It's July 15th, 2022, and Sarah Walker has finally scored her dream job—working with dolphins at the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute. Socially awkward and academically driven, Sarah's never found love—but when she meets a tech genius whose inventions have the chance to make her research a reality, she finds herself falling for him. Together, their work could change the world … that is, unless someone else gets hold of it first.

Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck…

Chapter 2: The Thing with Feathers

As Chuck Bartowski allowed his sister's ill-mannered monstrosity of a dog to drag him back to his car, he berated himself once again for being such a complete dweeb when it came to interacting with the fairer sex. And God, had she been fairer … and sexy as hell, even though he'd done his best not to stare. What an absolute disaster.

He and Peaches had hiked their way to the beach along the Monterey Bay Coastal Recreation Trail. Chuck had parked at Cannery Row, thinking that the long walk along the trail might help tire Peaches out. Well, so much for that idea. The dog had a limitless amount of energy, and she adored the sand and surf … apparently, as much for the chance to accost beautiful women as to frolic in the waves. Christ on a cracker—he should have known better than to bring her here.

The last time Chuck had taken Peaches to the beach had been in Santa Monica, where she'd nearly ripped his arm out of its socket in her enthusiastic pursuit of a sandpiper. He'd had to let her go before she dragged him straight into the water—and then he'd spent the next fifteen minutes playing an exhausting game of catch-me-if-you-can, imploring Peaches to come back, while everyone who'd witnessed the great escape had either joined in on the fun or laughed maniacally at his predicament. When he'd finally caught up with her, she'd rolled in something long-since-dead and fishy, and he'd had to have his brand-new Tesla cleaned and detailed as a result.

He had urged Ellie to take the dog to a trainer—even offered to pay for someone to come and work with her—but Ellie insisted that Peaches was just a puppy and would eventually grow out of her naughty behavior. Chuck wanted to tell his sister that while Peaches would certainly grow out of a great many things—she was just nine months old and already pushing 120 pounds—her mischievous nature didn't seem to be one of them … but Ellie loved the dog so much, he didn't have the heart.

So, when Ellie had begged him to take Peaches along on his beach excursion, Chuck couldn't say no … but he had taken certain precautions this time. Sticking a Ziploc bag full of treats in his pocket in case the dog escaped and he had to lure her back was one of them; parking far enough away to try and take the edge off Peaches' manic spurts of energy was another. So much for well-laid plans … the canine Houdini had gotten away from him again—despite his best efforts—and this time, instead of targeting a bird, she'd headed straight for the most beautiful woman Chuck had ever seen.

Now here they were ... beating a hasty retreat. Well, as hasty as he could manage, under the circumstances. Once they'd left the beach—with his tail between his legs and hers riding high—they still had a mile-long walk to get back to his car. The path hugged the coastline, and on the way here he'd paused a few times to take in the beauty of the waves crashing against the rocks and the harbor seals basking in the sun by the Hopkins Marine Station … not that Peaches had let him pause for long. On the way back to the car, though, he didn't bother to stop. It was getting dark and he just wanted to return Snarls Barkley to Ellie so he could crawl under the nearest available rock and die.

"How could you?" he said to Peaches, shaking his head in exasperation. The hellhound's only response was to lunge after a passing biker. Chuck pulled back on the reins just in time to avoid another catastrophe. One thing at a time, he told himself. "That woman was minding her own business. Not bothering anyone. And what did you do? You plunged her into the Pacific … and then you had the gall to look thrilled about it."

Peaches, who indeed had no regrets—neither for drenching the woman nor for her misguided attempt to find out what bikers tasted like—merely wagged her tail.

"She was so pretty … and nice, too. She wasn't even mad at you after what you did." He couldn't help but remember the light in the woman's blue eyes when she'd teased him about Peaches being proud of herself, the musical sound of her laughter when he'd made that wisecrack about the dog needing to go to finishing school. True, she'd probably laughed at his lame-ass joke just to be polite and dilute the hail of awkwardness he'd rained down upon them both, but still … her laugh was now seared into the farthest recesses of his mind. Maybe he was reading too much into the situation, but for some reason he had the feeling she didn't laugh all that much. It had lit up her face, made her even more gorgeous than before—if such a thing was possible.

Chuck had first noticed the woman when he and Peaches were well down the beach, long before the unholy menace of a dog had managed to baptize her. She'd bent down to talk to a little girl, and he'd been entranced by the animated way she'd spoken with the child, as if she was truly excited about whatever they were discussing. Then, before the little girl ran back to her parents, the woman had given her something—and whatever it was had filled the child with pure joy.

Watching their encounter, Chuck had allowed himself to fantasize that such a person might be willing to look past his innate nerdiness—that she wouldn't care about his awkward exterior, and she'd appreciate him for who he was at his core. He'd imagined being brave enough to walk up to the woman and introduce himself—maybe even ask for her phone number …

Then, of course, as his daydream deepened, Peaches had gotten away from him and knocked the golden goddess into the water … and any thoughts of a conversation beyond an awkward apology had gone straight out to sea. Hell … he was so embarrassed, he hadn't even asked for her name, much less her phone number.

"You are by far the worst wingman that's ever lived," he told the Great Dane puppy. "Or would that be wingwoman? Wingdog? Either way, see if I give you any of my leftovers tonight. And just wait 'til I tell Ellie what you did."

Peaches looked up at him and huffed through her nose—then shook herself, splattering him with a thick coating of drool from her massive jowls. The stuff could've been used as an industrial-strength lubricant. Chuck sighed in defeat, wiped the slime off his chin, and continued their trek along the trail.

It was pathetic, he knew, but the interaction on the beach had been the closest he'd come to socializing with a woman in months. His sister had pressured him to come to Monterey for a much-needed vacation, his first since starting his own business after finishing grad school at MIT three years ago. Back at home in Cupertino, all he did was work. It had taken an incredible amount of dedication and long hours to get his tech startup—Bartowski Innovations, Inc.—off the ground, and even now that he had steady income as a sub-contracted engineering consultant for Apple's AI R&D department, he couldn't seem to kick the habit. His social life—what little there had been of it to begin with—had fallen by the wayside, and he'd never been very good at dating, so that was the first thing to be sacrificed on the altar of the tech gods. His only committed relationship had ended in heartache—as in, she'd stomped on his heart … with cleats—and the few dates he'd gone on in grad school had never evolved beyond casual friendships. He wasn't sure exactly what had gone wrong; looking back, maybe it was just that nothing had gone right.

But late at night, when his eyes were glazed over from writing code and his shoulders hurt from hunching over the keyboard, he'd sometimes sit back and let his mind wander—imagining what it would be like if, instead of the virtual assistant he'd created to keep him company, he had an actual girlfriend waiting for him in the next room … someone he cared for deeply and who felt the same way about him.

While he was lost in thought, they'd managed to make it all the way back to Cannery Row. He made Peaches sit and admonished her to stay—a command that went over as well as expected—then popped the trunk, got out the gallon of water he'd brought for her, and poured some into the Tupperware container he'd packed. When she finished drinking, he spread out a blanket over the back seat, followed by the doggy treats … just in time for the Great Dane to hurtle herself into the car. Then he slammed the door behind her before she could reenact the Great Canine Escape of 2022.

The drive to Ellie's rented cottage—five miles inland—was relatively short, and he kept the windows down, letting the breeze blow through the car in the hopes of drying off the mutthole. His sister and her husband, Devon, were both doctors at Westside Medical and had taken a month off from their work at the hospital to come to Monterey. Ellie had met Chuck this morning in an attempt to spruce up the place before Devon arrived tomorrow after his final rotation. The cottage was what Ellie'd termed "quaint but cute," with weathered split-shake siding, a bright red door, and huge trees that overhung it, keeping the small front yard in perpetual shade. Chuck pulled up outside, grabbed the dog's leash, and convinced the bane of his existence to follow him inside.

Ellie was in the living room, reading a paperback, when the two of them came in. She took one look at Chuck and—as she'd always been able to do—knew instantly that something was wrong. "Uh oh," she said, setting her book down. "What happened?"

"Don't ask." He flung himself onto the blue sectional. Peaches leapt up beside him—sandy paws and all—claiming his entire lap. "Your dog … she just … gah. I can't even talk about it."

"Oh, no." Ellie sighed, running her hands through her long brown hair. In the seven months that she'd owned the Great Dane puppy, the dog had eaten a huge Honey Baked ham—out of the back seat of someone else's car; gotten high from licking the backs of an entire box of envelopes; gnawed through the arm of an antique chair that Ellie had shopped for three months to find; and had taken to standing on her hind legs to open the cabinet where Ellie kept the chocolate peanut-butter cups … with her teeth. Peaches had had to have her stomach pumped twice—once because of the peanut-butter cups and, on a second occasion, because she'd eaten a pound of chocolate-covered espresso beans that Ellie's husband, Devon, had gotten her as a birthday present. ('Her' being Ellie, of course, not the dog … though Peaches had certainly seemed to think otherwise.) She was a 120-pound wrecking ball … an adorable wrecking ball that Chuck secretly loved, but still.

As if the dog could read his mind, she turned her head, raised up on her haunches, and did her best to ram her tongue down Chuck's throat. "Euuugh!" He tried to pull away—but since she was pinning him in place, it was a futile effort. "Peaches, stop. You're crushing me. Get down. Down, girl. Go."

Giving Chuck a reproachful look, the Great Dane clambered off his lap and onto the floor with a throaty growl of dissatisfaction. She lay with her face between her paws, looking for all the world as if she were the wronged party. Feeling guilty, Chuck patted her on the head in consolation, but Peaches turned her face away, clearly offended.

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Just tell me. What did she do now?"

Surrendering, Chuck sank back into the couch cushions. "We were on the beach … having a pretty good game of tug-of-nerd. Well, 'pretty good' might be an exaggeration, but everything seemed … fine. She hadn't tried to eat any of the seagulls, and we hadn't come across a single jellyfish for her to lick." Ellie winced at this, remembering the time that Peaches' enthusiasm for all things slimy had earned her a trip to the vet—and Ellie, a $200 bill. "Then … then she saw a woman standing by the edge of the water, looking out at the waves … and she lost her freakin' mind. To be fair, I kind of lost my mind too. The woman was so beautiful … and there was just something about her, even from far away …" Chuck shook his head, trying to focus. "Anyway, this gorgeous woman was standing there and I was just hoping we could make it past her without me tripping over my own damn feet. But Peaches … she …" He buried his head in his hands. "Oh, God, Ellie, it was awful."

His sister reached out and shook him by the shoulders. "What. Did. She. Do?"

Chuck spoke into the cave of his hands. "Peaches got away from me and ran right into the woman. Knocked her into the water. She wasn't wearing a bathing suit or anything … I mean, it's not like she was naked—that's not what I'm saying." The back of his neck flushed a deep red. "She was wearing a tank top and shorts, like she'd come to the beach to walk instead of swim. They got soaked. And she … she was wearing all white … and I …" His sentence trailed off, ending in a mortified groan.

Ellie poked him in the shoulder, hard. "Charles Irving Bartowski … you better not have ogled that poor woman! I raised you better than that!"

After their parents had died in a car crash when Chuck was fifteen, his sister had taken over the responsibility of looking after him. She'd moved the two of them to Burbank to start over, since there were too many bittersweet memories in Encino, where they'd grown up. Between their parents' life insurance and small nest egg, the sale of the house in Encino, and part-time jobs, she'd managed to support the two of them until Chuck graduated from high school … even after she'd started medical school at UCLA. Their parents had shaped his childhood; Ellie had played a huge role in shaping the man he'd become. And one thing was certain—she didn't raise him to disrespect women.

He lifted his head, indignant. "Of course I didn't, Ellie. But it was still humiliating. And she was so nice about it. So … understanding. I felt terrible."

Ellie gave Peaches a chastising look … then brightened. "Think of it this way, little brother … maybe Peaches did you a favor. Did you at least get her name?"

Chuck hung his head. "I was too embarrassed. If you'd seen what Peaches did to her …"

Ellie rolled her eyes skyward, as if praying for deliverance. "You didn't stare at her. You didn't introduce yourself. I'm almost afraid to ask, but … what did you do?"

"I … oh, God." He pulled one of the polka-dotted pillows off the couch and covered his face. "I … I might've told her that Peaches needed to go to finishing school—so she could learn to balance a book on her head and not attack beautiful women." The last two words were a barely-audible mumble.

Ellie giggled. "Oh, Chuck. You didn't."

He pulled the pillow away, regarding her miserably. "I so did. I don't know what happened. It was like my filter just … shorted out. And then my inner nerd got the better of me and I told her Peaches and I had to leave before your dog went over to the Dark Side completely. That's what I said! To the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

His sister's mouth twitched. "And then you …"

"I apologized for getting her wet." His face turned scarlet again. "Not in so many words. I mean, I didn't say it like that. Thank God I didn't say it like that. But I so easily could've, El. I really shouldn't be allowed out in public."

Ellie was doing her best not to laugh, but Chuck could tell she was losing the battle. "And what did this paragon of virtues say?"

"Well, that's the weird part. She said, 'apology accepted—and may the Force be with you.' I guess … I guess she was making fun of me, or something. I don't know. Except she didn't seem like the type who would do something like that. She seemed so nice…"

Ellie heaved a huge breath. "Oh, Chuck." She sounded resigned.

Defensively, he folded his arms across his chest. "What?"

"You know how much I love you. You're kind, gentle, honest, handsome, brilliant …"

"Uh huh. But?"

"But," she said, drawing out the word, "when it comes to women, you're also clueless. She was probably flirting with you, Chuck. You're just too oblivious—and too humble—to see it."

"Now I know you've lost your mind."

She scooted back from him. "Let's review, shall we? When you said the thing about finishing school, she thought it was funny, right?"

Tentatively, Chuck nodded. "She laughed, at least. God, she had the most beautiful laugh, El … and her smile …" It had transformed her face, her expression shifting from pensive to aglow with happiness. He would've done anything to make her smile like that again.

"Okay," Ellie said, bringing him back to earth. "She laughed at your lame joke. She traded Star Wars quips with you. And then she smiled at you—and you didn't even introduce yourself … where were your manners?" She shook her head. "That woman was totally flirting with you. I bet you anything that if you'd asked her out for a drink to make it up to her, she would've said yes … after she'd had a chance to change her clothes." She struggled—and failed—to hold back a snort of laughter.

"Come on, Ellie. You're my sister. You're a bit biased, don't you think? Why the hell would she be interested in me?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you're successful as hell? Because you're smarter than anyone I know, with degrees from two of the top universities in the country? Because even if none of that was true … you always look out for everyone around you, and you're sensitive and empathic and good?" She glared at him. "Honestly, Chuck … you need to let go of what happened at Stanford. Stop letting what that gold-digging bitch did to you ruin the rest of your life. I know she was your first real girlfriend, and she hurt you terribly—but that was years ago. I say this to you with the utmost kindness and respect: Let it. The fuck. Go. You are the most wonderful man I've ever known—counting Devon. If Mom and Dad could see who you've become…" Her voice caught, but she forced herself to keep going. "They'd be so proud of you, little brother. But seeing you like this—so down on yourself—it makes me think I did something wrong. Like I didn't give you what you needed to have faith in who you are. Because if one person could shake your belief in yourself so badly … then maybe I didn't shore it up enough."

Chuck's mouth fell open. "Don't say that, Ellie. It's not you. You've been the best sister I could ask for. More than that—you've been my rock ever since Mom and Dad died."

"Then what is it, Chuck? Talk to me." Her eyes were on his, their expression pleading.

He swallowed hard, trying to figure out what to say. Chuck had always been a shy, quiet kid, but he'd had his share of friends—until his parents died and he and Ellie had moved to Burbank. Starting out at a new school could be rough for anyone, but it'd been especially hard on him. Burbank High was the kind of place where if you didn't fit in with the cool kids, you became a target for cruel practical jokes and incessant teasing … and as an awkward fifteen-year-old whose greatest passions were computers and science fiction, he was anything but 'cool.'

Needless to say, his first few months of high school had been a living hell. Not only was he in a constant state of grief, but he dreaded each day when he had to board the bus for school. Whenever he tried to sit down, someone would slide to the edge of their two-person seat and say, "This one's taken." He'd felt just like Forest Gump, except there was no Jenny there to befriend him.

Lunchtime was, predictably, the worst. He didn't fit in anywhere—not with the jocks or the drama clique, the skate rats or the A/V geeks. He'd thought the latter might possibly give him a chance, but apparently he was too much of a pariah even for them. Day after day he'd sit by himself, messing around on his phone, brainstorming ideas for new apps or software.

Once people got to know him, they liked him well enough—but most didn't bother. The few kids who did—usually because they had to work with him on a class project—said they'd thought he was snobbish because he didn't talk to anyone … so he tried the reverse, speaking up and sharing his passion for engineering and computer science. This backfired, though, because instead of thinking he was a snob, everyone decided he was a pretentious know-it-all instead. Eventually he just gave up on the idea of having friends and devoted himself to studying. He'd graduated top of his class and gone to Stanford on a full merit scholarship.

Ellie had been so proud of him. He'd never told her how bad it had gotten, how for four years loneliness had been his constant companion, as close to him as a second shadow. She would've thought she'd failed him somehow—like she was doing now. Worse still, she would've tried to fix it … and Chuck's high school troubles—as far as he was concerned—were unfixable. He was, he concluded, abysmal at interacting with other humans. As for dating, that had been off the table until Stanford … and what a shit-show that had turned out to be.

"It's me, okay?" he said to his sister. "I may be good with machines … but that's always been about it. I'm not suave or smooth or … or any of the things that girls seem to find attractive. What could I possibly offer someone like that stunning woman on the beach?"

She ruffled his curls. "One day, Chuck, you're going to meet the perfect woman—and she'll appreciate you for who you are … nerdiness, awkwardness, and all. She won't just tolerate those qualities of yours; she'll love and cherish them, because they're an adorable part of what makes you you. As for what you have to offer her—or any other woman—I dare them to find any man as gifted, genuine, and selfless as my little brother. The only man I've ever met who compares is my husband … and truthfully, Chuck, I held you up as a litmus test for all the guys I dated. Devon may be easy on the eyes, but if he didn't have a huge heart and an incisive mind like you do, I would never have given him a second glance. You're the best man I know, and if someone doesn't see that … well, then it's their loss."

There was silence after she finished speaking, broken only by the thump of Peaches' tail on the hardwood floor. Finally Chuck said, in an effort to make light of the moment, "You sure you want to go back to work at the hospital, El? 'Cause I kinda feel like I should hire you to head up my PR team."

She poked him again—this time in the ribs. "I'm not kidding."

"Yeah, I know you're not. I … I don't know what to say … except, thank you for having such faith in me. Without it, I would never have been able to follow my dreams." He turned to face her, taking her hands in his. "I owe you so much, Ellie. You kept our family together."

Her eyes welled up with tears. "You don't owe me anything. And my faith in you is well-founded," she said, pulling him into a hug—then letting him go and swiping at her eyes. "Now, go get cleaned up, you big goof, while I start dinner."

He walked down the cottage's wood-paneled hallway—honestly, the place looked like it hadn't been updated since the '70s—and grabbed a change of clothes from the guest bedroom. Then he took a quick shower—where he definitively did not think about the gorgeous woman from the beach—got dressed, and pulled his laptop out of the backpack that was sitting on his bedroom floor.

The rich, spicy scent of marinara sauce pervaded the cottage as he sat down on the side of his bed and logged into his server stacks to run a health check on his system. Even if dinner was almost ready, he should have enough time to see if his latest programs had finished compiling—and if they had, he could test them out on his AI virtual assistant, the Multitasking Organizational Randomly Generated Artificial Nerd … Morgan, for short.

He'd based Morgan on Iron Man's assistant, J.A.R.V.I.S. Though he'd told himself he was creating the AI assistant as an experiment, to challenge himself, the truth was that he'd desperately wanted someone to talk to. He programmed Morgan to be the friend he wished he'd had growing up—empathic but willing to call him out on his shit, smart enough to make him question himself, funny and kind. So far Morgan didn't have a gender; Chuck altered the assistant's voice as the whim struck him, sometimes making it female, and other times, male. He figured Morgan would eventually make it clear how he/she preferred to identify itself. Today, Morgan was a guy.

He grabbed his phone and touched the customized audio interface app he'd built to communicate with Morgan. A moment later, his assistant said, "My man! How's it hanging, Chuck?"

"Things have been better, that's for sure." Chuck punched a couple keys, trying to see if his software had loaded completely. It hadn't, so he propped his feet on the bed and leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes. The fan blew a stream of air across his face, cool and cleansing.

"Do I detect a hint of frustration? Why don't you crack open a beer and tell Dr. Morgan all about it."

This was one of Morgan's jocular personas—which, quite frankly, Chuck sometimes found annoying. Still, it was someone to talk to who wouldn't share any of Chuck's insecurities or embarrassment with the world. "It's about a girl," he began. "Well, a woman, actually."

"Isn't it always?" Morgan sounded sympathetic. "Do you need help with a pickup line? Because I happen to know about a million excellent ones."

"Well, actually I—"

"Here's one of my favorites. 'My name's Microsoft. Can I crash at your place tonight?'" Morgan snorted with laughter. "Get it? Because Microsoft sucks donkey d—"

"Yeah, I get it, Morgan."

His assistant sounded affronted. "I thought that would be a good one, considering your field of expertise. But here's another: 'I was wondering if you'd like to go back to My-Space, so I can Twitter with your Yahoo, until I Google all over your Facebook?'"

Chuck groaned. "You're not helping.'"

"Okay, okay, I've got it. This one works every time: 'Hey, does this handkerchief smell like CHCl3 to you?'"

"Morgan! What the hell's wrong with you? Do I need to run a full system diagnostic again?"

"Fine, I'll stop." The AI assistant sounded grumpy. "I take it whatever line you came up with was vastly superior?"

"Well, actually I …" Chuck's voice trailed off.

"I knew it! Tell me … did you crash and burn, or chicken out like you always do?"

"I do not chicken out!"

His assistant made clucking noises. "Whatever you say, Colonel Sanders."

Being mocked by his own virtual assistant was too much. He'd rather take his chances with Ellie. "Good night, Morgan," he said, finger poised to disconnect their conversation.

"Okay, okay," Morgan said hastily. "I apologize. Really—what happened?"

Drawing a deep breath, Chuck told Morgan everything that had happened on the beach. "And then," he concluded mournfully, "she said, 'May the Force be with you'… and I just walked away. I didn't even get her number. I was too humiliated."

"Wow," Morgan said when he finished.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Actually, no. I have the perfect pickup line for you, next time you see her. Want to hear it?"

"Oh, for the love of God …"

"'Do you like Star Wars?'" Morgan said, undaunted. "'Because Yoda only one for me.' That one's perfect! Because you do like Star Wars … and she obviously likes Star Wars … so she would appreciate it. You should have said that to her, Chuck. Then you'd be on a hot date with a blond goddess instead of sitting on your bed talking to me. In fact, maybe she'd even be sitting on your bed with …"

Before his assistant could finish that unfortunate sentence, Chuck disconnected from the app and flung his phone down on top of his comforter. Well, that had been a colossal waste of time. Desperate for distraction, he got up and went to help Ellie in the kitchen.

She stood at the island, ladling spaghetti and meatballs onto plates. The cottage had a little kitchen garden with fresh basil and oregano, and from the delectable aroma, she'd used both of them. After their parents died, Ellie had taught herself to cook. The meatball recipe had been their dad's—his specialty—and it had been one of the first dishes she'd learned to make. To Chuck, Ellie's spaghetti and meatballs always tasted like home. The fresh herbs were a bonus.

"What can I do to help?" he said, and she shot him a look.

"Be here about ten minutes ago," she said, but it was a pro forma retort. "You could pull the garlic bread out of the oven—and pour us some wine. I got a new bottle of Pinot I'm dying to try." She gestured toward the counter.

"On it." Chuck rummaged around until he found a potholder, then extracted the garlic bread—which smelled heavenly … stuffed with cloves of roasted garlic and dripping with butter. Then he opened the wine and poured each of them a glass.

They sat across from each other at the small wooden table, and Chuck lifted his glass in a toast. "To the most incredible sister in the world—and her equally incredible meatballs. I'm a lucky man."

Ellie clinked her glass against his. "To new beginnings."

"So," Chuck said after he took a sip, "what do you have going on tomorrow?"

"I'm actually pretty excited about it." She paused, a forkful of spaghetti halfway to her mouth. "You remember Mom's friend, Diane Beckman?"

Chuck thought for a moment. "Sure. The one who made those awesome peanut butter cookies, right?"

"That's her. She's the director of the Monterey Bay Aquarium's Research Institute now, and she asked if I'd come in tomorrow morning to consult with her on a project they have in the works. I'm looking forward to it—I've never seen the Aquarium, and it's supposed to be amazing."

"That does sound fun," Chuck said, spearing a meatball. "If she happens to offer you any of her cookies, grab one for me."

They made small talk for the rest of dinner, and then Chuck helped his sister clean up. Peaches, who had been exiled from the kitchen while they ate, managed to steal a leftover meatball from Ellie's plate. After they'd finished scolding her, Chuck pleaded exhaustion and went off to bed.

He really was exhausted—but he couldn't fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was the beautiful woman—her incomparable smile, that amazing laugh. And finally, he made himself a promise: He'd go back to the same beach tomorrow—without the dog, this time—and if he saw the woman again, it would be a sign. He'd muster the courage to talk to her, and if things went well, he would ask her for her number. Ellie was always telling him all he lacked was confidence—well, he couldn't pretend to be someone he wasn't, but he could step out of his comfort zone and try to be brave. The worst she could say was 'no,' and then he'd just be back where he was right now. As for the best …

Chuck imagined the woman sitting at the kitchen table with him and Ellie as if she belonged there, part of their family … sipping a glass of wine as the evening wound down and then stepping out on the back patio with him to look up at the stars. Before his dad died, they'd made a game out of identifying the constellations and planets together, marveling at the infinite nature of the universe. It was one of his favorite memories, one he'd always dreamed of sharing with the right person.

Sure, it was a long shot, but a guy could hope, right? When he was little and feeling anxious, his mom used to read him a poem by Emily Dickinson—something about hope being the thing with feathers. He couldn't remember the whole thing, but the image had stayed with him … hope as a bird perched in his heart, singing a wordless tune that could never be extinguished, no matter how bad things got. His parents' marriage had been such a happy one, and Ellie had found her soulmate in Devon. Maybe someone was out there for him as well … nerdiness, awkward jokes, and all.

A smile lifting his lips, he drifted off to sleep, imagining the feel of the beautiful woman's hand in his as they gazed up at the night sky.

A/N: Thank you so much for your enthusiastic response to our first chapter! We had a lot of fun writing it. It was truly lovely to focus on something a little lighter, given the current weight of the world. As for why we set this story in the future … we wanted to envision a time beyond 2020, when 'normal' life has resumed. Also, we plan to incorporate some technology that doesn't currently exist, so setting the story in 2022 gave us a nice loophole to make that happen!

We hope you enjoyed reading about Chuck and Peaches' adventures. Next up, Ellie and Sarah connect … will our favorite nerd come up in conversation? Will Chuck run into Sarah on the beach again? Only time will tell.

As always, thanks for reading—and please keep your reviews, follows, and favorites coming our way! They really do make this all worthwhile.