Page 30 of Someone to Hold

“You’re welcome to use the shower in the house, but you’re going to have to navigate around a whole mess of bath toys,” I tell him. “I’m guessing you’re not as uncoordinated as me.”

“Accidents happen,” he says with a shrug. “Trust me, I’ve learned the lesson many times in my career, especially with my last appearance in the ring.”

I also know about bad timing and worse luck, and for some unknown reason I feel the need to connect with Chase in this moment. “I lost my mom to an accidental overdose,” I tell him. “My grandparents died in a car crash. And then Teddy…”

“I’m sorry, Molly.” His voice softens, the teasing gone.

“I don’t know why I just shared that.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Those aren’t the same kind of accidents that?—”

“You don’t have to explain. I’ll be quick with the shower and stay out of your way.”

“Take your time. I’ll be gone for a couple of hours. Just plan on doing whatever you need to during school hours, and we’ll figure out a schedule for the weekends.”

“Thanks.” He starts to turn away.

“Hey, Chase?”

He glances back, hand on the doorknob.

“Do you brush your teeth in the RV?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “For the record, it’s the mom in me asking.”

He blinks. “Are you serious?”

“If you don’t have running water…I mean, oral hygiene is important.”

“It sure is.” That lazy smile curves his lips again. “I brush my teeth. Want to smell my breath?”

Yes, my traitorous body practically shouts.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Twice a day, for the record.”

“I’m sure your dentist is impressed.”

“She gave me her phone number along with a new toothbrush last time I was in.”

Of course she did.

“I’ll see you later.” I need to end this conversation before I do something dumb. Like close the distance between us and plaster myself to his hard body.

He tips his cap again and walks away. I don’t think I imagine the faint scent of trouble left in his wake.

11

MOLLY

A minute later,my phone pings with an incoming message.

Avah: About to turn down your driveway.

I wash the dirt off my hands in the greenhouse sink, smooth some water over my flyaway hair, and hang the apron I always wear when planting on the hook by the door before hobbling out into the late morning sunlight.

“Can’t I just order something online?” she asks in a fake whine as she helps me place my crutches in the back of her compact BMW SUV.

“Nope. Drinking champagne and trying on expensive dresses is part of the bride-to-be gauntlet.” I open the passenger door. “But are we cheating on the rest of the book club with just the two of us?”

She flips up her sunglasses and stares at me over the roof of the car. “I don’t like to be the center of attention.”