She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 159

(Natasha)

It's been two weeks since Shell Cove and Chase is in my kitchen again.

Tonight is also the third night in a row he’s dropped by ‘just to check in’ and brought something he didn’t need to bring.

Today it's a punnet of strawberries and a small jar of cream from the place on Larchmont.

I mentioned it in passing six weeks ago.

He remembers everything.

That’s a problem because it’s having the effect he’s hoping it will.

It’s softening my heart and making me wonder if we could perhaps have a future after all.

"Where do you want these?" he asks.

"Fridge."

He moves some things around to put them front and center in the fridge.

He’s been finding his way around my kitchen for two weeks.

He knows where the small bowls are now.

He knows the cutlery drawer sticks if you don’t tilt it back when you open it.

He knows Lily's bibs live in the second drawer down.

Last week he started putting his keys in the bowl by the door.

My parents flew home to Pennsylvania on Sunday.

They wanted to make sure their house was still standing.

Liam is back at his dorm. Sarah finishes at five. Lily went down at seven thirty.

It’s eight forty-five and the only other adult in the house is the man putting cream in my fridge.

"Wine?"

"Half a glass."

He brings the glasses through and sits at the other end of the couch.

It seems to be a rule we arrived at without discussing it.

He hands me my wine without his fingers brushing mine.

I’m deeply grateful, because my body is literally humming with the need to be touched by him and it would be a disastrous idea.

He hasn’t made physical contact with me in two weeks.

He’s wanted to.

I’ve watched him want to.

I’ve seen the way he looks at my mouth.

The way he sometimes stares at my hands like they mesmerize him.

Felt his gaze on the back of my neck when I bend down to put Lily on the floor.

I’ve watched him decide every single time not to do anything about it.

It’s killing me, but it would be worse if he did.

"Want to watch a movie?"

"Sure. You pick."

He chooses something neither of us is going to watch.

I feel like it’s on purpose. So it won’t distract me.

He sets it going. Halfway through the opening credits he glances across at me.

"Come closer."

"Chase."

"Just a bit closer."

I move two cushions over.

He looks at me like a man who’s being patient on purpose and is starting to find it difficult.

"I've been trying to give you space."

"I appreciate that."

"I don’t think you actually want space."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

I put my wine down.

He puts his down.

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