was the doubt and uncertainty. Uncertainty that they were doing the right thing. Chase had never second-guessed his decisions so much. He had to commit. If only committing to Nichole sounded as simple as accepting a drone flight dare. Chase pushed more potato through the ricer and pushed confidence into his tone. “Travis is finding us a rental home.”
“What now?” Nichole asked.
“We make gnocchi.” Nonna thrust the flour container at Nichole. “Together.”