Page 41 of Playing with Forever
He looked so handsome, but more than that, he looked steady. Alert. Prepared. Someone who would never let me get hurt. I clung to that. “I got these today.”
I showed him the flowers and unsigned card, and mentioned the correlation to my lily tattoo.
Chase’s jaw clenched. “I agree, this is most likely someone who knows you pretty well, rather than a random stalker, and is probably from the person who slashed your tire.”
“It could be someone who heard about the tire and wanted to make me feel better,” I said, clearly grasping at straws so I didn’t have to think about the worst case scenario.
He arched a dubious brow. “If it was, they would’ve said so in the note.”
I knew he was right. I just didn’t want to entertain the idea that this person was escalating. The difference between the slashed tire and the flowers disconcerted me, too. It was like hot and cold. The type of person who would give you a ton of affection one moment, love bomb you, and then whip around and hurt you in some way.
“Let me take the flowers, and I’ll check out the florist, see what I can find,” Chase said, picking up the vase so I didn’t have to carry it to the car. “I’ll drop you back at my place on the way, so you don’t have to deal with it.”
I nodded, relieved and grateful. “Thank you.” It felt like there was a net closing in around me but I couldn’t see where it was, or who was pulling it tight to trap me.
The drive to Chase’s condo was quiet. He made sure I was settled before he left to do his investigating, and I realized I was more anxious than I cared to admit. I needed something to take my mind off things while he was gone.
I changed out of my work attire and into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, and since I had this big place with a glorious kitchen all to myself, I came up with an idea. Chase seemed to enjoy the breakfast I made for him this morning, so why not make us dinner? When I went to throw some stuff away in his kitchen trash, I’d seen nothing but takeout boxes, and his fridge and freezer had only a few ready-made meals.
I scoured his pantry, surprised to find an unopened box of penne pasta, canned chicken breast, and cream of chicken soup, along with frozen vegetables in his freezer, and shredded cheese in the fridge. Enough to make a chicken noodle casserole.
Growing up as poor as we’d been, my sister and I had learned to take the most basic of ingredients and make them into something savory and edible. In fact, it had become a game between us…who could create the cheapest, best tasting meal with the least ingredients. This casserole had been one of our favorites. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was the equivalent of comfort food, which I suspected both Chase and I could use right now.
Pleased with my plan, I boiled the pasta, then mixed everything else together and layered it into a metal pan I’d found in one of the lower cupboards, then popped it into the oven, timed for forty-five minutes.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t expected that Chase’s fancy kitchen with all the weird buttons on the appliances would have some surprises in store for me. Everything was so sleek in black and chrome, all the buttons activated by touch rather than being physical buttons and dials like I was used to. I didn’t suspect anything was wrong, though, not until I smelled something burning way,waytoo soon and realized I’d turned on the broiler instead of the oven.
“Shit!” I yelled, grabbing a magazine about muscle cars from the coffee table in the living room and waving it back and forth in the kitchen to disperse the smoke so that the ceiling alarm wouldn’t go off.
I heard the front door open, then Chase call out, “Uh, Andrea?”
“Don’t worry, nobody’s dead!” I assured him, trying to make light of the situation.
Grabbing two mitts, I yanked open the oven and retrieved the casserole, now blackened and burnt to a crisp on top—completely unsalvageable. A lump formed in my throat and I realized with horror I was in danger of crying.
“It’s just the chicken noodle casserole I was making for dinner.”
I thought Chase would be annoyed with me—I did just burn something in his oven and his place now reeked of smoke—but instead he laughed and went to open the windows to help clear out the awful smell.
“Sorry, the damn contraption’s more complicated than it should be, I know,” he said, seemingly unconcerned. “I barely use the oven. I probably would burn something too.”
“I turned on the broiler rather than the oven,” I said, unable to keep the distress out of my voice. “I’m so sorry, I hope the pan isn’t ruined.” The edges were singed with sauce and cheese.
“If it is then I can buy another pan, not that I can recall when or if I’d ever even usedthatone.” Chase leaned against the counter as I put the pan in the sink. “I’m sorry to tell you this but the florist was a dead end. The order was placed online with their website and paid for by a gift card.”
I nodded, prying the casserole—which was charred through a couple of layers—out of the pan and throwing it into the trash. My stomach twisted at the thought of wasting so much food. My vision blurred and I did my best to swallow back my dismay.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” Chase continued, completely unaware of how upset I was. “It’s concerning that it was done this way. It means this person is smart enough to know that someone might try and track them through their credit cards, or check to see if the florist has video surveillance in their shop. And it also means the person has probably done this, or something like it, before. Enough to be aware of some of the pitfalls.”
I nodded again, because my throat was too tight to speak. I knew I should care about what he’d discovered, and I did, but I was too busy caring about this stupid casserole. I could probably salvage the metal pan if I left it to soak…but, fuck, all that food wasted…
Chase laid a hand on my arm. “Hey, Andrea. Look at me?”
Shit. I couldn’t. I knew if I did I would do something embarrassing like cry.
Chase’s other hand came up to grasp my chin and gently lift my face up to his. I couldn’t help it, my vision swam with more tears. The stress and fear of everything going on right now in my life, now compounded by this…
“Whoa, hey, it’s okay. I’ll keep you safe,” Chase promised, misinterpreting my reaction. “Nobody will hurt you. I promise.”
