Chasing the Storm (Chasing the Storm, #1) - PUBLISHED

Chapter Seventeen

The heavy sound of a truck becomes louder until I see the source stop in front of our house. A UPS truck. I stare at it curiously, my string bean covered fork in mid-air between my plate and my mouth. They are most likely here to deliver the new guitar my father ordered not long ago.

"You expecting something, Steven?" Mom asks Dad.

"Yes, but not today," he answers. "The guitar's not supposed to be here for another week."

"You sure you didn't select one week delivery?" My mother stabs a leaf of lettuce, then brings it to her mouth.

"Positive." My father adds more barbecue sauce to his ribs, which were already drowning in it. "The confirmation email confirmed my selection. It said it's supposed to arrive not this Wednesday, but the one after."

"Hm. Well, you know them. It's not rare that the delivery's faster than you expect it to be."

Dad nods. "True, true."

I stare at the driver through the large window directly across from me. He's holding a box in his arms, a small box. I don't imagine a guitar would be that small. I doubt even a ukulele could fit into it. I watch as the man walks up our sidewalk and toward our front door until he disappears from view.

"Am I forgetting a birthday?" my father jokes as he leaves us to answer the door. He opens it just as the doorbell rings. Then, after thanking the man, he returns to the table with the box, a puzzled expression on his face. "It's for you, Abigail."

"Who's it from?"

Dad looks at me from under his brows. One is raised. "Is there a boy I need to know about? Which boy would be sending my daughter a package?"

"It's from Devon?"

"No," he answers. "Says here it's from someone named Chase Jones..." And then it dawns on him. I'm able to see the realization come to his face the moment after the name leaves his mouth. "Wait, hey, isn't that Paul's son?"

"Sure is," Mom replies. "Abigail and I keep bumping into him at Publix. Sweet kid. Handsome, too."

"Mom." My tone is flat. I return her stare, except mine lacks whatever suggestion she's trying to make. I see it in her eyes. She's never usually like this... Most of the time she's like my father, wary of every person of the opposite gender around me. She seems to believe that I'm the interest of every boy. It is due to this that Devon is the only male friend I have. We've known his family for a long time. So what is so special about Chase in her eyes?

"Maybe I should open it first," Dad says. I can't tell whether or not he's joking.

Mom shakes her head, then directs a stern, will-altering look toward my father. "Oh, Steven. I hope you're joking."

"Of course I am," he says defensively, a hand in the air. His other hand holds the box protectively against his chest. "You wanna open it now, Abigail, or after you've finished eating?"

"Now, please, I think." I haven't managed to stop thinking of Chase, his poem and confession since Saturday. That day repeats itself in my dreams and thoughts, all night, every night. All day, every day. The only thing that interrupted these thoughts was another one of those dreaded nightmares.

"All right..." My father raises an eyebrow, tilts his head and begins to hand me the box. When I reach for it, he quickly pulls it back to himself. "If you're sure."

I drop my arms to my sides dramatically. "I'm sure."

"You don't sound sure." He's on to me! I know it!

I sigh long and hard, if a large breath of air can be described that way. "I'm positive. May I please see it?"

Dad's head jerks back and, this time, both of his eyebrows shoot skyward. "Aren't we a little eager tonight... I think I should hold on to this and do a background check on this Chase guy. What do you think, Donna?"