Chapter 18 - Tamra
The day of my shopping and dinner extravaganza with Chase dawned cloudy with a hint of rain, and I was glad to have indoor plans to look forward to. He arranged to pick me up in the early afternoon so we could ride to the mall together after he dropped off groceries for dinner.
I glanced around my apartment, trying to make sure it was guest-ready. The walls were vanilla beige and the carpet a classic tan. All of the fixtures and trim were builder-grade basics, nothing fancy. I had furnished the space simply, with a deep blue sofa and table. The only real point of interest in the living room were my bookshelves, which were both large and in-charge. The shelves spanned eight feet along one wall and were crammed full of books. I had a whole section of Virginia Rothman’s works, along with some of my other favorite romance and mystery authors.
My bookshelves were my own love letter to reading and Chase was about to read it all from start to finish. If romances were female desires laid bare, one glance along my most cherished titles would tell him more about me than anything I’d willingly reveal otherwise. Sweet and nerdy, sometimes downright dirty, my tastes ran the gamut, but his books featured prominently. If he didn’t know I was a superfan before, there’d be no hiding it after he saw my shelves. I pushed down the nervous tremor.
I wandered into my kitchen to make sure it would pass muster. It was boring but clean. The bleach spray I used made my nose tingle. Work habits died hard. Careful cleaning and universal precautions were ingrained even in my kitchen routines. I shuddered remembering Chase’s kitchen. There had been indeterminate substances caked on the counters in places. Brown. Sticky. Disgusting. He’d probably consider the residue part of the flavor. It was a good thing his food was delicious, because his kitchen hygiene gave me hives.
My mind at peace about the state of my apartment, I turned on the light in my bathroom to give my appearance a last onceover. Hair, curly, but not frizzy today: check. Light makeup applied, but no lip color so I wouldn’t leave marks on the clothes I tried on: check. My best bra, to give the girls a fighting chance at a semblance of cleavage: check. Underwear that wouldn’t show every line and bulge in a form-fitting dress: double check. Over the top, I wore simple dark jeans and a scoop-neck T-shirt.
I was as ready as I’d ever be for my makeover. Gina would have forced me to try on every long dress she found. Chase’s style was more of a mystery. His book covers featured stylishly dressed women, but that didn’t necessarily translate to good real-life fashion sense. Playing dress-up for him intrigued me, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. My fantasy of low light and the sultry swish of fabric was likely to run head-on into the reality of unforgiving fluorescent lights and scratchy sequins. I ran a restless hand over the spines on my bookshelf. Chase was already a few minutes late, but a quick glance at my phone revealed that at least he’d sent me a message.
Chase: So sorry. Fell down the rabbit hole on my last project and lost track of time. Leaving now to come get you.
I glanced at my clock. He’d left only five minutes ago. At least he remembered, but I hated being late. Punctuality signaled respect. I pushed down the childish voice that urged me to quit thinking about him before I cared too much, and he cared too little. Chase had texted. He had no idea how much showing up on time mattered to me. I glanced longingly at my Kindle. At least I had time for another chapter, so, silver linings.
I was immersed in my book when the knock on the door jarred me out of the story. I opened the door to see Chase loaded down with groceries.
“How many people are we cooking for?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Just us. I may have gotten a little carried away with the menu. Let me stash the perishables in your fridge, then we can get going. Point me to the kitchen?”
I nodded in the right direction and followed behind him, ready to dive for stray groceries if his paper bags split under the weight of everything. “What all are we making with the ravioli? This seems like a ton of food.”
“Butternut squash ravioli with brown butter sage sauce, a nice side salad with goat cheese and vinaigrette, and a dessert. Plus, wine. Wine is pretty much a requirement.”
“Wow. That sounds amazing. Also, time consuming. Will we eat tonight?” I joked as I helped him load the butter, cheese, and vegetables in the fridge.
He nodded solemnly. “Yes. I’ll have you and the meal whipped into shape in no time. Not that I’m into that. Whipping, that is. Unless you are. Because that would be fine with me too,” he added with a mischievous smile.
My mouth dropped open, and no words came out. Joking or not, he was tapping into my secret fantasies. Chase took my silence as a sign to move things along.
“Anyway, are you ready to be my project for the day?” He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying my casual outfit. Was it my imagination, or did his blue eyes linger and darken at the hint of cleavage courtesy of my best bra? He clapped his hands together. “To the mall!”
I shook my head. I still couldn’t believe he was excited. To go to the mall. With me. Calling our outing surreal would be an understatement.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” I asked.
“Go to the wedding? Not really, but I’m a trooper. Take you shopping? Absolutely. Again, you’re doing me a favor, letting me live out my makeover fantasies.”
I looked doubtfully down at his outfit. Was it a good idea to
