Page 55 of Taking A Chance

I smile down at my phone like an idiot, as he responds with a GIF of a kid doing a celebration dance and tells me he’ll be here in an hour with sandwiches.He’s such a weirdo. Sure, I always knew he was a little weird, but it was hard to see behind the jerk façade I painted him in. And that’s exactly what happened. He wasn’t actually a jerk. It was me. I’m the one who took a single moment, expanded it in my mind, and made it out to be something it wasn’t.

Part of me tries to think about what would’ve happened, where we’d be now had I never done that. But I can’t dwell on it too long. The idea that I sabotaged something before it even had a chance to occur makes me ill. Too manywhat ifsplay over in my mind.

An hour later, Declan arrives, a brown paper sack in hand and a smile plastered on his face.

“Hello, girlfriend,” he says, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to my lips.

Girlfriend. Wow.

“Hello, boyfriend,” I say, inhaling his scent. It hasn’t gotten old. Each time, my eyes close, my lungs fill with him, and I get a little turned on.

“I think we have an audience,” he whispers.

Turning my head, I see my team members jerk their eyes away from us and back onto their work. It’s fake, of course. They’re still honed in on us. We’re not safe here.

“They’re harmless, mostly,” I tease.

“I’d love to meet them,” he says. “I’ve only met Claire.”

Surprised, I nod, then turn to walk him toward Sara in the corner. It’s rare anyone is ever interested in anything beyond the bare minimum.

After introducing him to the whole team, and showing him around the office in general, we take our lunch to the bench in the park across the street.

Declan tells me about his upcoming show, how he’s both excited and nervous. Apparently, the pieces he’s been working on—the ones I haven’t seen—are a little different than his other works. No one has been over to his place for him to paint either, which admittedly has made me curious. But he’s insisted on keeping the whole thing under wraps.

I tell him about my projects, although they’re far less interesting, even to me, than his show. He asks me to accompany him, and of course, I accept. I’ll definitely be getting a new dress for that.

“Can you come somewhere with me after work?” he asks.

I do a mental checklist, wondering if I’ve committed to anything I can’t remember, but nothing comes to mind.

“Sure,” I say. “Where are we headed?”

“I need to go see my parents,” he says.

Oh. Shit.

32

Cora

I dressin the mostmeet the parentsappropriate outfit I can find in my closet, attempting to cover my cleavage and of course, the tattoo on the top of my foot. Not to mention I’m making every attempt not to throw up all over myself.

Declan squeezes my hand, apparently quite calm. The smile playing at the edge of his lips relaxes me. Isn’t it supposed to be a lot longer before people meet parents? Isn’t this reserved for like, really serious couples? The ones who are about to get engaged and shit?

I don’t have time to overthink it as we pull up to the front of a two-story colonial in the suburbs. The near pristine white house has a well-manicured lawn and cute black shutters, like something right off the front of a real estate magazine.

“I know this isn’t what people traditionally do,” he says, holding my hand as we step up the cobblestone sidewalk, “but they’re old fashioned. And ever since I mentioned you, my mother has been bugging me.”

“So you’re just doing this to get her off your back?” I tease.

“More or less,” he teases back. He stops us just before we reach the front porch, turning to me and wrapping his arms around me. “But also maybe because I want to.”

Before I can lean up and kiss his stupid grinning mouth, the front door clicks open.

“Hello,” a melodic female voice says.

I hear her before I see her.Declan’s mom.The petite woman steps out onto the porch, her pale yellow capri pants and black polka dot top hug her figure well. Her salt and pepper hair is tied back at the nape of her neck, exposing dainty gold earrings. “You must be Cora.”

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