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“Is it intense?”
“Are you asking as a reporter or a friend?”
“A friend, Lance. You know that. I still care about you.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining her soft eyes filled with an inner glow. Her voice was sweet as a tune. Her eyes as deep as the desert skies. They saw through him every time. Even when she frustrated him, he could get lost in her eyes.
His body released all tension. His heart felt full. Lance rubbed at his throat. When did it get warm in his room? He walked over to the wall and adjusted the thermostat. “Thank you. I uh… I should get some sleep. Your notes and ideas sound great. We’ll go from there.”
“When will I get to talk to Andrea?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.”
He needed to hang up. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
***
Chantelle sat at her mother’s kitchen table with a cup of chamomile tea. After getting off the phone with Lance, she couldn’t sleep, so herbal tea was her best bet. She sipped the hot liquid she’d sweetened with honey. It warmed her from the inside and she sighed as her muscles relaxed.
Lance would be okay, although he didn’t sound too enthused about her notes on her article. She couldn’t help but wonder. What was it about Andrea that made him propose?
If Lance were happy, wouldn’t it show? Chantelle knew what love looked like. She saw it when her late father kissed her mother on the cheek every morning before leaving for work. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have a problem writing love notes to her mother and leaving it on the table.
Chantelle had sneaked in the kitchen one time and read the folded notebook paper. Her father’s scripted words to her mother warmed her heart. All he wrote had been, “I love you more than you know.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, recalling her father’s sweet gestures. Would she ever stop missing him? Chantelle straightened in her seat as Douglas entered the kitchen. He walked to the stainless steel refrigerator and poured himself a glass of milk. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted her.
“I didn’t see you there. Everything okay?” He asked.
Chantelle bobbed her head. “I couldn’t sleep.” She held up her cup. “I thought some tea might help.” Cocking her head to the side, she asked, “What brings you here?”
“I couldn’t help myself.” He grabbed the covered cake plate on the counter. “Your mother’s yellow cake was calling my name.” He winked at Chantelle. “I waited until she fell asleep.”
A giggle escaped her lips. “That chocolate frosting makes it that much better.”
“Your mother is a genius in the kitchen.” Douglas cut himself a piece, grabbed a fork, and then brought his plate over to the table, taking a seat across from Chantelle.
“You want to share?” He asked.
She gave a faint smile but shook her head. “No, thank you. I should go to bed.”
“Something on your mind?”
She rubbed the back of her neck. Was she that transparent? “Work is work.”
“Your mother’s proud of you.” He made eye contact with her. “So am I.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed the rest of her hot tea and scooted her chair away from the table. “I appreciate it, Douglas.”
He smiled, and the corner of his eyes crinkled. “I’m glad you stayed with us.”
Staying with her new stepfather while retaining the memories of her father proved harder than she knew. Chantelle thought of staying in the bed-and-breakfast in town, but she wouldn’t disappoint her mother.
“Chantelle?”
