chapter twenty-three

meghan

I hadn’t anticipated all the screaming.

The energy inside our building shifted once Grissom officially moved in. It only took them one week to figure out all the logistics. And I had to admit, I was impressed with how efficiently it all came together—moving furniture, coordinating bus schedules, installing new security measures at all the entrances. Our building would temporarily house kindergarten through second grade, while the other half of the student body was relocated to a nearby church. From my vantage point, it looked like their first day was going pretty smoothly.

But the noise level as the kids filed into the building that morning was deafening. I arrived at work during peak drop-off time, and I made a mental note to never do that again, considering I almost got swept up in the sea of screaming kids packing the hallway.

Jillian ate it up, planting herself outside the studio door to high-five the kids as they passed. “You’re the lady from TV!” “I saw you on a billboard this morning!” She loved the attention, even tearing up when she told me about a kindergartener calling her pretty. “I hope they never leave!”

Xander, on the other hand, was handling the situation… differently.

“That’s it. I’m calling in an anonymous bomb threat,” he yelled from his cubicle when the hallway filled up with noisy kids again at lunchtime. He’d already been stopped by Sarah for not wearing his district-provided lanyard—Graham said we were all required to have them as part of the building's new security measures. Xander didn’t hate the lanyards as much as he loathed having to wait for the school secretary to let him into the building. The only thing preventing him from quitting on the spot was the presence of acertain redheaded librarian who parked her book cart outside our newsroom door to playfully pester Xander in his cubicle.

I smiled as I typed, overhearing the way Abigail giggled at his bomb proclamation, and how his voice pitched up when he spoke to her. Was she even aware of the hold she had on him?

Between their hushed conversation and the growing noise just outside our newsroom door, it became difficult to concentrate on my write-up of the board of works. And then, the ultimate distraction came in the form of a text from Chase:

Chase: Since our meeting spot has been overrun by tiny humans, let’s grab coffee at Riverside

I was a little taken aback by his boldness. As tempting as it was to call him out on the audacity of assuming I’d want to do such a thing, my thumbs typed an “ok” instead.

I would just have to make it very clear from the get-go that this was in no way, shape, or form a “coffee date.” For the past few days, Chase had been giving me this quiet,puppy-dog-eyed look every time I talked, as though I were on the verge of asking him if he’d rather make out instead of conducting an interview with me.

I couldn’t deny my feelings. Not to him, and not to myself. My mind wandered with curious thoughts, an endless stream of “what if?” questions that kept me awake at night. As good as it felt to get cozy with him again, it also left me feeling vulnerable. After everything we’d been through, this—whatever it was— was just as scary as it was exciting. I wasn’t ready to jump in headfirst.

At least he seemed to understand my need to take a step back without my having to say the words out loud. At the coffee shop, when I asked him to let me pay for my own drink, he didn’t fight me on it. He graciously stepped aside, only casting the tiniest, subtlest eyeroll at my stubbornness.

There weren’t any empty tables on that Monday morning, so we had no choice but to sit on the worn leather loveseat in the corner. The seat had a lot of give, maybe too much, sinking us closer together than either of us intended. I pretended not to notice, crossing my feet at the ankles as I tugged on the hem of my skirt.

“I’ve got something for you,” Chase said, unzipping the backpack between his feet. He set his coffee down on the table in front of us and pulled a packet of papers from his bag.

“What’s this?”

“You left Fannie’s journal in my car last week, and I scanned the pages and did some heavy-handed editing to increase the contrast, so her writing is actually legible. And then, I had an AI program convert the text.”

A small gasp escaped my lips as I flipped through the pages on my lap, the once-illegible scrawls now clean, clear words in front of me. “Chase,” I said, his name coming out in a whisper. When I turned my head to look at his face, dropping my eyes to stare at the crease on his chin where I used to kiss him, I was so overcome with gratitude I couldn’t speak.

“I only skimmed through it, so there might be some inaccuracies. I didn’t want to take the enjoyment of reading the entries for the first time away from you.”

I could kiss you right now.

With a grin, I moved my eyes in a triangle from each eye to his lips. “Why did you do this?”

“Because I know it’s important to you.” He swallowed, maintaining eye contact with me. “And now you’ve got me obsessing over it, too. I need answers.”

On second thought, take off your pants.

It was probably best I kept those thoughts to myself. I pulled my eyes away, bringing my iced latte to my lips for my first sip. “Thank you,” I said, flipping the pages back. “I can’t wait to dive in. I wish we didn’t have a billion things on our agenda today.”

“You mean you don’t want to pass them off on Xander and Jill?”

“Not this time.” I tilted my head back with a groan. Xander was in the lead again, thanks to that feature on the town’s beloved candy store. “I’m starting to lose hope of ever getting to that conference in NYC. Xander pretty much has this in the bag.”

“Don’t say that. We’ve still got a couple weeks. And who knows, your witch story just might blow everything he’s written out of the water.”

I gave him a doubtful glance as I carefully inserted the Fannie printouts in the front of my notebook in my bag. And then, pulling out my phone, I opened up our shared calendar. Our day was filled with a ribbon-cutting, a quilt-a-thon, and an interview with the mayor about the ongoing tornado recovery efforts. To close out the day, we were covering a tornado relief art show fundraiser at the high school, which meant we’d be writing and editing late into the evening. I was already exhausted just thinking about it all.

However, being with Chase made it all a little easier. Easier than it would have been if I were on my own, that is. I had someone I could whisper my judgmental comments to—someone who could make me grin with only a knowing, wide-eyed stare. After years of working solo, having someone to debrief with at the end of an event made even the dull moments more bearable. And something like a quilt-a-thon would have been a challenge for me to get through without zoning out, but watching Chase charm those ladies with his compliments on their craftsmanship had me holding back a smile.

“I genuinely think you could’ve gone home with Gladys,” I told Chase as we made our way between the rows of tulips on the walkway up to City Hall.

“Gladys? I had my eye on Shirley. She could take me for a ride on her rollator anytime.”

I clutched my stomach, unable to hold back my laughter as he held the door open for me. “Well, either way, they’ll keep you warm at night with their quilts, won’t they?”

Chase gave me a playful grin as we walked through the vestibule leading to the mayor’s office. “Someone’s got to. The right side of my bed has been awfully cold lately.” His teasing tone didn’t quite match the flicker of sincerity in his eyes as he opened the second set of doors for me.

I used to occupy that space on the right side of his bed.

That thought lingered for a moment as we entered Mayor Michaels’ office, shook her hand, and took our seats. Chase opted not to record the interview, choosing instead to set up his camera outside afterward with City Hall as the backdrop, where he’d summarize the mayor’s statements in his own words.

The mayor spoke about how the community had come together in the aftermath of the storm, how neighbors helped neighbors, and how donations had poured in from across the state. “And thanks to the generosity of First United Methodist Church, and of course, the Woodvale News Network,” she said, nodding toward us, “our students have the vital opportunity to continue their in-person education, even in these unprecedented circumstances. Silas Brown has been especially instrumental in getting the ball rolling with that.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, a gesture the mayor most certainly noticed, based on the way she contorted her face to hold back a smile. There was no doubt in my mind she’d observed how pretentious and self-serving Silas was. She’d never say it out loud, but the look of validation she gave me was enough.

Chase picked up on it, too. “Do you get the impression the mayor’s not a Silas Brown fan?” he asked me outside, extending the legs of his tripod.

“I think she would’ve had a hell of a lot to say if I hadn’t been recording,” I muttered, eyeing the pair of white butterflies flitting around above the tulips. I felt a quick pang of sadness deep in the pit of my chest. Spring was always my mom’s favorite season, when everything was blooming and full of life again. The daffodils in her yard bloomed the day I handed the key to her house over to the realtor and said my final goodbye to the place. I was screaming on the inside because my mom never knew that last spring when she looked at her daffodils it would be her very last time.

“At least we know she can’t be swayed by him and his checkbook,” Chase said, snapping me out of my daydream. It took a full five seconds before I remembered we were talking about Silas and the mayor. I nodded, watching him twist a knob on the tripod to secure his camera. I opened my mouth to agree when I noticed a honeybee on the back of his collar.

“Hey, Chase?” I licked my lips. “Do you have your EpiPen?”

“Yeah, why?” He cupped his hand over the screen on the back of his camera to shield it from the sun, sighing in frustration as he panned to the left to reframe his shot. And as the honeybee crawled to the edge of his collar, its front legs touching the back of his neck, Chase froze. Slowly, he turned his head toward me, and it only took one look at the sheer panic in his eyes for me to take action. Without giving it a second thought, I sprang forward to slowly and carefully slide the corner of my notebook between the bee and Chase’s neck, shaking the entire time.

He’d never been stung when he was with me, but he and his mom both told me the story of how he almost lost his life from a single bee sting when he was fourteen. It was all I could think about as I inched the notebook closer to the stubborn bee, which crawled even further up the back of Chase’s neck. I bit my lip, willing it to crawl on to the paper instead of stinging him. “You motherfucker,” I whispered, trying not to tremble so much I startled the damn thing.

And finally— finally —the little guy turned around and crawled onto the notebook. I almost cried out in relief as I pulled the notebook away. The relief came too soon, though—because the bee decided to retaliate against this rude relocation by buzzing toward my thumb to sting me. My notebook fell to the ground just as sharp, burning pain shot through my thumb. I sucked air in through my teeth as Chase whipped around to face me with his hand on the back of his neck like he was double-checking it was gone.

“Did it get you?”

I gave my hand a shake. “Yes. But it’s fine,” I lied, as though there wasn’t a fiery sensation pulsating through my entire hand. I lifted my eyes to meet his. “I wasn’t about to let this become a My Girl moment.”

“God, I feel terrible.” He touched his forehead, his brows furrowed with worry. “What do I—should I get something? What do normal, non-allergic people do for bee stings?”

“I don’t know, suffer?” I answered with a laugh.

“Fuck, Meghan, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? You didn’t sting me,” I teased, grinning at him so he understood it wasn’t a big deal. He stepped closer, lifting my hand in both of his to get a closer look, frowning at my reddening thumb. He reached for his wallet in his back pocket, unfolding it to pull out a credit card. I knew exactly what he was doing, but I still tried to lighten the mood with another joke. “Are you compensating me for my troubles?”

Chase paused, his lips twitching like he was trying to suppress a smile. His eyes narrowed playfully as he shook his head, but the hint of amusement didn’t leave his face. “Funny,” he muttered, glancing at me with a smirk before turning his attention back to my hand. I held my breath as he carefully angled the edge of the credit card against my skin, his fingers brushing mine as he worked to scrape the stinger free. I felt the warmth of his body against mine the entire time, which might have been the reason I stopped breathing. “There. Think it’s out.”

As he straightened his body, he didn’t let go of my hand or step away. With an exhale, I got lost in Chase’s green eyes, more mesmerized by them than the way he delicately stroked my thumb with his. “Thanks,” I said, and it made him shake his head with a smile. “What?”

Rather than answer, he yanked me toward him, lowering my hand to his hip like that’s where it belonged. And without a second of hesitation, he placed one palm against my cheek and kissed my lips. His other hand roamed up my side, resting just below the curve of my breast. Right here in front of City Hall, between the rows of tulips, Chase was two short inches from feeling me up through the silky fabric of my top.

And I did nothing to stop him. No, I had wandering hands of my own, one of them slipping into the back pocket of his jeans. This kiss felt right and wrong at the same time—right because he made me feel good and warm and loved, but wrong because he was the person responsible for the third-worst heartbreak of my life.

When the doors of City Hall swung open and the mayor’s assistant stepped out, we jerked apart like a couple of teenagers caught in the act. Chase returned to his camera and I bent over to pick up my notebook, nodding a hello to the man as he passed us. It was hard to determine the cause for the heat rushing to my cheeks— my embarrassment or the warmth that still lingered from that kiss.

Chase bent over to pull his microphone from his bag, wiping his mouth with one hand as he finished setting up. Before he started rolling, he licked his lips and said, “You know youdon’t have to keep coming up with all these dangerous, elaborate ways to get me to kiss you, right? Deadly waterfalls, bees…”

“I’ll keep it simple next time.”

“As long as there’s a next time,” he murmured under his breath as he swiveled the pop-out screen on his camera to face the front. I watched him bite his bottom lip as he got into position for his report, my heart threatening to beat right out of my chest over the two words we’d both just said.

Next time.

Logically, I knew kissing him again without confronting all the pain from our past was probably not the best idea. But logic had nothing to do with the parts of my body that throbbed and ached with need for this man. Oh, there is most definitely going to be a next time.