“I wouldn’t imagine you’d want to go out and about at all today.” Nonna set the mixing bowl on the kitchen table next to the cutting board and cookie sheets.
Chase narrowed his eyes. All evidence of crafts had been replaced by cooking supplies. Not a scrap of wreath ribbon or forgotten silk butterfly littered the table. Nonna had planned their cooking session. If he wasn’t mistaken, she had help preparing. Now he had his mother and sisters to blame too.
Nonna added, “I’m sure the media will be tracking your every move.”
“I work from home.” Nichole released him and tugged several strands of hair from beneath the apron strap around her neck. The movement distracted Chase. He wanted her hand back inside his and he wanted to help her. “And nothing I do is all that interesting.”
“But you’re the headline, my dear, and that makes you interesting. The press announced your identity late this morning on the news.” Nonna shuffled into the kitchen and picked up the salt container. “Nichole, if you’re going to be tied to my grandson, you have to make the news part of your morning routine like brushing your teeth and eating breakfast. None of it can be skipped or you risk ruining your entire day.”
“That’s not possible.” Chase had factored in one day, maybe two, before the media figured it out.
“The press knows my identity?” Nichole smashed the front of her apron between her hands.
“Released your full name in the article.” Nonna returned to the kitchen table and her makeshift prep station. “Marie is a lovely middle name, my dear. Is it a family name?”
“After my grandmother.” Nichole fiddled with the apron, her tone distant.
“A touching tribute.” Nonna checked over the table.
Releasing Nichole’s name in the press was not touching or a tribute. “Nonna, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
“I told you I was preparing my statement for the press.” Nonna waved toward her notepad; her focus remained on the table.
Chase summoned his patience. “You won’t need to make a comment.”
“One never knows.” Nonna tucked her hands into the pockets on her apron and looked at Chase over the rims of her glasses. “Last week, Harold Mathis and Mary Lou Tanager spent the night together at a motel. Both of their families were contacted for comments as if we haven’t earned the right to do as we please.”
“I have an agent.” Chase wiped his hands on his jeans as if that would remove his unease. “Travis fields these very things for me. To help protect my family.”
“Where was Travis yesterday?” Nonna eyed him. “If you wanted to remain anonymous, why were you at the school yesterday out in the open together?”
He’d gotten out of the car to support Nichole. Panic had paled her cheeks; worry had drained the color from her lips. He’d wanted to help.
“I was quite certain your whole marriage was a farce.” Nonna stepped over to the kitchen counter and shifted her notepad to face Nichole and Chase. “However, now that you made it simple for the press to identify you, dear, I believe there might be merit to your impulsive union. Such an emotional hug.”
Chase edged closer to the counter, close enough to see the pictures displayed on Nonna’s notepad. Yet not close enough to touch, as if he stood outside a rattlesnake’s nest and feared an attack. The larger picture included Chase, Wesley and Nichole. Wesley had wrapped his thin arms around Chase and hung on. The boy had been enthusiastic and his embrace all-encompassing, as if Wesley had been more than thrilled to call him Dad. As if Wesley had believed Chase could be his dad. Dad.
Chase’s world tilted again. He’d never imagined being called Dad. Never considered the humbling power and overwhelming emotion in one word. He’d clung on to Wesley until his own feet had settled back on solid ground.
After all, Chase knew little about being a dad. Even less about how to be a good dad. But he knew one thing for sure. A good parent was never selfish. He had only to look at his mother, Nonna and Nichole. As for Chase, he owned the title on self-centered and hadn’t earned the privilege of being called Dad.
“And your wedding gown, my dear. Wherever did you find it?” Nonna clasped her cheeks between her hands and shook her head. “I learned to sew at my grandmother’s knee. That gown was not a hasty store purchase.”
Nichole bumped Chase as they both leaned closer to the notepad. The second picture, although smaller, pulsed with energy. Nichole in Josie’s wedding gown. Her hand, with her new ring, on Chase’s lapel. Their gazes locked on each other as if it’d been their actual wedding day. His heart thumped in his chest and picked up its pace. The same as yesterday—it’d skipped at seeing Nichole in the gown. Raced with Nichole in his embrace. So reckless. So careless. And way too alluring.
“What does this mean?” Nichole’s voice barely qualified for a whisper.
“You should leave for your ski-moon early.” Nonna spun the notepad back around and tapped the screen. “That is if you want some privacy and to avoid the press and those pesky statements.”
“Is that really necessary?” Nichole twisted toward Chase.
“Do you have your statement prepared?” Nonna peered at them both, her eyes wide and bold behind her glasses.
Nichole shook her head and swayed against Chase. “We haven’t prepared one.”
“Travis will handle that.” Chase wanted to take Nichole into his arms and promise her everything would work out. Everything would be fine. He hadn’t earned that right. Empty promises never sat well with him. He moved away from Nichole, a reminder they both needed to rely on themselves. He leaned back and gripped the counter, rather than reaching for Nichole.
