30. The Negatives

30

C hance Harper was staring at me.

To clarify further, he had been watching me as I slept.

"Ugh." I covered my face with my hands. "Why are you staring at me?" I grumbled.

Chance just chuckled, placing soft kisses down my forearms, probably because he couldn't reach my face.

"Still stalking me, I see." I tried to push him away, but that only made him grab me around my middle and pull me into his chest. "Once a creep, always a creep."

"You're just mad because you like it." Chance's morning voice was painfully husky—like I was ready to crawl back on top of him and show him some other tricks I had up my sleeve, husky.

I groaned, not wanting to admit it out loud.

Chance pried my hands from my face, needing to see me when he asked, "Any regrets?"

I sighed, "No."

"I'm glad you're so thrilled about that," he half chuckled, half winced.

"I don't regret anything," I stated more firmly.

"I sense a ‘but.'" He used the pad of his thumb to gently run across the length of my bottom lip, causing heat to flare as all the details from the night before came pouring in, like gasoline on a fire.

But with the desire, also came the reality of what we'd done…what I'd done. Chance and I had passed the point of no return. There simply was no going back. Either we kept moving forward, or it was over, and I knew it couldn't be over. I was in too deep.

"Talk to me," Chance pleaded, his face crestfallen. "You're worrying me."

"It's not us." I stumbled to try and find the right words. I didn't want him to misunderstand. So I started there. "I'm processing everything. I don't regret last night. I promise. I don't regret you."

The corner of his mouth curved just enough that I thought he understood.

"I can't help but worry, but it's not that I worry about you." I swallowed. "I'm worried about getting caught. I'm worried about what happens when we go back to school. I'm worried about what you'll expect from me and how quickly, because things went really fast last night."

Chance's brow furrowed.

"I wasn't pressured—I wanted to," I stuttered. "I just—it wasn't planned. I didn't know that was going to happen, and I'm not upset that it did, but my brain needs to catch up."

Chance still looked tense.

I reached out, taking his closest hand in mine. Being so honest, so very vulnerable, had my nerves frayed, but I wasn't going to let a miscommunication set us off course. "You made me feel so good. I feel safe with you. And I want to do it again, but I'm just not sure when."

Those, it seemed, were the right words.

Chance's shoulders relaxed, and I cuddled into his chest. "I'm not pulling away," I told him. "I'm fighting so hard to work through my anxiety because this matters." I looked up at him, his blue-grey eyes still worried, but for me, not because of me. "Because you matter."

"Okay." Chance kissed my forehead. "Okay," he reassured himself just as much as he tried to reassure me.

Likely because it was Christmas day, the interstate was miraculously cleared and reopened much earlier than either Chance or I thought it would be.

Not wanting to delay my annual Christmas call to my mom, I got her on the line shortly after Chance got back on the highway. But as with most of our calls, it was short, and what was the word Chance had used, oh yes…perfunctory.

And after only a few minutes of surface-level pleasantries, the sound of Jake and Jenny's children in the background continued to pull my mom's attention from me. So I ended the call, with my usual promise to call her again soon, although we both knew that "soon" likely meant not for a long while.

The quick call left me feeling hollow. The reminder of so much loss front and center on a day that used to bring me so much joy always made the emptiness so much more tangible. Sensing my discomfort, Chance reached across the console, taking my hand in his, offering a reassuring squeeze, understanding that a physical tether was what I needed.

The rest of the drive back was quiet, yet stilted. I realized the closer we got to Montgomery, the more the tension seemed to increase.

It felt nice to think about who we could be…what we could be, together, without the shadow of Montgomery's outdated policy waging a silent war against us. I didn't know what we were doing ‘exactly, but I think we both agreed we just wanted to do what felt natural. We didn't need labels or timelines or pressure. I just wanted to be close to Chance, whatever that looked like.

I meant what I'd said to him—that I was fighting the urge to run and hide, but not because he'd done anything wrong. Quite the opposite, it was because he was doing everything right. I'd had such awful luck with relationships, I was half convinced I'd mess it up…hell, I'd already complicated matters so thoroughly by playing hot and cold with Chance for as long as I did.

But I kept reminding myself to give Chance the benefit of the doubt. He wasn't Jake or Harry. He was Chance. He was kind, thoughtful, and careful with me. I had to trust him, and trust that he was going to do right by me, because if I couldn't do that, I'd drive a wedge so large between us that nobody would have any hope to bring the two sides back together.

When we were just twenty minutes out from Montgomery, perhaps sensing the discord roiling in me, Chance began to excitedly run through the list of traditions we had to accomplish by the end of the day, as if I wasn't the one who had shared them with him in the first place.

I thought it was so considerate of him to care so much about traditions he hadn't known existed until a month prior. Since he had disrupted my normal plans, it felt like he was on a mission to make sure I was thoroughly satisfied with this year's schedule of events.

I had only started the traditions to make myself feel less lonely and homesick on Christmas. The idea that, in a way, they could become his traditions too…ours really, made my chest and throat feel tight. I liked the thought that they could belong to both of us. And whether he cared about the activities themselves, or if he just cared by default because they were important to me, didn't matter.

What mattered was that we were going to find a way to make this work. I was bound and determined, whatever it took.

It felt odd returning to my room. It had been a little over twenty-four hours, but it felt like my entire world had shifted. Chance came over and set up his laptop in my room, helping me putter around to make the mac and cheese and whatever else I needed.

He later declared it was the best mac and cheese he'd ever had, and even though I doubted that, I believed that he meant it, which made me swell with pride.

The sparkling cider tasted even better than I remembered, and we set out more pastries to proof overnight to have something for the next morning, since the first batch I had set out for the previous morning had sat out for too long while we were away.

After dinner, we reconvened in the lounge. Chance brought up two mugs of hot chocolate (with milk, thank you very much), and settled on the window seat near the fire. Only the fire, Christmas tree, and string lights illuminated the room in a soft and ethereal glow.

Chance extended his hand with the second mug toward me. I took it, but set it on the study table. His brow furrowed in confusion.

I grabbed the stocking from the chair, where I had stashed it when I came up just before he arrived. "I got you something for Christmas. I thought I'd give it to you yesterday—"

"Don't worry, you gave me plenty yesterday." Chance chuckled, diffusing my self-doubt, as usual.

I swallowed hard, trying not to think about going down on him again, although I wouldn't have been opposed.

Stay focused, Violet.

I pulled the stocking out from behind my back and handed it to him. It was made from a red knit sweater material with a white felt letter "C" with red stitching attaching it to the red fabric beneath. It wasn't anything special, and didn't cost much, but it matched the one I had, already tacked to the mantle, with a white felt "V."

"Violet..." Chance simpered, smiling sweetly at the gift. "Thank you." He looked up at me. "Come over here, or I'll get up and drag you," he teased menacingly.

I stood my ground. "There's something else inside." I felt my stomach beginning to flip. I knew he'd be glad, but I wasn't sure if I had the nerve to remember everything I'd planned to say. I didn't want to leave anything out.

Chance pulled the negatives from inside the stocking. His lips parted, and he sighed in contentment. "You didn't have to do this." He knew exactly what they were.

I crossed the space to him, just wanting—maybe needing—to be closer to him. "You were right," I began. "The photos are beautiful. Even if their subject hadn't yet agreed to having them taken."

Chance laughed quietly, reaching out and taking my hand in his. His eyes flicked to mine, encouraging me to continue.

"I hated the thought of taking your art away from you. They belong to you. I would just ask that you refrain from distributing them amongst the students and faculty."

Chance laughed again. "You are so silly sometimes. You know I wouldn't do that."

I nodded. I knew it was an odd thing to worry about, but at least I had said it out loud, even if it was just to feel better myself. And then I said what I'd really been hesitant to offer. "But I'd be okay if you wanted to do a show. In fact, you should do a show. I want other people to see your art. You deserve that." I swallowed the lump in my throat.

Chance mulled over my words. "You really think they're good enough for an exhibition?"

I laughed through a sigh of relief. "Yes. They're more than good enough."

"If I had a show, would you come?" His eyes were lit up, knowing exactly what he was asking.

"Yes. Of course. I want to support you."

Chance opened his arms to me, wanting me to join him on the window seat. I darted back over to the table, grabbed my mug, and settled between his legs, my back to his front.

He buried his face in my hair, taking a deep breath in. "I think you're the only person I'd want to invite," he said sweetly before kissing just behind my ear.

"You wouldn't at least want your mom and sister to come?"

"They can if they want, but you're the only one who matters. You're the first person in a very long time who has encouraged me to pursue my photography," Chance admitted.

I half turned in his arms. The narrow bench made it more difficult. "You're a brilliant photographer. Don't you dare let anyone say otherwise," I told him firmly. I needed him to see, hear, and feel my conviction. I hated that those around him had let him down. He was just like our students. All he needed was one person to push him to try.

Chance's face softened, then, with a slow smile, he repeated words I'd said to him on the day we met: "I really want you to kiss me."

"I bet you do," I chided. Blushing, I leaned forward and kissed Chance sweetly.

"Thank you for believing in me," he whispered.