Page 14 of One Last Chance

Once I close the bathroom door behind me, I lean against it and take my phone out. Sighing deeply, I stare at it for a while, until I muster up the courage to open the text message window. Now, the sweetness of his message and my lack of response are striking.

Am I acting like a complete fool?I enjoyed our time together. For the first time in months, I had dinner that didn’t end up with me feeling like shit, so…why do I keep letting these noxious thoughts control me?

Sorry for the late response. Crazy weekend.

A little white lie never hurt nobody—especially when it’s needed to save face.

I’d love to see you again. Have to work overtime on Wednesday and Thursday. Otherwise I’m free. One condition, though: has to be somewhere a bit more low-key.

I send the message, and only after a few seconds of standing in the quiet bathroom and staring at it breathlessly do I realize how fast my heart is beating. Closing my eyes, I subconsciously draw a deep breath and recall Rowland’s scent.

When the phone buzzes in my hands, I nearly drop it.

How does my house sound?

A jolt of excitement shoots through my chest.Damn, he responded straight away.

It sounds good, exciting even. The idea certainly piques my interest. What does his house look like? What are his tastes? Where does he live? But it sounds intimidating, too. Meeting a date inside their home has a clear implication that can’t be ignored. Are we just going to fuck? Is the tender human connection we made last time going to dissipate once he has me in there alone? Was that his plan all along, and would I be able to say no?

I have an excellent wine selection. Friday, 7.30?

The corners of my lips curl upward. Momo’s deranged barking from downstairs and my mothers’ voices fade into silence. All I hear are those words in his low voice. I feel his deep blue eyes on me. His lips on mine.

Maybe I should let myself hope. This one last time.

Alright. Sounds like a date.

Chapter 6

Dayton

As I approach my destination, I take in the sight of my surroundings. Jackson Hill. I kind of suspected he would live here. It’s not the crème de la crème of luxurious properties—that would be the Lorenza Planes to the east, overlooking the city—but this neighborhood certainly is up there. Close to the city center, which is probably great for his work, but also in a good proximity to the country park and the Monson lake. All in all, I’m jealous. And impressed.

Ahead, I see the house with the number eight, second to the last on the street, so I slow the car. The way my stomach clenches is starting to hurt. Joane managed to distract me from stressing over this date for most of the week, and when we went shopping for shirts today, I felt pretty confident, but now it’s a completely different story.

I park in the driveway, behind what I presume is Rowland’s black Mercedes-Benz. Of course he’s got a car like that. To appease my paranoid fear of scratching it, I stop far away enough from it and turn off the engine.

Nervously tapping my hands over the wheel of my 2012 Ford, I watch the entrance in the side mirror. For some stupid reason, I almost expected to see Rowland waiting by the open door. What am I even thinking? This isn’t some nuclear family domestic daydream, so I do my best to quickly temper my expectations.

Sighing, I fiddle with the mandarin collar of my shirt. It’s light blue, with a nice contrasting pattern on the inside of the cuffs and the placket. I was trying to not over-dress, since we’re not going out, but balancing that with not looking like I’m expecting to lounge on the couch with him and order takeout—especially since I half expect Rowland to still wear a suit—proved pretty difficult.

There’s no point in regretting my choices now, I tell myself firmly, and open the car door. Feels like I’ve been sitting here for ages. I hope he didn’t notice.

The grass outside the house is bright and neatly cut. So are the hedges in front of the tall windows with closed wooden blinds. The main door feels like it’s getting smaller and further away as I approach, forcing me to take a deep, shaky breath and blink toget myself together. Clearing my throat, I adjust my collar again and ring the bell.

Oh shit! Should I have brought something?

No. No, this is casual, not some courtship. He said he had wine, and we were just going to hang out so—

The door opens, cutting my train of thought. Quickly, I meet his gaze, and hope that my unapproachable resting face hides my inner chaos. Straight away, Rowland is smiling. I’m surprised to see him wear more casual attire—a dark gray polo neck shirt and checkered dress pants of a color a bit darker than his eyes. He still presents that respectable, professional front.

“Evening,” I finally speak after we stare at each other for what genuinely feels like more than a minute.

“Welcome,” Rowland says and jerkily steps aside to let me through the door.When I think about it, he opened pretty fast. Was he waiting for me?“Did you have any trouble finding your way here?” he asks while I pass him, trying to suppress a simper over the idea of him being as anxious about this as me. “The signs for the estate are ridiculous, really. Some idiot must have designed them. But the navigation’s usually fine taking you—”

“I got here no problem,” I interrupt him with a faint smirk. He really is nervous. Seeing a businessman mumbling like this? It’s kind of hot.

Rowland finally seems to take a breath. He chuckles, hanging his head down for a moment, and nods. “Right…” Without looking at me, he walks into the kitchen, but gestures for me to follow.

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