“I know I didn’t have to,” he says, looking around for a place to put the food. He walks over and puts the bags down on the bar. Walking around the bar, he grabs a rag, wetting it and then wiping the bar down. He’s always helped me close on the weekends and any other time he’s in here. Most nights, he even helps bus the tables. “I wanted to.” He tosses the rag into the sink and then turns to look at me.

“I got you your favorite,” he says, taking a Styrofoam container out of the bag. “Meatloaf.” He puts it on the counter. “Mashed potatoes.” He takes out another one. “Fries.” I look at him. “And slaw.”

“You are too good to me.” I shake my head, walking around the counter and picking up two stools for us to sit on. “Also thank you.” I slide onto one stool, and he slides onto the stool next to me.

“Well, I promised you dinner.” I look over at him. “And you ran out of the house like your tail was on fire.”

I roll my eyes and try to pretend it didn’t bother me. “I did not. Your girlfriend showed up. I wasn’t going to stay around and be the third wheel.”

Opening the container and grabbing a plastic fork, he takes a bite. “She is not my girlfriend,” he says, grabbing his own fork. “She’s just someone I went on a date with.”

My stomach almost turns over, the meatloaf in my mouth suddenly tasting sour. “Whatever,” I say, nudging my shoulder against him. “You don’t have explain your dating situation to me.”

“There is nothing to explain.” He chews. “We went out on one date.”

“Oh, come on,” I joke with him. “You went on five dates with her in three weeks.”

He looks over at me. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?” His eyes light up just a touch, and a smile forms across his lips, but before I can say anything, the door opens, and we both look over our shoulder.

“Sorry,” Chase says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just thought you might be hungry,” he says, holding up a bag in his hand. I suddenly feel like the biggest bitch in the world for leading him on. I shouldn’t have done it.

“Oh, that’s so nice of you.” I slip off my stool, going over to him. He is cute in a rugged type of way, and I tried really freaking hard to like him, but I just couldn’t even get to that point with him. “Do you want to …?” I point back at the bar where Beau now sits facing us as he glares.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I should go. I have an early day tomorrow,” he says, handing me the bag.