Page 10 of Beauty and the Grease (Midlife Meet Cute #4)

I lost count how often we sat together looking at the night sky. Dreaming big or talking about our day. It was one of my favorite things about us, our ability to just be together outside and talk. A chill rings through me.

“Cold? I don’t have a jacket.” He taps his bare arms below his short sleeves. “Here. I’ll stand like this to block the wind. Better?”

His body radiates heat. He’s almost pressed against me, but Chase was raised to be a gentleman. Still, he inches nearer. I don’t stop him. I want to be in this space with him. I want to feel like we did all those years ago, even for a moment.

I close my eyes and let myself believe it—that our paths never veered, never derailed.

“Jenny, I’m sorry.”

My eyes fly open. Stop. Feel the apology. Let it soak in.

“I can’t change the past,” he continues. “I can’t change what I did, but I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”

Jagged glass blocks my throat. I don’t want to cry but I also know I’m safe to cry with him. Chase has seen so much of me. I’m the same emotional and fragile young woman inside this 40-something body.

“Thank you,” I edge out.

The night seems to swirl, to wrap around us.

“Can I hold you?” His question surfaces as a whisper.

I can’t explain why this makes any sense. I should say no, but I don’t want to. I ease toward Chase. I fold into his arms like we’re here on a date instead of how I crash-landed at his corporate retreat after towing him from a ditch.

None of today seems real. But this does. Being here with Chase, accepting the apology I once longed to throw back in his face. I needed this apology. I needed this moment.

I look up at him and freeze. He looks at me as if nothing else exists. Our faces are close. Very close.

His warm breath meets my lips. I want this. I want—

The door clicks behind us followed by a gasp. “Oh! So sorry.”

Chase and I shoot apart. Angelina lingers in the doorway with a tall, handsome guy who must be Anvik. They’re holding hands, so hopefully that’s going well. Anvik closes the door, leaving us alone again.

The moment is over. It must have been those beers forcing nostalgia out of me. My head feels light and fizzy. Whether the fizz is from the brews or the man in front of me, who knows.

A question nudges my brain. It’s been forming since dinner. “Chase, why are you here?”

His eyes glaze over. We didn’t even kiss, but I can imagine the taste of him on my lips.

“What do you mean? Here, with you?”

“No. Here. This retreat.”

“I need to save my job.” He says the last part in a hush, looking over his shoulder.

“That, right there. The looking over your shoulder. The door is closed.”

“I knew that.”

“And the thousand yard stare when a sales bro describes the difference between a yacht and a superyacht. You know they’re all just boats, right?”

He slides his hands into his pockets. “I know this isn’t your scene, so thank you for sticking around.”

Not an answer. “But why are you here? With them? You clearly dislike it.”

“No, I don’t—well, okay, the retreat is not where I’m interested in spending time. That’s fair. But I have to. I told you already.”

“Where would you rather be?”

“Home. Out with the kids somewhere, if they’re not embarrassed by me.” He laughs softly. “This is the cost of providing for them.”

“You have to be employed, but does it have to be with them?” I keep my voice down too—you never know who might be lurking in the bushes.

“They’re awful, Chase. That guy and his daughter with the softball scholarship they turned down?

All I could think for ten minutes straight was whether anyone asked his daughter if she wanted to go to school in Ohio.

And if she still plays softball, even for fun, does she hide it from her family? ”

“You don’t even know her.”

“Look, I have a vivid imagination. You were trying to have a totally different conversation than that guy and it shows. He was dismissive of his own daughter’s talent and about you talking about your kids. I just don’t understand how…”

“How what?”

“How you put up with these people!”

“It’s my job.”

He’s not getting it. “You think this life fits you, but it doesn’t.”

“Says the fashionista artist who runs a repair shop.”

“I dressed the part back then because I thought I had to.” To fit in. To be accepted by his family, which I never was. “I love my shop. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“It wasn’t an insult. You’re talented. But telling me I don’t fit in where I am when you’ve totally flipped your life around?” He squares his shoulders. “You don’t know me.”

My breath stalls. He’s right. Seventeen years is a long time.

But tonight with his arms around me—I do know Chase.

I know his true self. I’ve seen glimpses of it all day.

“This job will ground out the spirit you have left. Maybe you’ll be giving rotten advice about avoiding kids’ sports in a few years’ time.

You’ll be that dreadful old man judging people’s personal lives and it will happen without you even realizing it. ”

He scoffs. “I make a good income. My family needs it.”

“Your kids need you.” Right away I know I’ve overstepped.

Chase’s face darkens. “You’re giving me parenting advice?”

The sting of regret hits instantly. “I’d never dream of it. What I meant was to give you advice. Chase, this job is sucking your soul dry. You don’t need to impress those people in there. You’re better than this. Better than them.”

He walks a few paces to the edge of the patio, staring across the grounds to the dark lake beyond.

“You played by their rules,” I say, softer. “You did all the things they asked. Are you happy?”

He shifts, not facing me directly. “Thank you for joining me tonight. Time to turn in.” He pauses at the door. “Thanks for…everything. Good night.”