Begin Again: A Stay Novella

by Jennifer Probst

  The sound of her father’s voice was everything good in the world, and she leaned her head back on the sofa, closing her eyes. Funny, for so many years, she hid everything from him, refusing to share any of her feelings. Now she looked forward to their talks, and though she had many close friends who’d be there anytime, she preferred going straight to her father. “Hi, Dad. Am I interrupting?”

  “There’s nothing I could be doing where I’d consider you an interruption. You sound funny.”

  She laughed but it turned into a half sob. “I had a date. With Drew Dinkle.”

  A whistle cut over the phone. “That’s great! I’ve always liked Drew. He’s got his priorities straight—family values, hard work, and charity. If I had a choice to set you up with anyone, I’d pick Drew. How’d it go?”

  “Great. He took me to Felice’s.”

  “Our favorite place. See, he’s winning already. How long have you been seeing him?”

  “This was our fifth date. Dad, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is it better to be ruled by your heart or your head?”

  A pause settled over the line. His voice was wary. “Ugh, I guess it depends on what type of decision you’re making. For example, if you had the opportunity to make big bucks at a job or work with the animals for much less, what would you do?”

  “I’d pick the animals.”

  “Right. So that’s choosing with your heart, not your head. I think that’s a good thing. But many toxic relationships have occurred by using the heart rather than the old noggin. You can’t use it as an excuse to follow bad behavior. Make sense?”

  “Yes.” Her father always explained things logically, in a way that made perfect sense. “You’re saying there’s no simple answer. Each situation is independent of a choice.”

  “Correct. Honey, what’s wrong?”

  She took a breath and told him the truth. “Owen came back.”

  There were a few beats of dead silence. Then a low whisper. “I’m going to kill him. Did he dare to contact you? Tell me where he is right now, I’ll take care of everything.”

  “No! Dad, is Alyssa there? I need her with you before you freak on me.”

  A feminine voice floated in the background, and then the shuffle of noise crackled. “Chloe? I’m here. Your father is getting his stress ball.”

  She laughed. “Good idea. I don’t want to upset him, I just needed to talk.”

  “Understood. Tell me what’s happening.”

  Chloe almost wept with relief. Alyssa was a gift. As her father’s long-term assistant, they’d had a rocky path to their own love story, but eventually, they both triumphed and had gotten married last year. Chloe loved her like a second mom and felt as if her own mother had sent Alyssa to both of them with her blessing.

  “Owen returned to New York. He’s a lawyer for the Animal Defense Fund, and he’s been assigned to the Spagarelli case.”

  “The civil action suit? Wait—I thought Owen was in California?” Alyssa asked.

  “He was, but now he’s home to stay. Even worse? We have to work together for the next few weeks. Vivian put me in charge.”

  Alyssa gasped. “Oh, this is bad. How did you react? Have you both talked it out, or are you ignoring him?”

  “I told him he needs to keep his distance because we’re no longer friends. He acted like we’d go back to hanging out just because we share a past—do you believe it?”

  She sighed. “Men.”

  “Put her on speaker!” her father shouted. “I need to hear.”

  “Only if you’re calm and listen,” Alyssa said. “Chloe doesn’t need a mob boss ready to explode.”

  “Hell, I’m no mob boss. I’d do this hit personally.”

  Chloe choked out a laugh. “Dad, I can handle myself. He just surprised me. I wasn’t ready for him to stroll into my life after so many years and announce we’ll be working together in a tiny office space.”

  “Did you look good when he saw you?” Alyssa asked.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Excellent.” Her stepmother’s satisfaction was purely female, and Chloe loved her even more for it. “I bet he’s steeped in regret.”

  Her father spoke up. “Honey, listen to me. Owen means nothing to you now. You’re with Drew, who’s a perfect match. Just keep it to business and concentrate on this new romance. You deserve to be happy.”

  The flicker of unease grew to monstrous proportions. “That’s what I’m trying to do. It’s just that, well, I kind of—” She broke off and tried again. “I don’t know why, but I, I—”

  “Still have feelings for Owen,” Alyssa finished.

  Chloe bit her lower lip. The shame of the admission made her want to cringe. “Yeah.”

  Her father’s voice vibrated with authority. “I have a plan. I’ll make some calls and get him off the case. I’ll find the perfect replacement and then he’ll go away.”

  She shook her head even though her father couldn’t see her. “No way. This isn’t your life, Dad, and I can’t have you using your position to fix stuff.”

  “What good is being governor if I can’t fix stuff?”

  She tried not to laugh at his stubbornness. “Fix injustice, okay? Not my life. I’ll handle this. I think acknowledging I haven’t let go of the past is the first step in letting go. Maybe this time with Owen is what I needed to finally move on.”

  “With Drew,” her father said. “I agree. You can handle this.”

  Alyssa sighed. “As much as your father has a bromance going on, please go slow, Chloe. Don’t rush into anything because you’re trying to run from your feelings for Owen. That won’t help anyone.”

  “I won’t. Thanks, guys. I better go, I just needed to talk.”

  “We love you,” Alyssa said.

  “Call day or night if you change your mind on anything. Like getting Owen fired. Or hurt.”

  “I will, Dad. Love you both.”

  She ended the call. The heaviness in her chest lightened. She’d needed to verbalize the doubts to someone who knew how badly she’d been hurt. Alyssa was right. Her evening with Drew made her realize she needed to face the past so she could put it behind her for good. Focusing only on work had been putting a Band-Aid on the problem.

  It was time to talk to Owen.

  If she could make peace and realize they were never meant to be together long-term, she’d be able to focus on Drew and give him the shot he deserved. She couldn’t kiss him again while thinking of another man. And that man was really a ghost, a man who didn’t exist anymore other than in her dreams and memories. She needed to flush him out and the only way was to face him head on.

  Her decision made, she went to bed.

  Chapter Four

  A dozen blood-red roses sat on her desk, and all Owen could think of was what Chloe had done with the bastard who’d sent them.

  His mind tortured with images that made him want to bleach his brain, he cursed under his breath and filled up his coffee mug for the dozenth time. It was almost eleven am and she still hadn’t shown.

  Owen had the bad luck to be near the door when the floral carrier stepped in with her sunny smile, calling out Chloe’s name. He’d quickly signed, his fingers awkwardly grabbing the elaborate arrangement while her friends oohed and ahhed over who the mystery man could be. Owen had wanted to rush into a private room and rip open the card to know his name, but he managed to smile calmly and bring them into her office.

  For the next hour, he brooded, stared at the roses, and drank coffee.

  What was he going to do?

  Her stubborn refusal to talk threw all his plans awry. Why hadn’t he realized he’d hurt her so deeply she didn’t want anything to do with him? In his head, he’d constructed this big redemption scene. He’d explain why he left, she’d understand, and they’d agree to try again. Sure, he knew she dated regularly—but he’d kept a close eye on her social media, engaged with consistent talks with the Bishops, and inquired with a few
contacts in the animal advocacy world. Everyone always confirmed she wasn’t involved in a serious relationship. He figured he had enough time, but once again, he’d screwed it all up.

  Owen sat down at his desk, glanced at the endless piles of files scattered around, and drummed his fingers on the battered old wood. He needed a better plan. A way to force her to be in his company without work. He’d seen a ridiculous movie once, where the broken-up couple were locked in a room for twenty-four hours, unable to escape, and when they emerged, they were back together. And that other one, where they got stranded in a snowstorm and worked out their issues.

  He had to stop watching those damn Hallmark movies. It was wrecking his reality.

  Her scent hit him full force before she launched herself past him, muttering madly under her breath as if in an effort to keep all her thoughts organized. She dropped her bag and began typing with flashing fingers. “I had an early morning meet-up with my friend, Ava, from the Rescue Center, who told me she knows someone who confirmed the Spagarellis’ neighbors tried to notify authorities of the abuse but the lead got kicked around and no one followed up. I’m sending you the contact info now—we need to call ASAP. I don’t think they even interviewed this guy, did they?”

  Excitement hit. A new witness could be critical, especially with a messed-up report that never got properly filed. His phone dinged and he checked his sources. “No, he’s not even on this list. I’m on it. Great work.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You got roses.”

  She paused, as if just processing her surroundings. Slowly, she turned her head, studying the explosion of perfect, full, fragrant blooms. “Hmm, seems I did.” She plucked the card from the envelope, read it, then tucked it into her desk drawer. He watched her face, probing for any type of emotion, especially happiness, but it was like she wore a mask.

  He kept talking. “They’re beautiful. You must’ve made a memorable impression last night.”

  She arched her brow, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and regarded him coolly. “Think so?”

  He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Sure you didn’t. It’s nice to feel appreciated. Remembered.”

  He jerked back slightly, her last word a stinging slap. “You’re right. God knows you deserve to be treated like a queen. I just wonder if he knows you well at all.”

  A scathing laugh filled his ears. “He knows me just fine. Enough to know how much I love flowers.”

  “Yeah, but not roses.” Her gaze narrowed but he rushed on. “You love wildflowers. A bunch of loud, bright colors in different shapes that never seemed to match. But when you put them together, they became extraordinary, like broken pieces suddenly whole.” He smiled. “You mixed them with weeds, but refused to term them that. You said they were proof of how raw beauty is better than any hothouse flower that looks perfect but dies too soon. Remember?”

  He waited for her to toss a biting retort and leave. Instead, a haunted expression flickered over her face, as if he’d suddenly broken through a wall. “Yeah. I remember.”

  A deep ache of wanting spread through him. His gaze locked on hers, and he dove deep, looking for the woman he knew and loved, urging her to give him a sign it wasn’t too late. “Do you also remember when I stopped the car on our way to Minnewaska? I spotted that field filled with so many yellow and purple flowers it looked like a painting. I pulled over, raced up the hill, and picked you that bouquet.”

  “You got stung by a bee.”

  Owen laughed, shaking his head. “I did. Hurt like a mother. But your smile when I handed you those flowers filled me up for days on end. Sometimes, I still fall asleep at night remembering your smile and the way you made me feel I could take on the world because you loved me.”

  Her eyes widened, and she spun away, as if desperately needing space. “Don’t.”

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.” A few beats of silence settled between them. “It was probably stupid anyway. Can you imagine receiving a bunch of daisies with the grass still hanging from the roots? I should have given you what you always deserved—roses, stargazer lilies, something beautiful and elegant and timeless.” Emotion choked him, but he kept his voice neutral. “This guy at least sees that in you.”

  He prepared for the steely silence he probably deserved and tried to focus on the work. At least he could do this. Right a wrong. Save an animal. Make a small difference. It seemed to be the only thing left that soothed his soul and gave him purpose since her.

  “Owen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I hate roses. They’re full of pretense.” He held his breath, afraid to break the fragile connection, sensing something critical was about to be revealed. She still didn’t look at him, but her voice had softened. “I took some daisies from that bouquet you gave me that day and kept them. Pressed them into my favorite book.”

  “The Art of Racing in the Rain?”

  Her body shuddered. “Yes.”

  Owen couldn’t take it anymore. He got up and walked over to her, standing a few inches behind. Buzzing waves of energy shot from her figure, but she kept her head down, refusing to face him. “Chloe, I’m begging you for one thing. Have dinner with me. Just once. Let me say what I need, even if you don’t think I deserve it. There’s so much that happened between us, the idea of you believing certain things is tearing me up inside.”

  “Do you really think a talk can change anything?” she finally asked.

  “Yes, I do.” He had to. It was the only thing to cling to, the powerful idea he could explain his heart and gain her forgiveness. The fantasy of his second chance drove him forward. “Please give me one night of your attention. If you still feel the same, I’ll back off and won’t bother you again.”

  Slowly, she turned to face him. Her features revealed a reluctant resolution that caused a twist of pain and elation. “Okay. Dinner. Tomorrow?”

  He nodded. “I’ll pick a quiet place, off the grid.”

  “Fine. Just one last thing.”

  “What?”

  Her gaze drilled into his. “We may have very different intentions for this night, Owen. You need to accept it probably won’t turn out the way you want.”

  He reached out to automatically touch her, froze, then dropped his hand. “Big risks for big rewards,” he finally said. “You taught me that early on.” At her puzzled look, he prodded her memory. “The protest at the meat packing plant. I told you it wouldn’t change anything because I was afraid you might get hurt.”

  She nodded. “That’s right, I remember. They threatened the protestors with violence, and it blew up in the media. But nothing happened. The plant never closed. We didn’t go to jail. Why would you remember it?”

  “Because it was the first time someone showed me to fight for what you believe in, even if you don’t win. Especially if you don’t win. My grandfather kept trying to explain the concept for years, but I waved it off as some random philosophy that made no sense. At the protest, the lesson suddenly sparked like a lightbulb moment.” She cocked her head, listening intently. “All those years as a judge taught him it was about showing up every day with the intention to do good. To create justice in a small way. Many times he failed, but instead of believing he made no difference, he’d reset the next day and start anew.”

  His beloved grandfather had been tough, wise, and a constant presence in Owen’s upbringing. Judge Bennett had been the one to sentence Chloe to community service at the Bishop farm, which changed her life. And when Owen had screwed up, he’d been given the same punishment. He’d hated every moment until Chloe came and changed his outlook—and his life. Losing him before being able to show him how Owen had changed was haunting, but he’d struggled to make peace and trust his grandfather knew.

  “You drove that lesson home for me, Chloe. Because you showed up consistently at that plant, with your sign and your voice, even when most everyone else had left it behind and moved on to other
cases. Now, it’s shut down.”

  A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Not from me yelling at workers behind the fence for months,” she said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You kept the protest relevant. You changed me. I just wanted you to know that.”

  He backed off and returned to his desk, giving her space. After a few minutes, he heard the click of her keyboard. Owen re-focused on his work, reminding himself the animals at the Spagarellis’ deserved his full attention.

  They worked together for the next few hours in complete harmony, with the scent of roses drifting in the air.

  Chapter Five

  Chloe looked around the dark, almost empty pub and paused. “Umm, is the food here okay?”

  He laughed, lifting his hand to the lone bartender, who called out a greeting and motioned for Owen to take a seat. He picked an oversized, high-backed booth toward the back. “Yes. Giving you food poisoning on our first date would be an epic fail.”

  “It’s not a date,” she said automatically.

  “Sorry. I meant evening out. It’s nothing fancy, but I figured you’d be craving a decent burger. The pub caters mostly to the after-dinner crowd here—their bar menu and beer options are legendary.”

  There were so many restaurants in New York City she’d be able to spend the rest of her life dining at a new place every night and never get through them all. She appreciated all the sleek dark wood, matching bar stools, and impressive bar that displayed endless bottles of liquor, wine, and beer taps. She liked that he’d picked a casual place with no frills or impressive French food with tiny portions. “I don’t eat meat,” she said, glancing down at the menu.

  “I know. I meant their veggie burgers—they make them to order. I’d also suggest the sweet potato fries. Or I can get onion rings and we can share.”

  Her lip quirked. Owen had always loved sharing. He had a deep appreciation for simple yet plentiful food. She remembered how they’d hang for hours together on the rooftop of Bacchus in New Paltz, the twinkling white lights creating their own world, even as the noisy crowds from the packed streets rose up and echoed through the air. “Are you a vegetarian, too?” she asked. He’d admired her but always said there hadn’t been a steak he hadn’t loved.