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"You and me, plus champagne? Not such a great idea."
He swallowed hard without breaking eye contact. "You're right. I'll drive you home."
"It's only a few blocks away, and honestly, I’m in the mood for a walk. It’s so nice outside.” I alternated between going to the office by car or public transportation. Today I’d chosen the latter and got in a few steps, but I still wanted to stretch my legs a bit.
"I'll walk you there, and then I'll come back."
“Okay.” I wasn’t ready for this evening to be over. I was beyond excited that Elijah was selling him the store! Truth be told, I did want to celebrate with him. But going somewhere together and drinking champagne sounded like a bad idea. A stroll, however, was genius.
“Are you telling your family?” I asked.
“I’ll share it with my brothers. We’ll decide together how to break the news.”
We passed the arched sign of the Gaslamp Quarter a few minutes later. The streets were bustling, as happy hour had started.
"I love the historic quarter," I murmured.
"I haven't been here in a while," Chase admitted.
"After I broke up with my ex, I knew I wanted to live here. Although, to be fair, I thought I'd be at the inn mostly and would only come out here once in a while."
"Do you miss him?" His voice was sharp.
"My ex? Not at all. He’s in the past.”
“Do you ever see him?”
“Hell no. Can we not talk about him?”
“Fine with me.”
He’d left dents in my heart, no doubt about that. Betrayal and disappointment didn’t heal easily. I wasn’t certain they’d heal at all. But Chase didn’t have to know that.
"It's such a nice evening for a stroll. Do you mind if we take a detour? I often do it on my way home."
"Sure."
We passed the Davis-Horton House first. While I didn't believe it was haunted, plenty of people did. They lined up in front of the yellow house, taking pictures and selfies. The Royal Pie Bakery was also one of my favorite buildings in the area. The red bricks stood out among the Victorian-era homes surrounding it. My very favorite was the Spencer-OgdenBuilding. The pub inside was called The Tipsy Crow. The smell of beer was pungent in the streets.
"You walk around here even at night?" he asked, his voice tighter than before.
"Yeah. It's perfectly safe," I said.
“You’re joking.” His body language changed as we walked farther down the street. The bars were full, and we could spot the occasional drunkard already. “You carry pepper spray or something with you?”
“Chase, relax.”
But he didn’t. He kept glancing to my right and walked much closer to me than before. I didn’t see anything dangerous—except perhaps the hormones rolling off him.
"How long until we get to your place?" he questioned.
"Ten minutes, give or take."
We needed fifteen minutes. He kept slowing down and sizing up the streets, and I lived at the edge of the quarter.
We turned onto my street seconds later. It was narrow, but the entrance was well lit. The building was made of red brick, and my studio was above the steakhouse on the ground floor. The smells were heavenly.
"You live here," he stated.