Take a Chance on Me (5 page)

But my mom wanted to meet him. So, when he asked if I was free for dinner this Friday, I said, “Yes. But why don’t we get together in Mirabelle Harbor this time? I’d like to give you a quick tour of The Gala. Then we can go out to eat anywhere you want.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause on the line, and I worried that I’d overstepped some invisible boundary of his.

But he said, “Of course.” Then, after a beat, “Should I be on my best behavior?”

I couldn’t help but smile. Grant was no dummy. “There will be family present,” I admitted. “My mother doesn’t believe you’re real, so I wanted to officially verify your existence.”

Grant chuckled at that, thankfully. “I consider myself forewarned, Nia. I’ll take off a little early from the office that night. How’s six-thirty?”

“Wonderful.”

After Grant and I hung up, I meandered down Spring Street, past the bank, and then east until I hit Cherry Avenue. Up ahead, just leaving Mirabelle Market, was a woman my parents knew better than I did, Julia Crane, the young widow of the late Dr. Adam Crane, who’d been one of the town’s most well-respected family doctors. He’d died in a horrific car accident this past winter. No one’s fault, as far as I knew, just icy roads and bad visibility, but it was tragic nonetheless.

She was a school teacher at the junior high—a friend and colleague of Sharlene’s—and the two of them had visited The Gala a handful of times together. I hadn’t seen Julia in recent months, though. Not since the accident.

I was about to call out to her, just to say hello, when I spotted a familiar figure jogging across the street toward her.

Chance.

Neither of them were looking in my direction, and when I saw them together, I fell back into the shadows of the grocery store, not wanting to interrupt.

I couldn’t hear what Chance was telling her from this distance, but he was grinning at her and wrestling away from her the two or three grocery bags she was carrying. Then he walked with her across the street to the public parking lot, deposited the bags in her trunk, and took off with a light jog back toward the gym.

I knew it was daylight and I wasn’t witnessing any kind of romantic tryst, but I couldn’t help but feel as though I was almost eavesdropping on an intimate moment. There was something in Chance’s expression that spoke volumes, even when his words didn’t. A softness in those intense eyes when he was looking at Julia just now. I felt almost…jealous.

I knew the Cranes had a daughter, too. She was only nine or ten, if I was remembering correctly, so the story of Dr. Crane’s death was even sadder. How hard it must be to finally find your soulmate, only to lose him so soon. I couldn’t imagine the pain Julia must have gone through or the loss she and her daughter must still be feeling. I couldn’t help but wonder if Chance just felt a sense of compassion and protectiveness toward her or if it was…anything more.

Julia struck me as quite pretty. Someone men would be drawn to. She had long blond hair and was still in her mid-thirties. Only about eight years older than Chance. And she was a close friend of his sister’s to boot. It wouldn’t be that unusual if, perhaps, he had a crush on her.

Not that I had a horse in that race. Chance Michaelsen could fall for anyone he wanted.

I had Grant (kinda, sorta), and I’d be seeing him in just four short days.

Nothing but the ticking of the clock stood between now and then, I thought to myself, as I headed to The Gala to prep for the Monday dinner rush.

Working for the weekend, to be sure, but it was going to be
amazing
once it finally got here. I just knew it. And then maybe, with my parents on board, I’d be more sure of where things stood between the venerable Grant Jordan and me.

Chapter Four

~ Chance ~

A few things never failed to piss me off:

People who texted while driving.

People who talked loudly on their cell phones next to me, especially at the gym.

And people who came in late to one of my sessions because they were either texting or talking.

Put away. Your damn phone. Already.

So, let’s just say I wasn’t in the happiest of moods when Nia arrived at Harbor Fitness on Wednesday at 2:03 p.m. with her cell phone glued to her ear.

I’d walked up to the front desk to meet her, looking forward to seeing her again, but she held up her finger at me in that “just one more minute” motion. I wasn’t pleased.

Still, I waited one minute. And then two minutes. And then four. She just kept on talking. Feverishly. To one family member or another. There were arrangements being made for some kind of Friday night gathering, from what I could tell. I didn’t care what the complications were. The clock was ticking.

I snapped my fingers at her to hurry the hell up.

She glared at me. “I’m trying!” she mouthed.

Pretty sure I rolled my eyes.

I turned away and began walking toward the mats—might as well start getting things set up since she was taking a freakin’ eternity to finish her phone conversation—but I caught the phrase “you’ll all be meeting Grant Jordan” just before I left. His name was one I recognized. Some mega CEO of plastics or something, and one half of the Jordan-Luccio Corporation downtown. What was she doing with
him?

When she finally scampered over to me, she was breathless and apologetic. “I’m really sorry, but my aunt and uncle and one of my cousins are making a special trip down here on Friday, and I needed to give them some…um, instructions.”

Ah, yes. The many talkative aunts and uncles and cousins of the Pappayiannis clan. I’d seen them hovering around The Gala before and spilling into the streets of Mirabelle Harbor. One big happy Greek family. They chatted. They gestured. They kissed each other repeatedly on the cheek. “Sounds important,” I said dryly.

She narrowed her eyes. “It is.” She paused and leveled her gaze right at me, like a laser beam. “I’m introducing them to my boyfriend.”

“Grant Jordan is your boyfriend?” I asked before I thought better of it.

“Yes,” she replied.

Damn
. That was one hell of a complication.

Well, it was a good thing she was off limits—thanks to being one of Donna’s BFFs and all—because, much as I had confidence in my ability to win over most women, if I set my mind to it, I also liked to think I had a healthy grasp of reality.

It’d be pretty hard to top a guy like that. Physically, sure. I mean, I could probably take him in a fist fight, but the dude was loaded. Women tended to go for flash. Can’t say I wasn’t a little disappointed, though, that someone like Grant was Nia’s style.

“Last I checked,” I told her, “today was still Wednesday afternoon, so if you’ve got your social calendar for the weekend all squared away now, I’ve got some exercises for you.”

She crossed her arms and exhaled slowly. Irritated with me? Yeah, that seemed likely. But all she said was, “I’m ready.”

“Good. It’s about time. How’s your back been feeling?”

“All of me has been sore,” she retorted.

“
All
of you, huh?” I doubted that. The mental image of her up against my bedroom wall with me sliding hard into her—over and over again—flashed through my head.

I looked away from her so I could catch my breath and blink away the image, but when I looked back, there was a peculiar expression on her face. As if she’d guessed what I was thinking…and was silently measuring my ability to pound into her until every part of her was
actually
sore.

It was embarrassing, the glance that passed between us. And. So. Very. Hot.

She blushed a little, and I looked away again. I was used to having more control than this. What the hell was this woman doing to me?

Nia cleared her throat. “My arms, shoulders, upper and lower back, and hips are sore. From the torso twists and the weights,” she clarified. “My stomach, too.”

“All right. We’re going to work all of those same areas today, but we can use a different set of exercises to do it.”

I hadn’t had an opportunity to tell her what I’d had in mind until now, but the workout I’d planned for her today focused on partner exercises. I knew she wasn’t a big fan of the gym equipment, so I thought she might like this better. Stretching on the mats. Having a partner for weight resistance.

The only downside (upside?) of this was just how much I was going to have to touch her during this session.

“Sit on the mat,” I instructed her, “and open your legs to each side so you can stretch to the front. Hands on the mat. Try to lean as far forward as possible.”

She did this with ease. Hmm. Flexible girl.

“Okay, I’m going to press gently on your back and, then, more firmly, so you can get a deep stretch,” I told her. “Feeling a slow ache is fine. Feeling a sharp pain is not. Let me know when you’ve stretched as far as you want to go.”

“Okay.”

As she did last time, she was wearing just a simple t-shirt and yoga pants, and the fabric of the shirt was thin enough that I could easily feel the contours of her sports bra underneath. I could also feel the delicate bones of her spine as she arched forward, and the pressure of her muscles’ resistance against the weight of my palms.

This was a common stretch. I’d done it with clients a thousand times. Never before had I wanted to tear away the fabric and rub a woman’s bare skin so much.

Especially when she moaned softly.

I swallowed and pulled my hands away. “Too much pressure?”

“No,” she murmured. “That’s really helping.”

She leaned even further forward, inviting me to press harder. I caught a whiff of something floral as I moved in closer. It was like inhaling spring.

I tried to keep my mind from being flooded with images, but between the scent of her, the feel of her, and the sound of the music being piped in from 102.5 LOVE FM, it was difficult. This was Blake’s time slot, and in the span of seven minutes, the bastard transitioned from playing Faith Hill’s “Breathe” to Ed Sheeran’s “Kiss Me” to Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing,” which I needed to hear like I needed a charley horse in the middle of the night. One more suggestive song like that and I was gonna kill my brother.

Still not sure how I made it through the rest of the session but, by the end of it, I was cursing my growing desire for Nia and the competitive streak that had me rising to the challenge of battling the hotshot CEO for her affection. I might not succeed, but I’d be damned if I didn’t at least try.

“So, Friday?” I asked, taking a step closer to her. “Same time?”

“Uh, yeah.” She bobbed her head. “The afternoon still works.”

“Good.” I smiled at her. I’d been told I looked “very serious” more than once by clients, so I was making an effort to appear more lighthearted. Not sure it was working, though.

Her eyes crinkled in suspicion, and she opened her mouth to speak, but I saw something and had to dash away.

“Excuse me for a sec,” I said, jogging over to where Mr. Alleghany was standing on the elliptical machine, struggling to step down. He was eighty-two, and I’d caught him wobbling after working out more than once.

“Let me give you a hand,” I said to him, helping him down and making sure he was steady before letting go.

“Thank you, Chance,” the older man said with a laugh. “Not as young as I used to be.”

“None of us are, sir,” I replied.

He chucked, patted me on the shoulder, and wandered away. I returned to Nia.

“Sorry. You were about to say something?”

She nodded and pulled a paper-wrapped item out of her bag. “
Spanakopita
,” she explained, handing it to me. “Made fresh this morning.”

“Thank you.”

Her dark eyebrows rose. “You’re welcome, but you shouldn’t say that until you try it.” Her lips curved into a devilish grin. “I’m waiting.”

“What—you mean, now?”

She flashed a bunch of really pretty white teeth at me. “Well, yes. No time like the present, right? Open it up. Take a bite.”

I carefully unwrapped the paper from around the
spana
-whatever and studied it. It looked very much like a pastry. “You said there’s spinach inside?”

“Yes. And feta cheese and onions and spices and more.” She laughed. “Seriously, Chance. It’s not going to bite
you
. You need to bite
it
.”

In spite of the fact that this was far from my usual fare, it seemed to be real important to her that I taste the spinach thing. So I took a small bite. And chewed. And it was…well, not bad, actually.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“It’s a little richer than I expected,” I said honestly, “but it’s also a pretty good combination of flavors.” And, because I wanted to make her happy and, also, because I did kind of like it, I took another bite. A bigger one. And nodded as I chewed.

She smiled at me in that joyful way that lit up her whole face. “Okay, so here’s the hundred-thousand-dollar question—would you be more willing to try some other Greek dish now that you sort of liked this one?”

“Another savory, vegetable-heavy dish? Yes,” I said decisively.