Courting Chloe

by Nancy Warren

  “Well, in my expert opinion, everyone is wrong.”

  “I tried so hard.”

  “I know.” It was obvious that Brittany needed to unburden herself and Chloe was perfectly willing to let her. “Did something happen?”

  “It was the dishcloths,” she said miserably.

  “Dishcloths? You mean those things one uses to wash the dishes?” Chloe barely gave them a thought and couldn’t imagine breaking her heart over anything so mundane.

  “Yeah. Matt threw them out the window.”

  “Them? How many did he throw?”

  “All six.”

  “That sounds perfectly deranged. Why would he throw six dishcloths out of a window?”

  “Because they had ducks on them. He said there was no way he was going to wash dishes with a damn fowl.”

  In her fairly short tenure as a matchbreaker, Chloe had heard stories of theft, adultery, jealousy, meanness, and stupidity, but this was the first relationship she could think of that had hit the skids over a humble dishcloth. “I’m so sorry.”

  “So was I,” Brittany exclaimed. “I mean, I didn’t want to bring in dishcloths he didn’t like. So I told him I was sorry.”

  She should have bought half a dozen doormats, Chloe thought, so she’d have some company. “You apologized? Chloe, Matt was totally unreasonable. He was the one who destroyed a gift you’d given him. He was the one who should have apologized.”

  Brittany’s eyes narrowed. “Has Matthew already told you about this?”

  “About the flying ducks? Of course not.”

  “Well, that is just plain weird, because that’s almost exactly what he said. I think he ended up madder at me for saying I was sorry than for buying the wrong dishcloths.”

  She understood exactly how he felt. “What happened then?”

  “I went home. And then you know what I did?”

  “I’m guessing you baked carrot cake.”

  Brittany looked as though Chloe had performed a complicated magic trick. “I thought about carrot cake, but I was out of cream cheese for the frosting. So I made blueberry muffins instead. It’s like you can read minds or something.” She sipped her coffee. “I put them in a basket and was all ready to drive them over to Matthew’s the next morning, so we could have a talk. But you know what I did?”

  “Picked strawberries so you could make jam?”

  The earnest blond curls trembled as she shook her head. “I ate three muffins. All by myself. I drank my coffee and I ate those muffins. I thought, Matthew Tanner, you do not deserve my home baking. And you do not deserve me. And then I wrapped up the rest of them and took them to school. I gave them to my students.”

  “Good for you.” Backbone sometimes had to be built slowly. One muffin at a time.

  “The thing is, Matthew’s a good man. I don’t want to hurt him, not while his leg’s still sore. I want you to break up for me. Your secretary told me your rates and I’ve got a check all made out.” She reached down for her bag and Chloe stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

  “Brittany, you need to end things with Matthew yourself.”

  “But I don’t want to hurt him.”

  “People always get hurt. In my experience—” Chloe smiled ruefully. “—and I’ve got a lot, the pain is lessened when you have a frank talk.”

  “I wouldn’t know what to say. And if he begs me not to leave him, you know I won’t have the guts to resist.”

  “Darling, a man who throws your ducky dishcloths out the window is not a man happy in love.”

  “You mean he…?”

  “I’m not in his confidence, obviously, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess that both of you are having cold feet.”

  “But why hasn’t he said anything to me?”

  “Perhaps because he doesn’t want to hurt you any more than you want to hurt him.”

  “Oh, this is just such an awful mess.” She stared down at the table for a long moment. Chloe sipped her latte, which was excellent—she’d have to buy some beans while she was here—and waited.

  After a while, her companion shook her head. “I can’t do it. I know I’m pathetic, but I can’t do it. Please, you’ve got to help me.”

  “Well, here are my top breakup techniques for someone you don’t want to hurt,” she said brusquely. “First, you invite Matthew out for a meal and I am the one who meets him and tells him you no longer want to see him.”

  The other woman’s lip curled. “People hire you to do that?”

  “You’d be surprised how many. It’s time efficient and they salve their consciences knowing I provide a whole day’s support to the former love. Ice cream, strip clubs, crying jags, whatever they want or need, I provide.”

  “Well, I am not interested in that option.”

  “I also have more creative packages. For instance, the fake relative dinner, where you take him home to meet your family. I then hire actors. You can have the Hillbilly Special, the Mental Deficiency Runs in the Family, The Crooks R Us, and one of my favorites, what I call the Hit Family, where everyone in the family separately hits up your date for a loan.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  Chloe shrugged. “You could start acting strangely and leave incriminating evidence that you’re having an affair, you can tell him you’ve joined a cult, that you’ve decided to become a nun. The options are limited only by your imagination and budget.”

  “I’m not that cruel.”

  “I also do custom-made breakups. Why don’t you tell me how you want it done?”

  A beat passed. Two women at the next table were discussing riding lessons for their daughters. The barista machine hissed at regular intervals, indicating the place was getting busier. “I don’t know. I thought there’d be an easy way and I wouldn’t have to get involved.”

  “That’s not what you really want. He’s a decent man. He deserves honesty.”

  “What would you do in my place?”

  “Tie the dishcloths together and strangle him with them, but that’s me.”

  A gurgle of laughter shook her companion. “Matthew should be with someone like you. Someone as crazy as he is.” She realized what she’d said and her eyes widened. “Not that I’m saying you’re crazy.”

  “Don’t give it a thought. You wouldn’t be the first. I do have a suggestion. Why don’t I help you write a letter?” She’d purposely gone through all the approaches she knew Brittany would never take so that this simple, straightforward method would hold appeal.

  “You mean like a Dear John letter?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And I mail it to him?”

  “You could. I prefer the idea of dropping it off in person. I could have my secretary do it, or you could do it yourself.”

  Brittany seemed to like the letter idea. “I could bake him something nice and put that in a basket with the letter, so he’d have something pleasant to remember me by.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “Okay. Let’s write him a letter.”

  Chloe pulled out a note pad.

  “You mean here? Now?”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. It seems like I should give it a lot of thought.”

  “Trust me, the longer you agonize over these things, the more difficult they become. You do truly want to break up with Matthew, don’t you?”

  She bit her lip, and nodded.

  “All right. Let’s get started.”

  “Can you write it? I’ll copy it out neatly when we’re done.”

  “If you prefer.”

  Brittany thought for a while and Chloe waited patiently, the gold fountain pen Daddy had sent her to celebrate her first month in business poised. “Dear Matthew,” Brittany said at last.

  Chloe obediently wrote that down.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I can’t go on.” She stopped. “Oh, shoot. That sounds so dramatic. I don’t want him to think I’m about ready to
kill myself. Scratch that out.”

  Chloe did.

  “Where are we?”

  “Dear Matthew.”

  “Right. Dear Matthew, I am so sorry, but I don’t think I can see you anymore.”

  “Excellent beginning,” Chloe said, writing it down.

  “I don’t know what to put next.”

  “What about, You’re a wonderful man, but not the right man for me. I hope we can always be friends.”

  “Okay. I like that. It’s good. Then what?”

  “Sincerely, Brittany.”

  “But that’s so short. You don’t think I should put anything about the duck dishcloths in there?”

  “Emphatically no. This is simple, clear, and to the point. Matthew seems like a man who would appreciate few words in a letter like this.”

  “I guess you’re right. But what if he writes back?”

  “One step at a time.”

  “Okay. Thanks. You’re a good friend.”

  Chloe passed over the pad of paper and the pen. Brittany copied the letter, dated and signed it, and then addressed the envelope Chloe also had with her.

  “Did you know I was going to write a letter?”

  “No, not really. I’ve learned to carry a few supplies. Saves time and trouble.”

  “I feel so bad about Matthew. I want him to be happy. Do you maybe know anyone who would be good for him?”

  “I don’t make matches, I’m afraid. Only break them.”

  “Isn’t that kind of negative?”

  “Not at all. I think it’s much better to end something cleanly than to let it drag on until the misery compounds.”

  Brittany nodded, looking as though a weight had been lifted. “You know, I think you’re right. It’s funny, but we met not too long after he was wounded and I thought he was so brave and strong about all of that. Getting hurt, and leaving the force?” White teeth gnawed a full and pretty lower lip. “This time, it was like he didn’t want me helping him. And I didn’t really care for the way he treated me.”

  She pulled out the check and tried to give it to Chloe, who shook her head again. “I like you, Brittany, and I like Matthew too. I honestly think this is the right thing for both of you.” She smiled. “Be happy.”

  Brittany lifted that letter as though it were the blade of a guillotine. But she nodded.

  They hugged and Brittany headed out the door, her Dear Matthew letter clutched in her hand, while Chloe went to purchase some of the lovely Italian coffee beans.

  “In fact,” she said, “give me two pounds. I am celebrating.”

  Chapter 23

  Matthew sat at his dining table looking over house plans for a renovation project a buddy had asked him to do. He’d never considered doing anybody’s renovations but his own, but he had to admit, there was something satisfying about the idea of fixing up this godawful mess of a rabbit warren and turning it back into the decent home it had once been.

  His bad leg was propped on a chair, but he was off the painkillers and pretty much back to normal, or as normal as his leg would ever be.

  When the doorbell rang, he got up from the dining table, frowning.

  He opened the door and was surprised to see Brittany. After the way he’d treated her the other night, he’d imagined she’d stay away from him until he’d done some groveling. The fact that she was here on his doorstep with one of her baskets of homemade baking and her color heightened, made him feel like the biggest asshole on the planet.

  He opened his mouth to apologize to her, knowing he owed her that much, when she stopped him cold. She lifted a letter out of the basket and pushed it at him. “Here,” she said breathlessly. “Read this.”

  He took it from her, his gaze narrowing on hers. She looked both guilty and resolute. “Come in.”

  “No, I can’t.” She turned away. “I’m so sorry.”

  She was halfway off the porch when she realized she was still carrying her Little Red Riding Hood basket. She dropped it and kept going.

  He ripped open the letter and scanned the single sheet.

  He felt like a death row prisoner who’d just had his sentence commuted. He read the thing again to be sure he understood the implication.

  Brittany was at her car by this time, fumbling to unlock it. Only Brittany would lock her car when she was walking from the driveway to the front door to drop off a letter.

  “Hey,” he said. “Are you dumping me?”

  She was so startled she dropped her keys. She picked them up and then nodded, her head turned away from him. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.

  He walked off the porch, hopping down the steps because his knee still wasn’t perfect. When he got to her, he put an arm around her and gave her a hug. “You know what? I am proud of you.”

  “Proud?” She looked at him as though she might be ready to check his forehead for a raging fever.

  “You finally stood up for yourself.”

  “You’re not upset?”

  Okay, play it cool. Jumping up and down for joy would be a bad idea, even though it was what he wanted to do. “I’m sad it didn’t work out, Brit. But I am happy you had the guts to end this.”

  “Oh. Thank goodness.”

  “Look, there’s a whole batch of baking sitting on that porch. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll make some coffee.” He sent her a grin. “As friends.”

  She smiled back at him.

  Over coffee, they talked about all the things they hadn’t been able to and he thought it had ended better than either of them could have imagined.

  As she was leaving, he spied the letter on the hall table where he’d dropped it and said, “Can I tell you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “That letter impressed me. It’s short, to the point, and—” He picked up the stationery and showed it to her, grinning. “—there aren’t any damn ducks on it.”

  She laughed. “Truth is, Chloe helped me write it.”

  His good mood dimmed faster than a flaming torch in high winds. “Chloe? You mean Chloe from next door?”

  “Yes.” Then she stood there biting her lip. “Oh, maybe I’m not supposed to tell you that. She didn’t say anything about it being a secret.”

  Matthew had a bad idea he knew where this was going and, as relieved as he was about the outcome, he did not want to think that interfering princess next door had had anything to do with it. She might Rule Britannia but she did not rule him.

  “Why did you ask Chloe to help you? Isn’t there an English teacher at your school who could have done it?” Someone who didn’t annoy him and inspire him with lust in equal measures?

  “Oh, Matthew, I tried to hire her.”

  “You tried to hire her?”

  “Yes. Only I didn’t know it was her. I saw this flyer at my hairdresser’s. The Breakup Artist. I probably wouldn’t have called, but my hairdresser has a couple of clients who’ve used the service and they said it was great.”

  “Let me get this straight. You hired Chloe to break up with me?”

  “I didn’t know how you’d take it. I didn’t want you to get hurt. And I didn’t know it was the Chloe from next door until after I’d made the appointment and she came and met me.”

  “She must have laughed herself into a coma.”

  “She didn’t. She wouldn’t take my money, and she told me I should come and talk to you myself.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I’m not great at hurting people’s feelings. But she told me that if I couldn’t tell you myself, then I should write to you and bring you the letter. It was my idea to bring the coffee cake.”

  What was done was done. No point in busting Brittany’s chops over something that couldn’t be fixed. “It’s a good cake. Thanks.”

  “You won’t get mad at Chloe, will you?”

  “Someday I will wring that woman’s neck. But it won’t have anything to do with you.”

  “You know what’s weird? She talked about wringing your neck, too. You
two sure have some violent fantasies about each other.”

  “Just being neighborly.”

  Chapter 24

  “I’ve been invited to the neighborhood potluck for the fourth of July!” Chloe announced to Matthew when she went over with her monthly rent check. “I see you’ve got one too.” She saw the identical colorful computer printout that had been slipped through her mail slot sitting on his hall table. “What a lovely idea.”

  He took her envelope and tossed it on top of the printout. “You know, we’re celebrating our independence from you people.”

  The knowledge that he was now single should have lessened his attraction for her, since available men tended to bore her, but oddly enough, she was even more attracted to him now than she had been before. Especially since he showed no signs of hoping to make their relationship any warmer.

  She smiled at him sweetly. “I’m not one to hold a grudge. After two hundred–odd years, I say let bygones be bygones.”

  “So you’re going?”

  “Yes. Aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Probably.”

  “Well, I think it will be great fun.” The Carmodys, who she understood hosted the potluck every year, had one of the grandest houses on the crescent, complete with swimming pool.

  The day of the party dawned as most days in the Austin summer seemed to: sunny, hot, and dry. She wore a red linen sundress with a scoop neck and tiny cloth-covered buttons down the bodice, lace-up white sandals, and her big straw sun hat.

  Naturally, she took an appetizer to the potluck. After much mulling, she’d decided on tiny Yorkshire puddings, topped with rare roast beef and a dollop of horseradish. In case anyone missed the Britishness of the offering, she stuck tiny paper Union Jacks on toothpicks in each one. And take that, Matthew we-threw-you-people-out-of-our-country Tanner.

  When she arrived, she noticed most of the neighbors were already there, as well as a number of friends and relatives of the Carmodys whom she didn’t know. She loved parties and soon had a group of new friends. Matthew was already there, in his usual jeans and an orange Longhorns T-shirt. Honestly.