Chloe smiles and nods. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I love your show. And I’m sorry if I was ever a dick in high school,” Tiffany spits out easily. I just need to come out and say it too, but I need Chloe to know I mean it.

Chloe shrugs. “It’s water under the bridge now. We all did—and said—things we didn’t mean when we were teenagers.” She flicks her gaze to me, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s talking about our pact. “How are you?”

“I’m good! Teaching at the elementary school, which I love. My youngest just turned three two days ago. My sister is in town” —she motions to a woman at a table behind her— “and we snuck away from a quick sister outing before she has to head back to the city this evening.” She angles her body toward mine. “I know what Chloe’s been up to, but what about you?”

“I’ll let you two catch up,” Chloe says quietly and goes back to the table.

“I’m a doctor,” I say, watching Chloe unwind her headphones from her phone. “In Chicago.”

“Wow, good for you. I always knew you were smarter than you let on.”

Chloe holds her phone up to her mouth, talking into it.

“Uh, thanks?”

Tiffany laughs. “I mean that in a good way. You were so caught up in being Mr. Popular then, not that I blame you. I was too.” She shakes her head. “Gosh, what were we thinking? Talk about being young and dumb, right?”

“Right. I did a lot of dumb things, that’s for sure.” My eyes go to Chloe again. She brings her phone to her ear, listening to a message. She must send voice messages via text the same way Rory does. We all tease her and say she’s too lazy to text, yet hates calling. But she might be onto something because it is much easier.

“You did something right.” Tiffany smiles and follows my gaze to Chloe. “You’re a doctor and you two are finally together.”

“What?” I blurt, blinking in the bright sunlight.

Tiffany presses her lips together and looks at me dubiously. “Like you guys were fooling anyone. I should go before my sister takes off without me. It was really good seeing you again, Sam. You look good.” She smiles. “And happy.” Her eyes go to Chloe again. “I can see why.”

“Yeah, it was nice seeing you again, Tiffany,” I say, and my heart skips a beat in my chest when I turn back to Chloe. She’s talking into her phone again, and looks up. She stops talking when she sees me looking, and smiles.

Fuck.

I wasn’t fooling anyone then…and I’m tired of trying to continue to fool myself now.

Chapter Fifteen

Chloe

I need someone to pinch me.

No, really. I might offer the couple over there, clearly on their first date, twenty bucks per pinch because I’m having a good time with Sam—a really good time with Sam. We’re talking, just casually talking, and it feels so good to hang out like this again. I forgot how easy he was to get along with, and now that my heart has settled back into my chest it almost feels like old times.

Almost. Because I know for certain Sam wants to sleep with me, and I can’t get that out of my mind.

“We still have a few weeks left,” I tell him, putting my empty glass on the table. “It’s not too late to buy a costume online and go.”

“But getting the time off work,” Sam starts, and I laugh, knowing he’s full of shit. “That might be tricky.”

“Bullshit,” I laugh. “You just told me you get several days off every month, and that always includes a weekend. You’re just scared.”

“I am not,” Sam counters.

“Then put on some tights and come to the Renaissance Faire with me.”

“What are you wearing?” Sam’s blue eyes glimmer and warmth rushes through me yet again. I take a slow breath and purposely look away from Sam, needing a quick second to recover. Things are surreal right now, and I’ve never been so confused while having this much fun before in my life, and that includes the time Charles and I accidentally ate edibles thinking they were plain gummy bears.

“Depends on the theme of the day.” The waiter comes over and refills my water glass and takes the empty bowl of artichoke dip, which was good, but nowhere near as good as the dip Mrs. Harris makes.

“There are themes of the day?” he asks with a chuckle.

“Don’t laugh!” I playfully nudge his hand, which is on the table near mine. “And yes, there are. Here, I’ll show you.” I grab my phone and scroll through photos. “Not every day is themed, but there are a few themed days a month.”

“A month? How long does this fair go?”

“From Fourth of July to Labor Day. But only on the weekends, which really isn’t that long.”

“I suppose not. And you go every year?”

I shake my head. “Only if I get back this way. The one in California runs at a different time.” I hold out my phone, showing Sam a photo of me with a few of my LA friends at the Ren Faire in California last year. We’re all dressed like belly dancers with matching outfits.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and I don’t think he intended for me to hear. “You look good here, Chloe. Really good. Do you still, uh, have that outfit?”

“I did, but I forgot to pack it this trip.”

“Darn.”

“Right?”

We both laugh, and I lean back, letting out a heavy breath. I’ve had to pee since I got here and have really had to pee for the last fifteen minutes or so. I didn’t want to say so to Sam for some dumb reason, but it’s either excuse myself to do a very human thing and use the bathroom or risk peeing my pants, which would—in the end—be much worse than just telling him I have to pee in the first place.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, pushing my phone and glass to the middle of the table. “I have to use the bathroom. Don’t dine and dash on me.”

“I’ll do my best not to,” Sam says with a wink as I walk away. My shoulder aches again, and I stretch my arms out in front of me, trying to get rid of the charley horse that’s now plaguing my back. I make a face and reach behind me with one hand, trying to massage the knot out of my muscles.

The bathroom is on the first floor, and I’m glad I’m in gym shoes and not heels as I hurry down, and am thankful for no line when I get in, going right to a stall.

“Oh, hey, Chloe,” someone says when I’m done with the toilet and go to the sink to wash my hands. It’s Tiffany, Sam’s old high school girlfriend.

“Hey, Tiffany.”

She’s at the sink next to me and just finished washing her hands. She shakes the water from her fingers and grabs a paper towel from the basket on the counter. “You are so pretty.”

“Thanks,” I say back, and take a look at my reflection. I’m in my favorite workout outfit today, and my hair, which is damp from sweating, hangs in natural waves around my face. Usually, I don’t like my reflection without makeup, but maybe the lighting in here is really good—or really bad—and it’s hiding my imperfections. “You are too.”