Holding Her Breath (Indigo) (12 page)

Chace debated for a moment over whether or not to tell Ethan about Whitney. In the end, his desire to not hear a lecture from Ethan about how he shouldn’t be dating again so soon won. No, it was best to keep quiet about Whitney. He waited for Ethan to finish bashing Kelly for making Chace stay in Virginia. And then he bashed Chace for listening to Kelly.

When Ethan was finished, he said, “What are you gonna do with your apartment?”

“I guess break the lease if she doesn’t want it. I need to do something with my furniture, I guess.” Most of the furniture in the place was Chace’s. And movers were coming in the morning to take what was Kelly’s and put it in storage. Or so the voicemail she’d left him had said.

“You know, I could use some furniture.”

“You certainly could,” Chace said. Ethan’s apartment had little more than floor cushions, bean bags, and an air mattress in the way of furniture. He’d been a nomad for most of his life, although he’d been in Richmond for quite a while by Ethan standards. “You know what, man? You can have it. You have a spare key to the place. Come get it when you get back to the States. I’ll pay the January rent, so you shouldn’t have any problems getting in or anything.”

“Thanks. You’re always helping me out, bro. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

After his conversation with Ethan, Chace started packing. He was ready to get out of that place forever.

Whitney knocked on Chace’s door. It was a few days before New Year’s Eve. She’d seen him almost every day since they’d first had lunch together.

He opened the door and pulled her into a hug, dragging her into the apartment.

She laughed, trying to back away from him. “Hey. I brought you something. You’re crushing it.”

“Oh, sorry. What is it?” He loosened his hold on her, but didn’t let go.

She held the box up between them. “Cookies.”

“You made me cookies?” He took the box from her.

“My sister made ’em. I helped. Trust me, that’s the way you want it.”

He laughed and set the box of cookies on the coffee table.

“It looks so empty in here.” The walls were bare. Little was left in the apartment besides the furniture and the huge television in the living room.

“Yeah, well, we’re leaving tomorrow, right? Had to pack up my crap sometime.” He shrugged on his jacket.

“Where are you going?”

“
We
are going for a walk.”

“It’s freezing out.”

“Nah. It’s not that bad.”

She gave him a wary look, but let him take her hand and lead her toward the door. He liked being outside a little too much.

It was pretty cold out, but not unbearable. Whitney’s cheeks were frozen, but, other than that, she was snug inside of her hat, scarf, winter coat, and Uggs. Chace wore a lighter jacket than the weather called for, but he promised he had a hat tucked away somewhere. He said that he would put it on if he felt like he needed it. At least he had foregone the flip-flops that day. He wore dark brown loafers instead. Whitney turned her face up to the sky, which was lit by a weak, watery yellow sun.

As they were walking around near the empty basketball court near the back of his apartment complex, large, feathery snowflakes started to fall from the white-gray sky. She loved snow. It was so rare and wonderful in both Virginia and D.C. The forecasters had promised flurries, but she rarely believed them as they were often wrong about such things. She usually waited to see for herself instead of hoping and being disappointed. As she did with a lot of things.

“Look, Chace, it’s snowing,” Whitney said as a large white flake landed in Chace’s hair and melted.

He pulled a black knit cap out of his pocket and tugged it onto his head. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen snow falling out where I can really enjoy it. Back in the city it turns into grimy slush almost as soon as it falls. But here, it’s so beautiful. Peaceful.”

“It probably won’t even stick, so you better enjoy it while it lasts,” Chace said.

“I know, but isn’t it pretty?”

He made a face. “I’m not a fan of snow. I’ve seen way too much of it. I grew up in Pennsylvania, remember?”

“I’m a firm believer that you can never have too much snow.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if it was your family winter chore to shovel the sidewalk every time it snowed,” Chace said in a sing-song voice.

“Family winter chore?” Whitney raised her eyebrows.

Chace grinned. She could barely keep herself from turning into Jell-o when she saw that grin. He said, “I have weird parents. Don’t ask.”

“What was your brother’s winter family chore?”

“Chopping wood. We had the old-school kind of fireplace that actually took logs.”

“My parents have one of those, too.”

“I like it. Another thing we have in common.” He squeezed her hand. “Dad wouldn’t hear of buying firewood.” Chace’s voice became gruffer, and she assumed he was imitating his father. “ ‘We have five good acres of land out there. Why on earth would I buy firewood? Waste of good money, that’s what it would be.’ ”

Whitney laughed. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Of course it does. My father was nothing if not practical,” Chace said. “He’s lightened up a lot since he retired, though.”

“You said they travel a lot,” Whitney said. “Your parents.”

He looked up. “Yeah. They love it.”

She watched snowflakes melt into her gloves. “Must be nice.” She couldn’t imagine waking up and going where she wanted to go in the morning instead of going where she had to go.

He put an arm around her. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Fine.”

“You sure?” He put his hands on her shoulders.

She thought about moving for a moment, very aware of his body behind hers. However, she quickly decided against moving away. She liked the warmth of him and the movement of his chest between her shoulder blades as she leaned against it. She turned in his arms and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

“Whitney,” he said.

“Hm?”

“I’m glad we met.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “Me, too.”

“About me moving to D.C. I’m not doing it because I expect—”

She put a finger over his lips. “That’s enough.”

Chace kissed her finger. He then moved closer so that her finger and his lips were only inches from her lips. Snowflakes melted on their jackets and hats and in their hair, but she barely noticed them.

The late December air didn’t affect her at all in that moment. There was only Chace. She didn’t resist when he removed her glove and pressed her finger back to his lips.

He moved closer until the only thing separating their lips was her finger. His pale blue eyes burned into hers. Their lips and noses lined up on either side of her finger, desire palpable in the air. Everything inside of her wanted her to move her finger aside and let their lips meet. He kissed her naked finger, just a light touch of lips to flesh.

She tore herself away from him and took a few steps backwards. Hugging herself, she watched his face fall.

“So, I guess we should get back to your place,” Whitney said. “It’s getting colder.”

“Yeah. It definitely is. Uh, we should. Start. Loading up the cars, I mean,” Chace said. “With…my stuff.” They were heading to D.C. in a couple of days.

Walking back to his apartment, they pretended it never happened. That was what she wanted, but something about that fact still made her feel restless.

With every step she took toward his apartment, she wanted more. She wanted to know what it felt like to have his lips under hers. To taste his tongue against hers—feel the warmth of his mouth. His breath on her skin. That was why he was dangerous. All other guys, she’d been able to take or leave. She had the feeling that wouldn’t be the same with Chace if she made the mistake of letting him get too close.

* * *

After Whitney and Chace were finished packing his SUV with boxes and bags, they took a break for dinner before packing the rest of his stuff into her car.

Chace baked fish for them and they took it and a bottle of wine into the living room. The stereo was one of the few things he hadn’t packed yet. He turned it on low volume and dimmed the lights.

Whitney sipped her wine. “You’re going to try to make a career out of photography when you move to the city. Right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Finally.”

“That’s nice.” Not very practical, but it wasn’t like his choices affected her life.

“I’m really looking forward to it. There’s nothing like doing something you really want to do. It just gives you this strong feeling of purpose. You know?”

“Sure.” Ambition was a much stronger motivator, and she had plenty of that. Dreams didn’t pay the bills. They didn’t bring you power or prestige, either. Some things were more important than floating around, dreaming, chasing after wants instead of leading a disciplined life.

He gave her a crooked smile that wiped away all thought.

“What?” she said. She took another sip of wine. The pleasant warmth she felt could’ve come from the wine, but maybe it hadn’t.

“I’m gonna take your picture.” He stood and set his plate on the coffee table. “I’ll be right back.”

He returned with a camera. He flipped on an overhead light, and she squinted until her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness in the room.

“Here, sit on the sofa for a minute.” He offered his hand to help her up, and she took it. Warmth surged through her body.

She sat on the sofa and he leaned in close, putting his hand under her chin.

“Turn your head a little this way,” he said, pressing his fingers gently into her skin and tilting her head. She jumped a little, startled in a pleasant way by the warmth of his touch.

“Like this?”

He leaned closer. “Exactly like that.”

“What should I do with my hands?”

He set his camera down and took her hands in his. He ran his thumbs over the backs of them. Then, he positioned them in her lap. He was in no hurry to move his hands away from hers. When he did, he brushed his palms along the length of her thighs.

“Is this good?” She hoped not. Hopefully he would reposition some other part of her body.

“Yeah,” he said, giving her a hungry look. But instead of coming back to the sofa, he picked up his camera and backed away from her a few feet.

While he adjusted the lens, she tried to focus on the camera and not on what she wanted to do to the photographer.

The shutter clicked a few times. He then set the camera aside, turned off the overhead light, and came over to the sofa. He sat next to her.

“You’re very photogenic,” he said, trailing a finger across her collar bone, which was covered by her sweater. She had the sudden urge to rip it off.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Should we finish dinner?” he said. His hand migrated to her shoulder and down her arm.

Dinner wasn’t what she wanted to finish. “I’m really tired.” She bit her lip and grabbed her purse so she would have something safe to do with her hands. “Really tired.”

“Oh?” he said, slipping his hand inside the collar of her sweater.

She jumped up from the couch. “Yep. Extremely—tired.”

He stood. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He put his arms around her and squeezed her low around the waist, giving her a hug that made her want to show him just how “tired” she was.

“Goodnight.” She pulled away from the hug and hurried to the door before she could change her mind.

* * *

For Whitney’s last dinner at home, Jo made a huge feast. Devon brought Trina over, as they were in the process of making up.

Jo made all of Whitney’s favorites. Fried chicken, roast potatoes, corn, homemade yeast rolls, and Jo’s famous sweet tea to go with it. Shorty called it liquid diabetes, which always earned him a love tap across the head.

Aunt Cheryl had decided to come over for dinner and to see Whitney off as well. There was still plenty of tension between Aunt Cheryl and Jo, but Jo was being her usual, gracious self. It was hard to tell how angry she was at her sister. Aunt Cheryl, on the other hand, was not afraid to let those feelings float on the surface.

“How’ve you been, Trina?” Whitney asked once they were all seated and passing platters around the table.

“Great,” Trina said. She grabbed Devon’s hand and smiled at him. “Guess what Devon and I did on the way over here?”

“What?”

“We set a date. Next October.”

“Congratulations,” she said.

Jo went over to them, shouting about how happy she was, and hugged them both. Aunt Cheryl muttered her congratulations, but seemed to be chewing on her resentment of losing the spotlight. Devon smiled at Whitney and mouthed a thank you to her.