Page 12 of Rainstorm

“In the mood for a bite to eat? It’s almost five and it’s so beautiful outside.” It’s January, this time of the year is a bit colder in San Diego, the city we moved to just after our wedding about five years ago. This is SoCal, though. We are blessed with the most amazing weather almost all year long.

“Sure, wanna go out or order some take out?”

Oh, no, no, no. We are breaking the ice here, so we are going out.

“What about The House?” I suggest.

“That sounds like a plan,” he replies, standing and the vision of his strong body does things to me still. Yeah, hope is bubbling here.

“Do I have time for a quick shower?” Chase asks while we are walking down the stairs, toward our bedroom located on the second floor.

“Sure,” I reply and in my head a voice is screaming invite me, invite me, invite me.

Said invitation never comes, but my state of mind doesn’t change, because after all, we are going out.

Yay!

???

The House is a restaurant located in the heart of Little Italy, a charming place built like little gingerbread cottages. We arrive after a less than a ten-minute drive from our home in East Village. Chase has called the driver, I don’t understand why, but for a few months now he hasn’t been driving himself anywhere.

I know having a driver is a perk of his job because he spends a lot of time on the road and his black SUV becomes his mobile office, but today is Sunday. He’s not working. It’s just a casual dinner with his wife.

So many changes in such a little time.

His traveling schedule.

His workload.

The driver.

I don’t want to become one of those paranoid wives who check their husband’s social media accounts and their phones to no end.

I have never been a jealous woman.

Never had a single reason to be one.

I’d never cast a stone at my husband.

That’s not the kind of person I am.

Is it?

Shit, this situation is messing with my sanity.

The terrace is packed, so the hostess places us at a table with two mismatched chairs and a checkered tablecloth beside a window facing the street. The entire place is charming, and I dare to bet this is the only restaurant in America with a grass covered ceiling with sheep hanging upside down.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” I’m not asking about the luggage, I’ve taken care of that personally. He’s a grown man perfectly capable of taking care of himself, I’m well aware, but I’ve found it’s charming and loving to do his packing because that way I can hide little surprises in the pockets of his dress shirts. I have also been well rewarded for each of the chocolates I have stored there. Chase is a big boy who still loves to unwrap little secrets, and I suspect that’s why he’s so fascinated by the bows on the dresses that I often wear.

“As ready as I can be,” he replies, taking a long pull of his beer. “Sometimes I think I’m ready to call a headhunter and go after a new job, an easier one, but I know I’ll be deadly bored a week later. These public tenders might be a nightmare to organize, but this contract will be monumental and the first of more to come.”

“Should I be worried? That sounds like a contract capable of stealing my husband.” I try to sound playful and a bit silly; the bottom line is I want to know what’s happening. Is it his work that’s tearing us apart?

“I would never allow work to come between us, Rose.” His hard tone stuns me.

His eyes so dark and deep.

A storm brewing behind those orbs I love so much.

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