Page 20 of The Chad Next Door
“What?” My hand slips, catching the handle of the saucepan and knocking it off the stove, sending warm tomato sauce everywhere. All three of us scream out of reflex, probably because Link and Zelda get splashed too even though the bulk of it hits me in the chest. Thank goodness it wasn’t hot yet, but that doesn’t make this much better.
I stand there, arms dripping with sauce and my eyes shut tight because I got a fair bit in my face too, and heaven help me I’m going to start laughing even if this is so not the time. I really do try to hold it back, but when it breaks from me with a splutter and sends sauce flying out of my nose, I lose all control.
Then I slip.
That’s how a breathless Chad finds me, flat on my back on the massacre that is my kitchen floor and laughing like a maniac.Of coursehe came running when he heard us scream, and I can only imagine his first thoughts when he sees the red liquid everywhere because this must look like the most gruesome murder scene in the world. But there I am, laughing my head off because I am such a sad excuse for an adult that the only thing I can do is laugh.
He mutters something under his breath as he slips his phone into his pocket, clearly exasperated by my incompetence. Even though I’m still overcome with my laughing fit, I hear him ask if the kids are okay.
“It’s just sauce,” Zelda tells him. “Is Hope okay?”
Chad looks down at me, and he seems less panicked now that he’s taken in the scene. And what do you know, he’s just as handsome upside down as he is right side up. Typical. “I would ask if you need help,” he says, “but something tells me you’ll say you’ve got it handled.”
I deserve that, and I really could handle it. But I feel like something changed between us last week, and he made me feel like I don’t have to be a perfect parent when he told me about his siblings. So, despite my inner voice telling me that asking for help is not how I operate, I shake my head. “Actually, I would love some help.”
His eyebrows jump up—down, from my perspective—and he doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. But then he holds out his hand and grasps my wrist, and with a little twisting maneuver he has me on my feet a moment later. Naturally, my foot slips again and knocks me into his chest, which I marginally feel bad about because I just covered him in sauce. The other part of me is thrilled.
“Thanks,” I breathe while I’m still pressed up against him. Gotta get my fill while I can since he’ll probably freak out again. He’s so warm and solid. I want to fall asleep with his broad chest for a pillow and his arms as a blanket and the sound of his heartbeat as a soundtrack to my dreams. Yeah, that sounds nice.
“Go take a shower,” he grunts, gently pushing me away from my little cuddle fantasy. “I’ll clean up in here.”
Okay, I know I asked for help, but that’s just ridiculous. “But—”
“Go.” He points, but it’s the strength in his voice that gets me to move. It’s that sense of command that had me so fixated on our first morning here, and I hate how much it works on me now. But at the same time, I don’t hate it. I want to salute and say, “Yes, sir,” and maybe do an experiment with his lips because I can only imagine the way he takes charge with something like a kiss.
Hope Duncan, what in the world is wrong with you?
I pause at the edge of the hallway and look back to make sure the kids are okay with me leaving them here with Chad, but there is no way I can focus on the kids right now because Chad is pulling his sauce-covered Henley over his head, and his t-shirt didn’t get the memo that it was supposed to stay put. That t-shirt deserves a medal for failing so miserably at hiding the completemanlurking beneath it.
It’s not like he’s all jagged edges and perfectly cut abs—the abs are there, I promise. He’s most definitely strong, but it’s the solid kind of strong, where you only see the muscles as he moves and shifts and—oh my stars he’s looking at me. My face goes up in flames because I’ve been caught staring—and probably drooling because for the last six years I’ve been surrounded by frat boys who think strength comes from zero percent body fat so you can see every ab, like one big Lego piece pressed onto an otherwise flat stomach. College guys never really did it for me, and now I can see why. There’s a difference between looking strong and being strong, and Chad Briggs is undeniablystrong.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is a purebred man.
“How’s that shower treating you?” Chad asks, the corner of his mouth twisting up in a smirk. He has a right to smirk when he looks like that. And I’m not sure how he expects me to leave this room when now he’s in a tight white t-shirt that hugs every ridge and curve. It’s borderline cruelty.
“Hope, why are you all red?” Leave it to Zelda to snap me out of a moment I was thoroughly enjoying.
“It’s the tomato sauce,” I lie, and then I do give Chad a salute, because why not, and head into the shower as the sound of his laugh echoes down the hall.
And oh boy, do I really like that laugh.
I’m in trouble.
* * *
I’m definitely going to have to fix the wolverine problem sooner than later because as it turns out, having my clothes still in suitcases in the living room presents a bit of an issue when there is suddenly nothing but a towel between Chad Briggs and all of my dignity. I realized the problem as I was rinsing the conditioner out of my hair, but so far I have yet to find a solution, even though I’ve been standing in the steam-filled bathroom for five minutes now, trying to telepathically tell Zelda to grab me some underwear at the very least. That’s still more than I would like a certain manly neighbor to see, but it’s better than just a towel.
When I’m finally convinced that Zelda is not, in fact, psychic, I come to the conclusion that my only chance is to try to sneak past the opening between the couch and the kitchen and hope Chad is too busy cleaning up to notice me. I’m not sure I like my odds—luck has not been on my side when I’m around this man—but I don’t have much of a choice. I’d rather take my chance than have him come looking for me.
Turning off the hall light, I make sure everything is tucked away and my towel is secure. Batten down the hatches, so to speak. With my tendency to fall around Chad, I am taking no risks. I creep slowly, listening to the sounds of the kitchen for any signs of what may be happening in there because I’m going to have a narrow window to make it to safety. I vaguely realize I will have to make itbackto the bathroom after I grab my clothes because no way am I changing in the open living room, but I’ll think about that after I have something to wear. For right now, I’m focused on the sounds coming from the kitchen because something is off.
There’s soft music playing, something that’s familiar but not something I could name. I feel like it’s a band from the eighties, but it doesn’t really matter what it is because louder than the music is the bouncing, uncontrollable laughter of a child. Zelda, to be exact, though I haven’t heard her laugh since I was in Orlando for Christmas last year.
Poking my head around the corner, wondering if this is all a weird dream, I set my eyes upon the scene and feel my heart swell inside my chest like an expanding balloon.
Link is sitting on a stool at the counter, right where I left him, but he’s no longer splattered with sauce. Instead, he’s carefully shredding cheese onto a plate and grinning. I don’t think he’s smiled like that even once since Bailey died, but he can’t seem to stop now. I only have to wonder what’s so amusing for a second because my eyes fall next on Zelda, who sits on the counter with Chad right in front of her. He has placed cooked spaghetti noodles on his face, a ring around each eye and one hooked over his lips like a tiny walrus mustache. He shaved today, but something tells me the scruff will be back by morning. Not that that’s important, but I want to note it. With his noodle accessories, he’s making ridiculous faces at Zelda, who sounds like she’s laughing so hard that she’s in danger of falling off the counter, which of course she won’t because Chad has a hand on her leg, ready to catch her.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than this, and l genuinely don’t know what to do with the emotion pounding through my chest right now because I don’t know if I can put a word to it. Whatever it is, I don’t want to let it go.
