Page 35 of Taking A Chance

“I’ll handle the details. You just tell me when you’re free. Maybe after your guests leave?” I suggest.

“We can occupy ourselves this evening,” Harper announces loudly.

We both shoot looks in her direction, obviously startled. Clearly, we weren’t nearly as quiet as we thought.

“I can’t just leave you guys alone,” Cora protests. “You’re here to visit me.”

“Nonsense,” Jensen says. “I mean, yes, we came to see you. But we’re adults. We don’t need a babysitter. And it doesn’t mean we need to see you twenty-four seven or that we should get in the way of your plans.”

The man has a point. One of which I’m grateful for.

“Um…” Cora stalls. “Okay, then. Tonight?” She looks back toward me and I nod.

“Perfect,” I say.

We all turn our attention back to eating, but my thoughts unravel to somewhere else entirely. Sure, Cora hasn’t exactly been the nicest to me. I suppose if I were truly the man whore she thought I was, I could see her perspective. Women have to protect themselves. Then again, that’s never stopped me from thinking she’s beautiful. And dare I say sexy. Because she is. Definitely.

I’ve done a lot to intentionally warp my perceptions of her due to how she’s treated me, but it hasn’t been easy. It became most apparent to me the second time I worked on her painting, when she was in my space and slipped her little dress over her head. The fabric looked soft and silky, floating over her. When it bunched up into her hands, exposing all that skin underneath, I nearly choked. I had to rip my eyes away from her. And that? That doesn’t happen to me with someone I’m painting. Ever.

So when I say I have no idea what I’m doing or why I just asked her out on what I consider an official date, it’s true. But I think part of me has always wanted to, despite the obvious hurdles up to this point.

After we finish eating, we gather out on the sidewalk as they decide where they’re going first. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Okay, that works for me,” Cora says, her smile small and almost nervous. I can feel the nervous energy radiating from her, so I cup her elbow, stilling her.

“Don’t worry,” I whisper close to her. “It will either be just another bad date to add to the pile or the first good one.”

Cora’s lips curl together, fighting a bigger smile, but I accomplished what I wanted to do, which was calm her.

Before I release her, I lean in, giving her another kiss on the cheek. This time, it’s longer, heavier. Then we part ways; I head toward home, and they go in the other direction.

I have some work to do. Because not only was asking her out a spontaneous act, but I have no idea what the actual date will be. So yeah. Now I need a plan.

I guess I’m making a move after all.

22

Cora

What the fuckhave I actually done? What exactly have I agreed to? I mean, I know what I agreed to, but I’m looking around my empty room trying to figure out which of my masochistic personalities I need to cuss out. What has this bitch done?

I pace back and forth at the foot of my bed, making every attempt not to chew my nails. I’m fairly certain if I don’t stop pacing soon, I’ll break a sweat, which isn’t a good look on a date.A first date. With Declan Walsh. Holy shit.

Sitting down on the edge of my mattress, I press my feet into the wedges I decided on. Usually, I would never opt for a shoe that makes me even taller than I already am. The men I usually go out with already teeter on the edge of shorter than me when I’m in flats. But Declan towers so far over me, I know I’m safe. Which is sort of nice, considering I love heels. I guess that’s one mark in theproscolumn.

I check my phone for the thirteenth time. He should be here any minute. The love birds are watching scary movies on my couch with snacks, though I’m not sure why they opted for a movie at all. They’ve been talking through the whole damn thing. I hear them even now, laughing and carrying on.

I stand, taking one last look in the mirror. Without knowing anything about this date, I opted for black jeans, black wedges, and a bright blue top that hangs off one shoulder; the sleeves come down to the elbows. I figure it’s not too dressy but enough that I won’t look like a slob if we go somewhere a little more upscale.

A knock echoes from the front door all the way down the hall. And with it, my heart beats so hard I’m convinced it’s trying to answer in some sort of heart attack Morse code. Smoothing my hands over my hips, I grab my clutch and step out.

“I’ll get it,” Jensen chirps, jumping off the couch in a hurry and bounding toward the door. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d kill him.

Jensen swings the door open wide, offering a big welcoming gesture with his arms. Then I see him.Declan.My eyes start at his black boots, travel up his near-black ripped denim, over the crisp white V-neck T-shirt, and up to the most shocking part of the image. His once long locks are gone. His hair is trimmed into a short fade on the sides, the top quite a bit longer and pushed back, still looking so touchably soft. I could still run my hands through that.Whoa.

“Oh my,” I say, involuntarily. “You look great.” I step toward him with less hesitation now, closing the distance between us quickly.

Declan runs his hand through the top of his hair, just as I imagined doing only a moment ago. “You look beautiful,” he says, a smile spreading over his mouth. He tucks his hands in his pockets, and through the art of observation, I’ve come to connect this habit of his with nervousness. I can’t be totally sure, but I’m starting to hone in on the pattern.

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