Take a Chance on Me

Chapter Nine



She couldn’t sleep.

Moonlight streamed through the white eyelet curtains, casting a dim glow on a crack in the ceiling. Maybe tomorrow she’d go to the hardware store and buy some plaster.

Or maybe not.

It was odd, not having her days endlessly scheduled. No more wedding plans, no last-minute details to catch up on, no work to go to, or tasks to accomplish.

Sure, her life was a disaster, but that was different from having something to do.

At least she’d given up pretending she was going home. It was a couple of days. For once, she was going to do what she wanted. And what she wanted was Mitch and more nights like tonight.

She’d had more fun that night than she’d had in the past year. They’d spent the evening at Gracie and Sam’s house, drinking margaritas and eating fajitas while the four long-term friends filled her head with crazy stories. Maddie had laughed until her sides hurt. They were crass, inappropriate, and not at all polite—so familiar and comfortable together, it caused an unexpected stirring of jealousy.

Her family used to be like that. She missed them, missed the way they used to be.

She tossed about on the bed, throwing the mint-green sheets and quilt to the floor so she didn’t suffocate in the late-summer heat. She didn’t want to think about them now. Thinking about her family brought back her anxiety.


She wanted to think about the way Mitch had kissed her in the car that afternoon, about how he’d touched her through the night. Light, casual touches—a brush over her arm, the slide of his fingers in her hair, the press of his thigh against hers under the table.

But that was impossible while her mind raced with never-ending thoughts of guilt and a life she’d lost when her father died.

She glanced at the closed bedroom door, then back at the clock sitting on the nightstand.

It was one in the morning, and sleep was farther away than ever.

Unable to stand it for one more second, she rolled off the bed. Normally, when her mind wouldn’t stop racing, television was her drug of choice. She walked across the soft, faded Oriental rug, opened the door and peered into the hallway.

All was quiet.

She padded down the narrow hall toward the front stairs that would lead to the living room. When she got to Mitch’s door, she stopped, pondering it as though it were a mathematical equation.

What was she doing? Go downstairs.

She stared at the dark wood, six-paneled door. It was nice quality. It looked sturdy and strong. Old construction, like the rest of the farmhouse.

She nibbled on her bottom lip, scowled. Her heart was beating so loud, she could hear it in her ears. Go downstairs, Maddie.

It was ironic that after months of desperately wanting to be alone, she couldn’t stand the solitude.

But that wasn’t Mitch’s problem. She couldn’t pound on his door in the middle of the night and demand he entertain her. Besides, he’d get the wrong idea.

She scowled at the closed door and her fingers twitched. Walk away.

But then some demon possessed her and she knocked.

Complete silence.

Relief stole through her. Had she gone insane? She turned away.

It was better this way. She’d go downstairs and watch HGTV until she fell asleep. She took one step, stopped, and swung back around. She knocked again, much louder this time.

What was she doing?

“Come in,” he called, his tone muffled.

Go away. Leave, before it’s too late.

She pushed open the door. Reason had deserted her when she’d climbed out the church window, and apparently it hadn’t returned. She was as crazy now as she’d been yesterday.

Mitch looked at her. He was stretched out on a king-sized bed with a mammoth, dark mahogany headboard. His chest was bare and the stark white sheet rode low. One brow raised, he peered over a thick book perched on his stomach.

Too late, she realized she hadn’t changed.

Why would she? She’d been going to watch TV. Clad in only a tank top and cotton sweat shorts, she rocked on the balls of her feet, wondering what he must think.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, laying the book on the nightstand.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said lamely.

She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she detected the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Do you want me to make you some warm milk?”

“No,” she said. Her gaze shifted to the bed and she swallowed, then jerked her attention back to Mitch. What was she doing invading his room in the dead of night?

They stared at each other.

A clock, somewhere in the room, ticked as each second passed.

“Come here, Maddie,” he said, finally.

She waited for sanity to prevail.

It didn’t.

She was inviting herself into his bedroom; he was bound to get the wrong idea. She twisted her hands and shifted in the doorway.

His lips quirked. “I promise not to bite.”

“I’m not here for—” Her voice came out like a croak, and she cleared her throat. “You know . . . sex.”

The smile grew. “Understood. Now come here and tell me why you can’t sleep.”

The muscles in her shoulders relaxed. How did a man so sexually dangerous make her feel so safe?

She didn’t understand it, but that didn’t make it any less true.

She walked over to the bed and climbed up next to him. The mattress bounced as she settled. She focused on the intricate headboard instead of the man in front of her and asked, “Is this an antique?”

He nodded. “It was a wedding present from my grandfather to my grandma.”

She traced the pattern with her fingers. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, in a thoughtful tone. “They were honeymooning in France and she fell in love with it. When they got home, it was waiting for her.”

“How romantic,” Maddie said, studying the rich detail work. Even back then, it must have cost a fortune.

“My grandpa was desperately in love with her. If she wanted something, he moved heaven and earth to get it for her.”

What would that be like? To be loved like that.

Steve always acted like he’d do anything for her, but if he’d loved her unconditionally, wouldn’t he have liked her more?

She looked back at Mitch. “How’d they meet?”

He chuckled, a soft, low sound. “You’re not going to believe this.”

She crossed her legs. “Try me.”

He flashed a grin. “I swear to God, this is not a line.”

“Oh, this is going to be good.” She shifted around, finding a dip in the mattress she could get comfortable in.

He stretched his arm, drawing Maddie’s gaze to the contrast of his golden skin against the crisp white sheets. “My grandfather was old Chicago money. He went to Kentucky on family business and on the way home, his car broke down.”

Startled, Maddie blinked. “You’re kidding me.”

He shook his head, assessing her. “Nope. He broke down at the end of the driveway and came to ask for help. My grandmother opened the door, and he took one look at her and fell.” He pointed to a picture frame on the dresser. “She was quite beautiful.”

Unable to resist, Maddie slid off the bed and walked over, picking up the frame, which was genuine pewter. She traced her fingers over the glass. It was an old-fashioned black-and-white wedding picture of a handsome, austere, dark-haired man and a breathtakingly gorgeous girl with pale blond hair in a white satin gown.

“He asked her to marry him after a week,” Mitch said. “It caused a huge uproar and his family threatened to disinherit him. She was a farm girl, and he’d already been slated to marry a rich debutante who made good business sense.”

Maddie carefully put the frame back and crawled back onto the bed, anxious for the rest of the story. “Looks like they got married despite the protests.”

Mitch’s gaze slid over her body, lingering a fraction too long on her breasts before looking back into her eyes. “He said he could make more money, but there was only one of her. In the end, his family relented, and he whisked her into Chicago high society.”

“It sounds like a fairy tale.”

“It was,” Mitch said, his tone low and private. The story and his voice wrapped her in a safe cocoon where the world outside this room didn’t exist. “In the sixty years they were together, they never spent more than a week a part. He died of a heart attack and she followed two months later.”

She studied the bedspread, picking at a piece of lint. “I guess if you’re going to get married, that’s the way to do it.”

“Any other way sounds pointless.” The sheets rustled as he took a pillow and propped it up against the headboard.

“Do your parents have a marriage like your grandparents?” Maddie asked.

He made a cold, scornful sound, and Maddie peered up at him. A hard, remote look chilled his eyes. “No.” He delivered the word in a flat monotone.


Willing to let the subject drop, she cleared her throat. “It’s not very proper of me to barge into your bedroom in the dead of night.”

Expression easing, he laughed. “This isn’t the Victorian age, Maddie; there’s no one to think you improper.”

“But still, it doesn’t look right.”

“I promise, your virtue is safe.” He brushed an open palm over her knee. “For now.”

The touch was electric. Unable to help herself, she scoped out his broad chest and lingered over the clean lines of his body, wishing she could reach out and touch the valley of his hip and the stretch of muscles across his stomach, and trace the intricate pattern of the tattoo that scrolled over his hard bicep.

God, he was a work of art.

He squeezed her thigh—not hard, just enough to remind her that he watched her.

She blinked, tearing her gaze away. A hot flush crept up her chest. Flustered, she blurted, “I used to paint.”

Surprise flashed across his features. “But you don’t anymore?”

She frowned. Why had she said that? She hadn’t told anyone in years. “No, not anymore. I used to draw too. A little sculpture, but I never was very good at that.”

She tried to recall the weight of the charcoal in her hand, the smudge of black on her fingers, the sweep of lines across clean white paper, and found she couldn’t. It had been so long, the memory was like a fuzzy dream belonging to another girl in another life.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked.

She stared at the chocolate comforter until her vision blurred, then lied, “It just happened.”

“What about marrying a man you don’t love? Did that just happen?”

She reared back as though she’d been struck.

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

“I loved him.” The indignant words were automatic. She’d been telling herself they were true for so long that she believed them.

He laced his fingers over his stomach in what she assumed was an attempt to be casual. “Did you?”

“Yes.” Of course, she had . . . kind of . . . only—she bit the inside of her cheek—not in the way she was supposed to. But that was her fault, not Steve’s. Steve was perfect. Except, somehow, she could never find a way to make him perfect for her.

“I don’t believe you.” Mitch’s tone was matter of fact.

A little flicker of temper sparked inside her, but instead of repressing the emotion the way she always did, she let it flame to life. She shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t believe you want to own a dive bar in a dinky little town.”

His amber eyes flared with warning, and his jaw hardened. “I like the town fine.”

“Do you?” she asked, repeating the same question he’d asked her.

“Yes.” The word sounded as if he’d been chewing it too long.

They stared at each other, the air rife with tension. This was a crossroads. She was tired: tired of pretending, tired of never saying what she truly thought or felt. She had a choice—stay safe and on the surface, have fun with him until her time in Revival was over, or be real.

She took a deep breath and chose real. “I met Steve when we were fifteen. It was a case of opposites attract. I was a real wild child, and he was on the high school honor roll, the captain of the junior varsity football team, and an all-around good guy.” She tucked a curl behind her ear and offered Mitch a tentative smile. “Quite simply, he was a catch.”

Once again, Mitch’s hand covered her knee, and his strong palm felt so good, so right, that muscles she hadn’t known were tense relaxed. “You were a wild child?” His tone was so incredulous, Maddie couldn’t help but laugh.

“You have no idea,” she said, letting some of the good memories she’d locked away creep back in. “The principal of my very strict all-girls school, Sister Margaret, had my parents on speed dial.” She leaned in close, conspiratorially lowering her voice. “I even have a juvenile record.”

That crooked grin flashed. “For what?”

She waved an arm in the air. “Oh, you know, the usual: vandalism, some shoplifting, harmless stuff like that.”

“Why, Maddie Donovan, aren’t you a surprise?” He chuckled, stroking up her thigh before returning to the safe territory of her knee. “What happened?”

She sobered, the lightness leaving her in an instant. “About four months after I started dating Steve, I was in a bad car accident. My dad died. I was in a coma, and when I came out of it, I needed over six months of rehabilitation.”

“Jesus, Maddie,” Mitch said, his voice strained. “I’m sorry.”

If he only knew the half of it. But she didn’t want to talk about that. Couldn’t talk about it. It wasn’t the point she was making anyway. She only wanted him to understand how she’d ended up almost marrying a man she hadn’t loved the way she should. She drew a steadying breath. “Steve never left my side. He helped my mother with whatever she needed while she fell apart with grief. He took care of me because she couldn’t. How many teenage boys do you know who would do that?”

“Not many.”

Maddie’s throat tightened, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She swiped under her lashes before they could fall. “Everyone kept telling me what a saint he was, how perfect he was, how indispensable.” A tiny sob caught in her throat. “I just didn’t know how to leave.”

He rubbed slow circles over her leg, the touch soothing and platonic. “I understand.”

For some inexplicable reason, those two little words made her breathe more easily. “So that’s how I ended up almost married.”

His fingers stilled, squeezed a little. “Do you regret climbing out the window?”

Her teeth clenched. The truth, regardless of how it made her sound: “No, I don’t. And you know what’s really terrible?”

His slow, methodical stroking started again. “What?”

Real. No more hiding. No more denying to the outside world what she felt on the inside. “I’ve never been so relieved in my whole life. It was the first time since before my dad died I felt free. Do you know what I mean?”

With his gaze thoughtful, he studied her, the tilt of his head and jut of his jaw highlighting his masculinity. “Yeah, actually, I do.”

“I don’t know why, but I like being here.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “With you. You’re helping me remember who I used to be.”

“And who did you used to be?”

New tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t know. Not really. That girl seems like a dream just out of my grasp, but here, I keep getting hints. I miss her.”

“Tell me what you miss about her,” Mitch said, those golden eyes boring into her.

“I was, I don’t know.” She waved an arm. “Wild and impulsive. I’d do anything on a dare, and I wasn’t ever afraid.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re here? Why you’re not ready to go home?”

She blinked and one tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t want to go back because I don’t have a choice. I want to go home on my terms, not because my car broke down and I’m helpless to fix it.”

“And after? When that’s no longer keeping you here?” Mitch’s hand still stroked over her skin, but the corners of his mouth tightened.


She wiped the wet track from her cheek. “I don’t know, I’ll figure that out when the time comes.”

“So we’ll take it day by day.” He squeezed her knee. “But I don’t want you to leave. You’re helping me, too.”

“How?”

“I thought I was content, but since you came along I realized I was just numb. I thought they were the same thing, but they’re not.”

“Maybe we’re not bad for each other after all?”

Another smile, so sinful that her heart stopped. “I don’t know the answer to that, I guess time will tell. In the end, like most things, it will probably be a little bit of both.”

She met his gaze. “Do you want to tell me why you’re not a lawyer anymore?”

“Not really.” That shuttered, closed-off look slid over his features.

More than anything, she wanted to pry, but something stopped her. Just because she’d confessed didn’t mean he’d automatically reciprocate. “All right.”

He released his hold on her leg and shook his head, almost as though exasperated. “Christ.”

“What?”

With another shake of his head, he shifted on the bed, fidgeting more in the last minute than he had the entire time she’d known him. “I’m afraid.”

The idea that he’d be afraid shocked her. “Of what?” He viciously raked his fingers through his hair. “I like the way you look at me. I’m not ready for that to change.”

What could have happened three years ago to cause this much distress? She swallowed, her pulse hammering in her throat. “You don’t have to tell me.”

His chest expanded as he took a breath and slowly exhaled. “I know, but I think I want you to know the truth more.”

Maybe it was better not to know. She folded her hands in her lap. “It’s up to you.”

He stared at a spot over her shoulder. “I was indicted for embezzlement.”