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It’s not Cari. I know it’s not. If it were Cari, a stampede would’ve broken out, Declan losing total control of the team as they all ran toward her. That’s how much these kids love her. They saw her almost every Sunday without fail and they still swarm her every time they do, bombarding her with questions and telling her about their school week. She remembered every one of them—who has big tests coming up or who’d been having trouble in school—and she made sure she said something personal to each of them. So, no—it wasn’t Cari.
Just like I knew who it wasn’t, knew who it was. I put a smile on my face and turned to jog my way to the dugout where Sara waited for me behind the fence.
“Hey,” I say when I’m close enough to say something without shouting. “What are you doing here?”
“Your team is playing my dad’s,” she said, pointing her at T-shirt. It’s bright orange with the letters LH&H scrolled across the front in a fancy script font. “And as much as it hurts to break it to you, we’re gonna whip your ass.”
I laugh, feeling almost relieved. While we were dating, she’d asked her father, one of the founding partners of some huge law firm downtown, to sponsor a team. Even after we broke up, she insisted that her father keep up with the sponsorship but she’s handed coaching over to an associate at the firm. I knew taking her out for breakfast was a mistake. That it would encourage her into believing there was a chance of us getting back together. I need to set her straight but I don’t say anything about it. Not now. Instead I give her a friendly smile. “You care to place a friendly wager on that, Ms. Howard?”
“Sure,” she says, grinning ear-to-ear. “Loser buys lunch.”
I return her smile and hold out my hand. “You’re goin’ down, Howard.”
Forty
Cari
I can’t help it.Even though Chase and I hung out all night and developed what I think of as a solid foundation to a lasting friendship, I’m freaking out.
Everett Chase is in my apartment and he’s looking at my paintings.
As soon as Patrick left (and I finally caught my breath) I did a quick tidy-up. The apartment itself is clean. Patrick is as close to a neat-freak as a twenty-five-year-old guy can get so the main rooms are good. It’s my bedroom that’s the issue. I’m kind of a slob.
Clothes on the floor. Paint splattered on the walls. Dishes—mostly coffee cups and wine glasses—crowd the table next to my easel. I scoop it all up, shoving the clothes into my hamper with a promise to do laundry later and cart the dishes to the kitchen where I give them a quick rinse before loading them into the dishwasher. I even add soap and start the wash cycle.
Shoving my overflowing hamper into my closet, I shut the door and turn to focus on making my bed. Comforter straight and pillows fluffed, I take a last look around. Chase’ll be here any minute and I want to at least look like—
The painting Chase gave me is hanging on the wall, across from my side of the bed. How I missed it earlier, I don’t know, but I did. Lowering myself onto the edge of the bed, I can’t help but stare at it. The dark current of water. The way the moonlight is reflected off its dappled surface. Ripples and torrents. The soft flow and steady rush. Both exhilarating and peaceful. Tranquil and terrifying. Familiar and strange.
It reminds me of Patrick.
I know he’s the one who hung it for me. I can imagine him doing it. Choosing the perfect place. Setting the nail and hook at the right angle. Hanging it just so. Using his level to make sure it’s straight. Not wanting to, but doing it anyway. For me.
There’s a knock on the front door and when I answer it, I find Chase standing on the other side. Today, he’s wearing jeans and a faded, paint-splattered T-shirt. “There’s a place down the street that makes the best breakfast burritos in Boston,” he says, holding up a white paper bag.
I see Benny’s logo printed in red across the bag and can’t help by laugh. “You should try their pancakes.” I say, opening the door to let him in.
He crosses the threshold and drops the bag on the coffee table while I get a roll of paper towels from the kitchen. Benny’s is good but can be a bit messy. When I get back to the living room, Chase is sitting on the couch, in Patrick’s spot, halfway through his breakfast. “You live over a bar,” he says between bites. “I’m jealous.”
“It’s Patrick’s uncle’s place—his grandfather lived here,” I say, pulling a few paper towels from the roll.
Chase nods while he chews. “This place is pretty amazing,” he says, taking in exposed brick and raised ceilings that dominate the space. “Your boyfriend’s handy work?” He focuses on me, giving me a friendly grin.
“One—he’s not my boyfriend.” I laugh and shake my head, unwrapping my burrito. “And two—yes.”
“You put up my painting,” he says and I almost ask how he knew but then I realize where he’s sitting. From Patrick’s spot on the couch, he had a direct line of sight into my room, thanks to the mirror I hung.
“Patrick did it for me.” I shove the end of my burrito in my mouth and take a bite big enough to choke a horse. I don’t want to talk about my roommate.
Chase laughs, wadding up the paper that housed his recently devoured burrito. “Of course he did,” he says, tossing the paper ball into the bag.
Giving up on the burrito, I manage to swallow what’s in my mouth without choking before dropping the rest on my paper towel. “You want to see my work or do you want to bust my chops?” I stand and jerk my head in the direction of the hall.
He stands. “Both—duh.” Chase shakes his head at me while heading in the direction I’m pointing and I follow him. “Jesus.” He heads directly over to the alcove where my easel and paints are set up. Standing at the bank of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the harbor, he shakes his head. “How much is Mandy paying you, Cari?”
The question makes me blush. After a few months of working for Miranda, I was financially stable enough to pay nearly ten times what Patrick originally asked for. I’d insisted he raise my rent, letting me pay half. He refused.
“Enough,” I tell him, sitting on my bed. “Like I said, Patrick’s uncle owns the building so the rent is flexible.”