by Jennie Marts
The dusty recliner and the heaps of boxes filled with the remnants of her father’s life were gone, and the remaining cartons were stacked neatly against the side wall. The floor had been swept clean, and her car sat in the center of the room, the crumpled door repaired, the new paint job gleaming in the overhead light.
She pressed her hand to her stomach and gasped again. But this time is wasn’t from delight. Not even close. “What have you done?” she cried.
His excited expression crumpled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what have you done? What happened to my dad’s stuff?”
“I took it to the thrift store.”
“You did what?”
“Don’t worry, I only took the boxes that were clearly marked to be donated. Then I stacked and organized the others against the wall so you’d have room to park in here.”
“Who said you could do that?”
He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I guess I thought you did. You told me more than once that you wanted to get rid of all those boxes in the garage, but you just haven’t had the time or the means to do it.”
“So, you thought you’d do it for me?” Chloe could hear her voice rising to a near-shrieking volume.
“Yeah, I was trying to help. Justin called to tell me your car was finished, so I picked it up this afternoon and figured I’d clean out the garage to give you a safe and dry place to park it. I wanted to surprise you.” Colt glanced around the room as if looking for answers. “I don’t get it. I thought you’d be happy.”
“Well, that’s what you get for thinking,” she snapped.
His head jerked back like she’d physically slapped him.
She didn’t care. This, combined with the events of the last week, swirled around her, twisting and roiling in her gut. Nausea churned inside her, and she swallowed at the bile burning the back of her throat. Who did he think he was, touching her things, organizing her space, throwing away her belongings?
Those things were her barometer, the catalyst that would finally let her prove to herself that her father no longer controlled her. She knew that when she finally let go of his things, she would let go of him and the hold he had over her. That she would be free.
Getting rid of the stuff was her final hurdle to proving she was courageous enough to live her own life. And now Colt, another man, had taken that away from her.
So many things had changed in her life this last week. Her whole reality felt altered and distorted. She craved control, routine. Her life was a set of carefully managed schedules. And this man had come crashing in and changed everything. She was going to bed at erratic times, eating differently, changing her shower routine to accommodate another person in the bathroom. Being with him was changing everything—from sharing her bed with someone else to her coworkers laughing at her and mocking her behind her back.
This was all too much, and she couldn’t take it. “You had no right to come in and take my things. I barely know you. Do you think just because we’re sleeping together you have the right to do whatever you want?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. I was trying to help, to do something nice for you.”
“Something nice would be picking up a pizza. This is too much. This is crossing a line. Before I met you, I had a perfectly controlled life. I knew what to expect and how my day, my week, would go, and now you’re here and everything is changing. I’m changing. My routines are changing. You’re messing everything up, and I can’t handle it.” All the anger and frustration and feelings of inadequacy of the past week whirled together as if in an emotional spin cycle. Her voice was shaking, and she clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.
He flinched, then gave a slow, disbelieving headshake. “Well, gosh, I’m sorry, Chloe. I sure as hell didn’t mean to mess your entire life up. Here I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“Like you do for everyone else?” His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her, but she was mired too far into her own self-righteousness to back down now. “Is that how you see me? As one of your charity cases? Poor little Chloe, a wounded sparrow, how sad she doesn’t have anyone in her life. Maybe I’ll throw her a bone, pay a little attention to her, try to save her from her pathetic life.”
He took a step back. “What the hell are you talkin’ about? How could I possibly see you as a charity case? You honestly think I’ve been with you the past week because I feel sorry for you?”
She crossed her arms, her indignation like a ball of fire burning and raging in her chest. “I honestly have no idea why you’ve been with me.”
The hurt expression on his face changed to one of frustration mixed with anger. “I guess that makes two of us.” He shook his head as he strode out of the garage.
Chloe held herself tighter, pressing her lips together as she listened to his bootheels stomp across her kitchen floor. She waited until the front door slammed before she let the sob escape her as she crumpled to the neatly swept floor of the garage.
* * *
Chloe turned off the water and reached for a towel. She’d spent the last several hours power-cleaning her house, and her back and knees ached from the effort. The hot shower had felt good on her muscles, but had done nothing to soothe the ache in her heart.
She finished drying off, then dropped the damp towel and pulled on her robe. The warm steam had filled the room, and she was glad the condensation covered the mirror so she didn’t have to face herself. Leaving her hair on top of her head in a messy bun, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. It wasn’t quite six o’clock, but she considered crawling into bed anyway and trying to sleep off this awful day.
What a horrible person she’d been to Colt. She couldn’t believe the things she’d said. He didn’t deserve that. He’d only been trying to help. And she had told him she wanted to take those boxes to Goodwill—had very emphatically explained there was nothing in them she wanted, and they were only taking up space in an otherwise functional space.
She hadn’t told him the stuff was important. In fact, she’d made a point of acting like it wasn’t. So why wouldn’t he think he was helping by getting rid of it?
Now he probably thought she was crazy. She’d acted completely out of character. She should have just taken a deep breath and explained why she was so upset.
Why did she freak out on the one man she’d been dreaming about for months and had finally been given a chance to be with?
Because she knew it wouldn’t last, knew there was no possible way it could be real? Because some desperate part of her figured if she pushed him away first, it would be easier than having him leave her later?
I’m such a fool.
He hadn’t pushed her away. He’d done something nice. And she’d wrecked it—wrecked everything.
The doorbell rang, and her heart lifted in hopes it was him. She raced down the hallway, the words of her apology and explanation already on her tongue.
She didn’t even think as she grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open.
But it wasn’t Colt standing on her doorstep.
Chapter 20
“What are you doing here?” Chloe’s brow furrowed as she stared at the two women standing on her doorstep.
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “We’re here to pick you up for our girls’ night out. I know we’re a little early, but geez, quit looking at us like we’ve got religious pamphlets in our hands and we’re here to save you.”
“We are here to save her,” Tess piped in, then winked at Chloe. “Save you from that hideous bathrobe and a boring night spent at home.”
“True,” Quinn agreed. “And you look like you could use a little saving. Why the long face?” She and Tess walked across the fresh vacuum tracks and plopped themselves onto the sofa.
Chloe cinched the belt of her apparently hideous bathrobe and followed them in. She’d totally f
orgotten about girls’ night out. How was she going to get out of this? And dang it, why did everyone think she needed saving? “I don’t know if I feel up for going out tonight. I’ve had a pretty rough day.”
Agatha wandered by the sofa, and Tess pulled her into her lap and stroked her back. “Margs and girl time is the perfect antidote to fix up a rough day.”
Somehow, Chloe didn’t think a margarita would be the best remedy for what ailed her.
Quinn patted the seat next to her. “What’s up, buttercup? Come over here, and tell us all about it. You look like you lost your best friend today.”
She might as well have. Emotions swelled in her throat, and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying.
“Uh-oh.” Quinn’s teasing grin turned to dismay. “You really did have a bad day. What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”
Chloe shook her head. “Not really.” What she really wanted was to crawl under the covers and pretend this day hadn’t happened.
Quinn pushed up from the sofa. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it, but we are going to feed you and make you laugh.”
Chloe looked down at herself. “I just got out of the shower, and I’m a mess. Really, you all should just go on without me.”
“Ha,” Tess blurted. “Have you met Quinn James? She takes her girls’ night out seriously, and she doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“That’s right,” Quinn said. “And your hair looks amazing—like you styled it that way on purpose.” She pointed to her watch. “Happy hour ends in one hour, so you have fifteen minutes to put on some clothes and a swipe of mascara. We’d offer to clean up or wash the dishes for you or something, but obviously you’re a stress cleaner, because I don’t see a speck of dirt in your whole house. Lord almighty, girl, dust bunnies must be terrified to show up around here.”
Chloe twisted the belt of her robe in her hands. “I don’t know…”
Quinn tapped her watch again. “Clock’s ticking. Better hurry up. If you take too long, Tess and I are going to start messing up the place. Surely we can find some dirt to track in here, or we might even mix up your spice cabinet. I haven’t seen it, but I’m sure it’s alphabetized. If you’re not out here ready to go in fifteen, your cumin is getting switched with your oregano, and all hell is going to break loose.”
A grin tugged at the corners of Chloe’s mouth. Maybe a night out with friends would help. If nothing other than to prove she did have friends. And to save her spice cabinet. She shivered at the thought of Quinn moving her cumin. “Fine. I’ll get dressed. Keep your hands off my oregano.”
“Fourteen minutes now. Chop. Chop.”
She heard them laugh as she raced down the hallway to get dressed.
* * *
Thirty minutes and two swipes of mascara later, the waitress set frosty salt-rimmed glasses down in front of the three women.
Something about being with these women, feeling accepted for just being herself, gave Chloe a much-needed boost of assurance, and she hadn’t even balked when Tess ordered a round of margaritas for the table.
Quinn raised her glass. “A toast. To friends and sharing good days and laughing off the bad ones.”
“Cheers.” Chloe clinked her glass against Tess and Quinn’s. “And to keeping my spice rack intact.”
They laughed and ordered tacos and munched on salty tortilla chips. Rock had offered to drive them all home later so they didn’t have to worry about how many drinks they had, and by the second round, Chloe was laughing and for a few minutes had almost forgotten what a horrible person she’d been to Colt earlier.
The other women were funny and sweet and liberally shared their problems and offered each other advice and commiseration. Tess had just told them about an annoying and condescending coworker, and Quinn had offered to send Rock down to punch him in the throat.
“Thanks for the offer, but since I am a writer, I’d rather slay him with my sharp wit and cunning wordplay.”
Quinn tapped the side of her head. “Smart.” She tipped her glass toward Chloe. “All right, it’s your turn. You’ve had food and almost two drinks. It’s time to tell us what’s eating you. I have a feeling it has something to do with my handsome brother-in-law.” She turned to Tess. “Well, one of my handsome brothers-in-law.”
Tess nodded. “After last Sunday at Vivi’s, it’s obvious the two of you spent some quality time together. Did you all have an argument or something?”
“More than an argument. I chased him away, and I’m sure he’s gone for good.” Chloe let out a sigh. Maybe it would help to talk about it. She’d never really had girlfriends before, yet she felt she could trust these women. Like they really cared about her.
Interesting how I can accept they like me but have such a hard time understanding that Colt does.
The thought of Colt had her throat burning again, and she knocked back the rest of her drink, then told them about her flustercluck of a day. She told them about her coworkers making fun of her and about her insecurities with Colt and how she couldn’t comprehend what he saw in her. They listened and commiserated and made her laugh but never judged her or made her feel less about herself.
She shared a little about growing up chubby and her struggles with control and her routines. And she told them how her need for routine and organization had got the best of her and how she’d lost her skittles with Colt earlier that day and how he’d walked out. She didn’t go into details about the symbolism of her father’s things. She liked these women and wasn’t ready for them to think she was a total looney ball.
“I’ve seen the way Colt looks at you and heard how he talks about you. Like ‘constantly’ doesn’t begin to describe it,” Quinn told her. “And he has for months. I know the guy really likes you. Just because you got in a fight doesn’t mean he’s gone for good.”
“I agree. On all accounts. We’ve all seen how smitten he is with you. And I don’t think the James men give up on something they want that easily.” Tess set her hand on Chloe’s. “Honey, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. And you’re holding on to way too many old issues. You don’t have to be that insecure little girl anymore. You are a beautiful woman who went to college, who earned a degree, who has a successful career and takes care of and educates this town’s children.”
Chloe shook her head. “I’m not insecure about my value as a teacher. I know I’m good with kids. I’m also a darn good knitter and can bake an excellent quiche. But none of those things make me good girlfriend material. They just make me a proficient spinster.”
“Stop it. You’ve got to quit putting yourself down. Tess is right. You’re gorgeous, and everyone who meets you loves you. And so what if you’re a little curvy? Men love curves. You need to own them. You’ve got a great hourglass figure.”
“Yeah, except I’ve got a little too much sand.” She laughed. These women were good for her soul. She was feeling a little better and wasn’t sure if it was the camaraderie or the buzz from that second margarita.
“Seriously, Chloe. You need to believe that you’re worthy of catching a guy like Colt. Heck, any guy for that matter.” Quinn gazed around the bar. “I think we should do a poll of all the men in here, just to prove you are every bit as gorgeous as we say you are.”
“Don’t you dare,” she ordered.
“Oh, I do dare.” Quinn stood up on her chair and lifted her fingers to her mouth to let out a whistle. Apparently the margaritas were making her fairly feisty as well.
Chloe grabbed her arm and pulled her back into her chair.
Quinn plopped down in her seat but narrowed her eyes at Chloe. “This is for your own good. I want you to believe in yourself. But, I will let go of the bar poll idea on one condition. You have to pick one person in this bar and ask them to dance.”
“Okay.” She turned to Tess and smiled. “Tess, will you dance with me?”
&nb
sp; Quinn waved her hands like a referee calling “no goal.” “No way. It has to be a man. You have to pick someone in this bar, and he has to be under sixty years old. No fair asking old Doc Saunders to dance.” She nodded toward the eightysomething-year-old man sitting at the end of the bar enjoying his weekly Taco Tuesday night out with his bride of sixty years.
Rats. He was going to be her next idea. Chloe scanned the rest of the people in the bar, hoping for another out that would still satisfy Quinn’s conditions. An evil grin pulled at her lips as she spied a familiar muscled physique playing darts.
“Fine. If I can get one man in this bar to agree to dance with me, then you’ll leave me alone?”
Quinn nodded. “But he has to be under eighty, remember? And older than eighteen,” she tossed in, although there weren’t any kids in the place at the moment. “And you have to stay out there for the whole song.”
“No way. You said one condition. All I have to do is get him to agree and to go out on the dance floor. You didn’t say how long we had to stay.”
“She has a point,” Tess agreed, then pulled a ten-dollar bill from her pocket and plunked it on the table. “Go for it, Chloe. My money’s on you.”
She waved the money away. She wasn’t about to take it, not with knowing she had an unfair advantage and was already planning to sneak one by Quinn. Crossing the bar, she approached the man playing darts. “Hey, Huge.” Oh crud. She cough-laughed into her hand, trying to act like she had something stuck in her throat.
The gym teacher didn’t seem to notice as his eyes lit with recognition. “Hi there, Chloe. I don’t usually see you out on Taco Tuesday.”
“It’s my first time. But the tacos were great.” She glanced back to where Quinn and Tessa were watching her from the bar.
“Do it,” Quinn mouthed.
“Hey, listen,” she said, turning back to Hugh. “I know it’s kind of silly, but my friends dared me to ask you to dance. Would you be a pal and indulge me? Just for like half a song?”