“Her name is Olivia. Sometimes she goes by Typewriter Girl.”
“Hmm. Typewriters? That’s kind of old-fashioned.”
“I’m an old-fashioned guy.”
“Well, it beats texting. Texts are temporary. But letters are forever. Mr. Jensen reminded me of that at the beginning of the summer.” I grin. “Speaking of Mr. Jensen, should we rejoin everyone? They might be waiting for us, and I am the host.” I say it, but the truth is, I don’t want to go downstairs. I want to stay right here in my bedroom with Chase, possibly forever.
His eyes are warm. “I vote no on going downstairs. I want you right where I have you, and I’m not letting go anymore,” he says teasingly, but his expression is serious. “What I want with you isn’t temporary. It’s forever.”
He bends down and captures my mouth. I’m shaking from the relief of kissing him, when I thought I’d never feel this again.
I lean in, standing on my toes. He backs me up to the wall and lifts me until we’re lined up as he settles between my legs.
He moans into my mouth as he grinds against me. We go from rated G to R in the span of a minute, but I can’t get enough of him, of the feel of his body against me. He cups my face in his hands.
“God, I missed you,” he says when we take a break to breathe. He traces his finger over my face, my lips. I reach out and touch my tongue to his finger and revel in his taste. But his hand is on the move, down to the edge of my lavender dress.
I love this dress; it’s cute and quirky, a little retro. I bought it last week in my experiment to find my style. But right now, I want it off, especially when he dips his fingers below the material, pulling it down to expose my plain bra. I wish I’d also bought a matching set of sexy lingerie.
The look on Chase’s face tells me he doesn’t care. He’s not comparing me with the women he’s been with in the past. His eyes are hot, his gaze covetous, as if the beige cotton bra were black silk and lace.
His fingers make me tremble as they edge closer to my nipple. It’s an extended bud now, straining to be closer to him.
“Hey! What are you doing in there? We’re hungry! Should we wait for you two or start eating?” Mrs. Maple calls from behind the bedroom door.
“What if they kick us out? I want that roast chicken. It looks amazing.” I hear Audrey say.
“If they kick us out, I’m taking back my cupcakes,” Daisy threatens in a loud voice.
I bite my lip, debating, because I know I’m weak, and if Chase pushes even a bit—hell, if he so much as touches me again—we’ll be staying in this room forever.
He must sense my torn thoughts, because he gives me a pained smile and sets me back on my feet, my body sliding down his with every inch. He taps me on my nose. “When we do this, I don’t want any distractions. I can eat really, really fast,” he says, his voice rough with desire.
I smile slowly. “So can I.”
He shakes his head. “The timing could be better, but come on, Typewriter Girl, let’s host our very first dinner party together.”
I grin up at him.
We walk out of the bedroom and are greeted by Daisy, Audrey, and Mrs. Maple lounging in the hallway.
“Did we interrupt something?” Mrs. Maple asks innocently.
“Damn, Olivia bagged a movie star,” Audrey says.
“How many times do I have to remind people? He’s not a movie star, he’s my brother. I don’t want to think of her bagging him,” Daisy says.
We follow them down the stairs, and the doorbell rings.
“Are we expecting anyone else?” Mrs. Maple asks.
“Oh shit, I forgot.” Chase winces. “Is there room for a few more?”
“A few more?” I ask, glaring at him. So much for eating quickly and rushing back upstairs.
“I, uh, had some moral support for this trip. Sebastian insisted on coming with me, and Ryder flew us in his plane. I told them to wait in the car and leave if I didn’t come back out, but they’re shit at following directions.”
“Sebastian? Ryder?” Audrey looks as if she will faint. “As in Sebastian Blake and Ryder Black? Here? Now?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Audrey, stop being such a fangirl,” Daisy says.
But I notice Daisy is fluffing her hair and licking her lips. She’s not above fangirling a little over Ryder.
The doorbell rings again, followed by a pounding sound. “Yo!” Sebastian’s unmistakable voice calls. “Are you banging in there? Let us in! We’re getting bored in the Rover!”
“Yup, that’s them,” Chase says.
He grabs my hand, and together, we make our way to the door.
Old friends are seated around my table. New friends are here. And I’m walking hand in hand with someone I love.
We open the door to find Ryder and Sebastian with matching wide grins. Sebastian holds out a framed portrait.
“Yo, your grandma was hot.”
“The Adam Reynolds!” I gasp, grasping the precious photograph. I never thought I’d see the original again.
“But—how? Mr. Jensen’s friend sold it. I got the money!”
“She did. She sold it to me,” Chase says. He cocks his head. “And now I’m giving it back to you. Do you like it?”
He looks like a little boy, asking if he did well on a test.
“I love it.”
I stand on tiptoes, and he leans down to meet me in a sweet kiss. I almost drop the framed photo as we cling to each other.
Someone clears their throat. Loudly.
Chase kisses my forehead and smiles down at me, totally ignoring our new guests. “I’m glad. I was going to keep it in the car and give it to you later, but I guess the guys had other ideas.”
I know how much this cost him, and I hate that he spent that much money on me. Just as it had been hard to accept that he did so many repairs on my house.
But Daisy’s words come back to me. She’d said that when someone gives you something with an open heart, as I know Chase has, then you should accept in the same spirit. He’s new to showing his love. I don’t want to reject it, in any way, even his ridiculously generous gifts.
“Thank you,” I say in his ear, with a soft kiss to his cheek.
His smile makes me thankful for Daisy’s wisdom.
I look down at the photo of Nanna. When I was young, it embarrassed me, because who had a naked photo of their grandmother in their house? But now, all I see is a woman living life fully. She took the biggest risk, showed the world who she was without artifice, without a mask, without adornment.
What a beautiful gift it is to see and be seen, to be accepted for who you are. And to be loved for it.
I take Chase’s hand.
When we all gather in the dining room, making room and setting plates for our new guests, the only thing I see is our friends blended, varying ages, varying wisdom, all laughing, passing food, crowding around a big table.
I’ve finally done it. I filled the vacant table, the empty house, the lonely parts of me, with love. With Chase by my side. I know that we have so much more to do, so much more to conquer, and it won’t all be easy.
We have to figure out the right balance between real life and celebrity, LA and San Francisco. We have to navigate career pressures and fame, and the regular problems that come with two people making a life together. But with Chase’s hand in mine and people who are happy to be in our corner, I’m filled with a certainty that we can make it.
It feels like hope. It feels like joy. It feels a lot like love.
He leans down and whispers into my ear, “This is taking too long. I can’t wait. On a scale of one to ten, how devastated would you be if we didn’t taste your roast chicken?” he asks.
I tilt my head. “Well, I am rather hungry.”
“I can fill you up, babe.”
I laugh. “I don’t doubt it.”
He kisses that sensitive part under my ear, and with just one brush of skin against skin, I’m a puddle of longing.
“I think I overcooked the chicken anyway.”
“They won’t even miss us.” He brushes another kiss a little lower on my neck.
“They can see themselves out,” I murmur.
He pulls away from me, looking me in the eye. “Let’s go.”
We stand in tandem and all but run out of the room, like naughty children escaping detention.