Chapter Fourteen

Sam

“You can’t be serious?” Chloe shoots back, making me think I’ve laid it on too thick. I don’t want to run away to the nearest chapel, but I am desperate for any reason to be with Chloe. I’m terrified she’s going to jerk her hand back and tell me there was a good reason she moved away and never looked back. I’ve dodged relationships over the years, knowing no one could ever hold a candle to my Chloe, connecting more on a physical level.

It’s what I know. It’s what I’m good at. And I’m certain Chloe will enjoy it. I want more with her, but this is the only route I know to go.

Chloe blinks several times, long lashes fluttering over her pretty green eyes. A warm breeze blows in from the lake, messing up Chloe’s already messy hair. “You want to get married?”

“Well, no,” I start.

“But that was what the promise was, was it not?”

“We don’t have to start with marriage,” I say back.

“What do you want to start with?” Her eyes are wide, and before I get the chance to answer, the waiter comes over to take our orders.

“I’ll, um, I’ll…” Chloe’s flustered and it’s so fucking adorable. “I’ll have a strawberry lemonade, please.”

“Same for me,” I say. I’m flustered too but internalize it better than Chloe. Acting under pressure comes with the job of being a doctor, especially at a trauma center.

“Can I interest you in an appetizer?”

“Um, sure,” Chloe says, head bobbing up and down.

“Did you have anything in mind?” the waiter asks after a few seconds pass by.

“Artichoke dip,” I rush out. The waiter nods, smiles, and says he’ll be right back. “I hope you still like it.”

“I do,” Chloe says, voice a little breathy. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“I remember a lot about you.”

She smiles, cheeks reddening. “Your mom made me artichoke dip every Friday for years.”

“And you would eat it with apple slices instead of chips. Want me to ask for that instead?”

“No, it’s fine, though that does sound good.”

“I’ll ask when he brings our drinks out.”

“Thank you.”

Stacey calls again, and I send the call right to voicemail. What does she want? It was clear things were over between us, and she didn’t seem all that bothered by it.

“Your ex seems to really miss you,” Chloe notes, leaning back in her chair. “Did it end badly or something?”

“No,” I tell her honestly. “We were never serious, and to tell you the truth, I think she was seeing someone else at the end.”

“I’m so sorry,” Chloe says.

“We weren’t exclusive.” Well, not that time at least. We’d been exclusive in the past, but it never lasted long. Technically, Stacey and I were broken up before I called her over that night, and we had a long talk in the morning, clearing everything up. It wasn’t the painful conversation I braced myself for, which really drove in how little the relationship meant to us in the first place…and that maybe Rory was right about Stacey being a gold-digger all along. “It’s not a big deal.” I wave my hand in the air.

“But she keeps calling. Maybe you should answer and let her down easy. Again.”

Well, this is a first. The woman I’ve had eyes on for years is right in front of me. She’s single. I’m single. The timing is finally right. But she’s encouraging me to talk to my ex? I don’t know what the right answer is here.

Talk to Stacey and risk Chloe thinking I have baggage?

Blow Stacey off and have Chloe think I’m the same asshole of a guy who hurt her in college?

“If she calls again, I’ll answer,” I tell Chloe. “Though I’d rather talk to you.”

“Good,” she says with a laugh. “Because it would be really awkward if you didn’t.”

“Yeah, that would be.”

The waiter comes back with our drinks and says the dip will be right out. I ask for apple slices, and after a quizzical look, he nods and says he’ll see if that’s possible. Chloe grabs her drink and gets up, going over to the balcony railing. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she looks out at the water. I wait a beat, not sure how the conversation got so off course, and follow suit.

“It’s a nice view,” she says when I stand next to her.

I’m looking at her when she talks. “It’s beautiful.”

She puts her lips around the straw and takes a drink. “And this is very sweet. That’s a lot of sugar.”

I try mine. “Fuck, that is.”

“I sweated out all my water on that run and now I’m drinking sugar with a splash of lemonade,” she laughs. “Good thing I’m not diabetic.”

“It’s good, though, isn’t it?” I take another sip. “I don’t drink anything but water very often.”

“Why not? No judgment,” she adds quickly. “I’m just curious.”

“I try to be healthy. Keyword there is try. I put a lot of effort into working out, and a big part of that is your diet.”

“You’ve better than me,” she laughs. “I need to get back to eating healthy and working out regularly.”

I use her own words as an excuse to look her up and down. “You look fantastic.”

“Thanks,” she says, blushing slightly again. “I started running and doing yoga and actually stuck with it. I refuse to diet, though. I like food way too much to restrict myself, but I know the importance of being healthy. It might help in the event I…I…”

She doesn’t have to say it. I know where her mind is going. If I get sick like my mother. The cancer wasn’t detected until it had spread through most of her mother’s body, and the treatments made her even weaker. It was awful, watching Mrs. Fisher deteriorate before our eyes, but even worse to watch Chloe’s heart break apart bit by bit every day.

I did the best I could to pick up the broken pieces and put them back in place.

Until I single-handedly shattered it.

Taking a minute to look out at the water, I turn and admire Chloe. I want to apologize and let her know I’ve regretted that night at the party every day of my life. I want to tell her I’ve dreamed about her. I’ve missed her so much it hurt. I’ve hated how things ended between us, and I’d do anything to go back.

“Chloe,” I start and lean on the railing next to her, drink in one hand.

“Yeah?”

“I—”

“Sam?” someone interrupts. “Sam Harris, is that you?”

Chloe and I both turn and see a woman walking toward us. Pink streaks her pale blonde hair, matching the long dress she has on. She’s familiar, yet it still takes me a minute to place her as one of my former girlfriends. Chloe, however, recalls this woman right away.

“Tiffany,” she says, with just a bit of question in her voice. “Tiffany Henson?”

“It’s Miller now,” she says and shows us her left hand. “I’ve been married for eight years already, gosh, I’m old!” Tiffany, one of my many high school girlfriends, comes over, slowly shaking her head. “How the hell are you?” she asks, looking from me to Chloe and back. “Chloe, right?”