Page 38 of Worth the Chase

“Friends,” I repeated.

“I’ll try, Bells, but no promises.”

I actually spat out a laugh. “Why not?”

He leaned closer to me, his lips inches from my ear as he lowered his voice. “Because I’m constantly going to be thinking about fucking you. And friends. Don’t. Fuck.”

“Bella!” Brooklyn’s voice interrupted us, and I knew she’d done it on purpose.

I was actually grateful because what Matthew had just said almost knocked the wind out of me.

Glancing down, I noticed her holding hands with Clara, who was beaming up at me with a big, toothless grin.

“Hi, Miss Drink Maker. Hi, Uncle Matthew.” She wrapped her little arms around him, and he bent down to hug her. “Where’s your best friend?” she asked.

“My best friend?” he said in a sweet voice that was clearly only reserved for his niece.

“You know, your very best friend, Mr. Beer,” Clara said before giggling uncontrollably.

“Very funny, little one.” He tickled her until she squirmed away.

“Did you want me to get you a beer, Matthew?” I realized that he hadn’t asked for a drink, and I hadn’t offered him one.

He shook his head. “Nope. I’m good.”

Brooklyn and I made eye contact, giving each other a strange look. Matthew not drinking was something I’d file away to think about later. Brooklyn and I watched silently as he left and headed toward Thomas, who was standing at the counter, pointing at what looked like every single thing Addi had back there.

“Bella, Bella, bo-Bella, fee-fi, fo-fella, can I please have a Shirley Temple? Do you know how to make those? I love the cherries.” Clara grinned, and I quickly looked at Brooklyn for permission to tell her yes.

When Brooklyn gave me the okay, I responded, “One Shirley Temple with extra cherries coming up.”

Clara giggled and wiggled her way onto one of the barstools and watched me intently. It was a simple drink to make, but I went extra slow so that she could see how I did it.

“Three or four cherries?” I asked, leaning toward her.

She blew out a breath and contemplated the question, as if her whole life depended on the answer. “I think three is plenty. Four might make me sick, and I really hate being sick. Then, I’ll have to eat Mrs. Green’s soup, and I hate soup.”

Mrs. Green was Clara’s babysitter who also happened to live right across the street.

“I think three is plenty. Good choice,” Brooklyn interrupted.

I shuddered, just thinking about little Clara getting sick from a drink that I’d made her. The guilt would eat me up inside.

I pushed one of the seasonal cocktail menus toward Brooklyn before asking, “Do you want something to drink?”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

I was just about to ask her what she meant by that when she moved her hand to her stomach.

My mouth dropped open, and I went to yell, but she shook her head quickly.

“We haven’t told everyone yet.” She nodded toward Clara. “It’s still really early.”

“Told everyone what, Mama?” Clara beamed up at her.

I had no idea how Brooklyn would handle being put on the spot like that. I would have caved.

“Nothing, sweet girl. Adult stuff,” she said.

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