Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Chloe

What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t like pain. I go to great lengths to avoid it. Sometimes I take Advil before settling down for a writing sprint because I know my back will hurt from sitting still for hours on end. I avoided the dentist for an impressive three years without getting another cavity because I was scared the one I needed filled would hurt. I might be stupid, but my tiny human brain can at least process that pain is bad.

So why the hell did I agree to go to the Harrises’ for dinner tonight?

“Ughhh,” I huff to myself and take off my shoes, closing the front door behind me. I set my bag from Silver Café on the counter and go upstairs, trading my workout clothes for a sundress. I couldn’t sleep when I got home from the bar last night and stayed up taking my frustrations out by getting lost in my story. I wrote nearly five thousand words before I fell asleep on the couch in the living room.

I woke up, got dressed, and had every intention of going for a run. But then I got distracted with I*******m and decided to record some little video clips of the lake to post to my stories. Fast forward twenty minutes, and I “ran out of time” to work out and instead ordered breakfast.

It’s hot and sunny out again, so I grab my sunglasses and a big floppy hat, along with my bag of takeaway, and go down to the dock, sitting on the edge with my feet in the water as I eat. My plan today is to eat and write until it’s time to go to the executioner, aka the Harris family farm.

Fishing boats slowly drift by, and everyone waves. The Sunday fishing crowd is made up of mostly older men, and I’m certain none of them know who I am or are fans of Shadowfall. It’s peaceful out here, making me realize how much I missed this place. My house in LA is up on a hill, with thoughtfully placed trees to make my lot as private as possible from my neighbors. I have “ocean views” if I climb up on top of my roof and jump up an extra twenty feet or so to see over said trees. It’s quieter than I expected LA to be, but it’s not like this.

Right now, I don’t hear a single car horn or siren. There’s no smog hanging over the lake, and the homeless population is definitely lower here in Silver Ridge.

My mind wanders to me moving back here. I left partly for the opportunities presented to me, but also so I could avoid seeing the man who broke my heart. He’s not here either, though we would run the risk of occasionally running into each other. But Spartan would love the trails here and jumping through snowdrifts.

Moving wouldn’t impact my writing really at all. If anything, I might get more work done here since there’s less to do. I take another bite of bacon, thinking way too much into this. I have friends in LA; not the best friends, but friends I feel comfortable with and who don’t judge me when I’d rather stay home and play D&D than go out for a wine night. They’re into fashion and celebrity gossip, yet our different interests keep our group interesting.

Swishing my feet in the water, I peer down, always a little afraid someone is going to grab me and pull me under. The water is rather shallow at this part of the lake, thanks to a dry summer. If someone was lurking beneath the surface, they’d have to be hiding in the seaweed to stay out of view.

Freaking myself out, I pull my feet from the water, wipe sweat from my forehead, and eat the rest of my pancakes and bacon. I planned to only have half and then eat the rest for lunch, and I feel sickly full by the time I’m done.

After half an hour of sitting at my computer feeling like I’m going to fall asleep, I drink a third cup of coffee and give up when that doesn’t do the trick. I lie down on the couch, expecting to fall asleep quickly since I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open while writing. Of course, the coffee kicks in now, and I’m getting anxious.

I get up, stretch, and change back into my workout clothes. A run will get my blood pumping and adrenaline flowing, which is vital for when I’m writing the fight scene that is coming up in my manuscript. I pull the hair tie from my hair, flip my head upside down, and try to smooth out my ponytail the best I can. Then I grab my headphones, phone, and head outside, leaving through the front door. I double-check that the deadbolt is locked so I won’t worry about serial killers sneaking inside while I’m out. I took the key from Dad’s keyring, and then realize the workout pants I’m wearing don’t have pockets. I could slip the key in my bra, but it’s hot, I’ll be sweaty, and that’s just really uncomfortable. Instead, I hide the key on Wendy’s porch. If anyone finds it, they’ll assume it’s for her house.

Turning up my music, I start off jogging down the road, not stopping until I reach the entrance to the trail in the woods. It’s cooler in the shade, and I slow, not too worried about burning calories but more about clearing my head and feeling more awake when I get back to the house.

The trails are fairly busy today, and I’m sure the picnic shelter is full. I pick up the pace again, wanting to get ten thousand steps in, which I haven’t done in a while. The trail forks, with one direction taking you to the picnic area and the other going along the side of the lake. It’s a popular trail for birdwatchers, and more and more bald eagles have been returning every year, according to Dad.

The trail has eroded a lot since I last walked it, and if you slipped, you’d fall and roll down a steep hill before splashing into the lake. Well, that’s if you’re lucky. I slow and look down at the rocky shore, which is another reason this is the “quiet part” of the lake. There are lots of rocks hidden just below the surface of the water, and when the water level is higher than it is now, you don’t see them until it’s too late.

Thinking I see a bald eagle, I inch to the edge of the path, narrowing my eyes as I squint into the sun. Opening my camera on my phone, I hold on to a tree and lean forward to get a picture of the eagle.

My music is still blaring in my ears. I can’t hear what’s going on around me, but I sense someone behind me. I jerk my head to the side and am startled to see Sam standing just inches from me. I jump, drop my phone, which pulls my headphones out of my ears, and start to slip down the steep hill.

Sam lunges forward and grabs me around the waist, effortlessly pulling me to him. My hands land on his shoulders, and he spins me around, putting me safely back on the trail. My breath leaves my lungs in a huff, and my lips part as I try to process what just happened.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks.

“I’m…I’m…” I’m tight in Sam’s embrace, his large hands still clasped around my waist. His skin is warm beneath my fingers and sweat glistens on his tan skin. He’s shirtless, wearing only athletic shorts. I thought Sam was muscular before, but seeing him without his shirt…this is doing bad, bad things to me. “Are you stalking me?”

“I—what—no. You should be thanking me.”

I inhale, breasts pressing against Sam’s firm chest as I breathe. I’m fine, steady on my feet. I should push him away. He should let me go. Yet we’re both standing here, neither wanting to make the first move and separate.

“Thanking you for sneaking up on me?” I try.

Sam’s fingers press into me. “I was calling your name. You shouldn’t have your music so loud you can’t hear anything around you. It can be dangerous to not know what’s going on.”

He’s right, I know. “I was lost in thought.”

“You’re not very graceful.”

“And you’re not very…” My words waver. I can think about a hundred things Sam is very in some ways right now but am at a loss for what he’s not. I close my eyes in a long blink. “Thanks.” I slide my hands down Sam’s chest, feeling every ripple of muscle beneath my fingers. “You’re sweaty.”

“It’s hot outside.” He releases one hand from my waist and brings it up, gently brushing a renegade curl out of my eyes.

“Yes…hot. Out. Outside.” There aren’t many people who can make me go nonverbal, and Sam is one of them. My pulse was already pounding, and I swear my asshole of a heart is going to give everything away. Sam’s hands are on me, and things are still very PG right now, yet my body is craving more.

“You’re working out again?” he asks, and I have to think to get what he’s asking. Right. He saw me this morning in workout clothes.

“I didn’t end up running this morning,” I start. “I put my workout clothes on and then, um, got food instead.”

Sam chuckles, lips curving into a smile. “That sounds like you.”

I nod and my fingers brush over the waistband of Sam’s shorts, causing butterflies to take flight in my stomach. What is wrong with me? I stand this close to Sam for a few seconds and I’m back to my old schoolgirl self, nervous and pining for a man I’ll never have.

“It’s purposely misleading,” I go on, unable to stop myself from rambling. “I could be hungover and looking like shit, but people will think I just worked out really hard and give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“I like the way you think.” He’s looking right into my eyes, and I realize my hands are still awkwardly hovering over his crotch, though he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You were working out,” I say and bring my hands to his biceps, wanting the excuse to touch him again. “Do you run a lot?”

“Not as much as I should. I mostly lift.”

“I can tell.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, biting down hard, and not thinking about how Sam could interpret it. He deeply inhales again and starts to lean in. My heart jumps—is he going to kiss me? I’ve dreamed about his lips on mine so many times. Wished for it. Prayed for it. Hell, I even tried to cast a love spell on him when I was thirteen. I quickly un-cast it, afraid of him fake-falling for me and then the spell wearing off and realizing it was all a sham.

A group of women come down the trail, talking and laughing loudly. Sam and I break apart, and it’s only then I realize I was holding my breath, too afraid to breathe.

“I’ll get your phone,” Sam rushes out and moves down the steep hill with grace. He’s in incredible shape, and I could watch him scale down hills like this all day long. He climbs back up just as easily and hands me my phone. My fingers brush over his and I wish I was back in his arms, having him look at me like I’m the only thing that matters in the world.

Now that the moment is over, he steps away, averting his eyes.

“Thanks,” I say as I wind the cord of my headphones around the phone.

“I’m surprised you don’t have cordless earbuds,” Sam notes.

“Oh, I do. This is a testament of how antisocial I am,” I start, smiling as I talk. “I like to go to coffee shops to write sometimes and usually have my hair down, hiding the earbuds. This way people know I’m listening to music and won’t try to talk to me.”

Sam runs his hand through his already messy hair and laughs. It’s not fair how good he can look after a run. When I run in the heat like this, my cheeks are flushed and I have sweat everywhere, which I’m suddenly very aware of.

“Do you want to cool down with me?” Sam asks. “Or did you just start your run?”

“I’ll walk. I didn’t really set out to run today but more to clear my head.”

We start down the trail, going back the way I came.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I got a little stuck on the chapter I’m writing. It’s so frustrating when the words won’t come to me.”

“That would be frustrating. Did coming out here help?”

Seeing you half-naked and glistening with sweat certainly did. “I think so.”

“It’s not going to rain today,” Sam notes after we walk a few paces. “Though right now rain would be nice.”

“Yeah, it would be nice. I wish the lake wasn’t so warm.”

Sam nods in agreement. “It feels like bathwater.”

I look at Sam, heart rate picking up speed again. We shared a moment back there, I’m sure of it. And I want that moment to happen again.

“A cold drink sounds good too,” Sam notes, quickly stealing a glance at me.

“It does.”

“Want to go grab a drink?”

I turn my head, taking another look at his muscular chest. “Now? Isn’t it a little early for drinks?”

“I actually meant lemonade or something,” he says with a laugh. “Though it’s never too early for drinks,” he teases, playfully elbowing me.

Laughing, I shake my head. “Lemonade actually sounds good.”

We walk a few more paces. “We can go to Sunset Tavern,” Sam suggests. Sunset Tavern is one of the newer restaurants in Silver Ridge, and it caters to the tourists vacationing here in the summer. Like Silver Café, it’s along the lake, but on the opposite side. The same people who own Sunset Tavern own Sunset Marina, which is the only place to rent jet skis and boats from if you want to take one out on the lake.

Locals to Silver Ridge don’t typically go to Sunset Tavern. The food is on the expensive side for what it is, and the owners have gotten a bit snooty over the years. It’s a shame, really, because the rooftop bar has an amazing view of the lake, and it can be entertaining to sit up there and watch boaters go by.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

“Did you walk here?” Sam asks.

“I did, and I’m guessing you didn’t. Where are you parked?”

“The east parking lot.”

It’s the same lot he was parked in the day it rained, and we’re a decent walk away from it. Not that I mind. We walk in silence for a few minutes, but it’s peaceful and not awkward. Though it’s hot out, it’s a gorgeous day, and the sound of nature surrounds us.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed the woods before,” I muse. “It’s so peaceful.”

“It is. Living in Indy and then Chicago has made me appreciate small-town life so much more than I did before. Everyone was so eager to get out of here.”

“They were, and I was one of them,” I say, not sure if I’m admitting something new to Sam or not. I was on the fence about leaving when I graduated high school. Part of me longed for a fresh start and an adventure, typical of seventeen and eighteen-year-olds, I know. But another part didn’t want to leave Dad alone, and I felt guilty enough going away to college.

“Do you like living in LA?”

“Overall, yes. It has its downfalls, I’ll admit, but the weather is amazing, and my publicist is there, so it works out really well. Plus, the network studio headquarters are close by, so when I go to sit in on any sort of discussions, I’m right there.”

“That would make things easier.” We walk a few more paces. “If you weren’t writing, do you think you would have ended up there?”

I think about it for a second. “I don’t know. I was itching for a change, but I didn’t make the move to LA until I got the film option for Shadowfall. I don’t even know what I’d do if I wasn’t a writer.” I look at Sam with wide eyes. “I’d have to get a real job.”

He chuckles, and damn, that man is so gorgeous when he smiles. “You have no idea what else you’d do?”

“Hmmm…” I think for a moment. “I’d be a paleontologist.”

“Really?”

I nod eagerly. “And I’d be a really good one, who’d find something that would enable me to co-fund a dinosaur theme park, but I’d be like really in touch with the dinos. So when the T-Rex breaks free of her enclosures, she picks me up with her tiny little arms and puts me on her back before she rains hell on earth and eats everything in her path.”

“I’m sorry to break it to you,” Sam says, stopping and putting his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think that’s what paleontologists actually do.”

“Dang it.” I love the way his large hand feels against my skin. “That’s the second-most disappointing thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What’s the first?” He slides his hand down my arm.

“The people who wear old-fashioned clothes at the start park are volunteers through the Park Department. They’re not paid to dress up and cook homemade apple pies on a wood-burning stove. If they were, I’d be all over that job.”

“That would be a low-stress-level job. I might even do it.”

“You could be a nineteenth-century doctor, traveling around with your leather doctor bag. Tell the people you don’t like that their ailments are caused by demons so their families kill them in their sleep.”

He laughs again. “Did they really do that?”

I shrug. “Maybe? I’m making things up, though I do know demons were to blame for things they couldn’t understand back then.”

“Can you imagine living like that?”

I shake my head. “I’d have been locked up or burned at the stake years ago. I’m way too independent and weird to have been born even fifty years ago. Though I sometimes think I would have thrived if I lived in a Lord of the Rings type of time and setting.”

“Oh, for sure.”

We laugh and keep talking about what life would be like if we lived in fantasy worlds, both agreeing I’d lead some sort of rebellion and Sam would end up being the one burned at the stake, accused that his claims of science and medicine are actually witchcraft.

Sam puts his shirt on when we get to his car, and I pull my hair out of my ponytail, wishing I had a brush. I do my best to rake it out with my fingers, shaking my hand so the loose strands blow away in the soft breeze. It’s a wonder I’m not bald with how much hair I shed every single day.

We give the car a few seconds to air out before getting in. Sam turns on the vented seats and puts the air on full blast. The radio is on and connects to Sam’s phone. Tom Petty starts playing, taking me right back to the days when Sam drove me home from school.

The parking lot is pretty full at Sunset Tavern, even though they only opened an hour ago. The hostess looks at us like we don’t belong, and I suppose we do look a little out of place for a “nice” restaurant since we’re both sweaty and dressed in workout clothes. There’s no dress code or anything here, though, and my Lululemon workout pants probably cost more than the average patron’s entire outfit. She holds up her finger, giving us the “one moment” signal, and looks back down at her phone, grinning at whatever she’s typing. We move closer, and I see she’s on I*******m—her personal I*******m, so I can’t even justify her as managing the restaurant’s social media accounts.

I’m not one to flaunt anything in anyone’s face, but I hate seeing someone scoff like this. What gives this hostess the right to look at anyone like they’re less than and not good enough for her time of day? I can shrug this off, knowing that I’m not what she thinks, and I’m sure Sam can too. But there are others whose day will be ruined by being treated so rudely. They might have fragile self-esteem to begin with and having someone act like you’re beneath them hurts.

A family comes in behind us, and the mom is nicely dressed in a pink sundress. Her daughter who looks to be about four or five is wearing a matching dress. They look so freaking cute, and their infant son is coordinating with the dad. The mom has a designer purse hanging from her shoulder and the hostess looks at them with a smile.

“Hi, how many?” she asks, and the mom looks at us, a bit confused.

“I think they were ahead of us.”

“Yes,” Sam says pointedly. “We were.” He looks at me, resting his hand on my arm. “Unless you want to go somewhere else, Chloe. I know you’re short on time since you have to work on your next bestselling book.” He says it on purpose, I know, and I love this slightly petty side of Sam.

“You’re Chloe?” the mom behind us asks. “Oh my goodness, I thought you looked familiar. Russ, this is Chloe Fisher, the girl who wrote the Shadowfall series! Her photo is up in City Hall!”

The hostess’s face pales when she realized how incredibly stupid she was to stereotype us based on how we look. I turn, smiling broadly, and chat with the mom for a minute. She has a worn copy of the first book in the series in her car and sends her husband outside to get it. I sign it, take a photo with her, and then link my arm through Sam’s as we’re led to our table.

“Sorry if that embarrassed you,” he tells me once we’re seated. We’re on the rooftop, and only two other tables up here are occupied. Most people had enough sense to eat inside in the air conditioning today. We get a table along the balcony railing, with a green umbrella in the middle, giving us shade from the hot sun. “Maybe it was just me, but that hostess was bitchy.”

“Oh, she was, and it didn’t. It’s weird coming back here, though. I promise I don’t get recognized like this anywhere other than Silver Ridge.”

“Everyone loves a success story.”

“You’re successful.”

“I am,” he agrees. “But it’s not the same.”

“It’s not at all.” I open the drink menu, debating on getting a spiked lemonade for a second. It’s way too hot to drink alcohol, and sitting here with Sam is intoxicating enough. “You’re saving lives. I’m just writing about fictional people.”

“When you put it that way, I do sound awesome.”

I lean back in my chair, trying to stretch my shoulders. My bad posture all night, paired with almost falling down a ravine, has created a knot in my muscles. Sam’s phone rings, and he silences the call again, but not before I catch the name on the screen.

“Who’s Stacey?” I ask.

“My ex. We’ve had an on-and-off-again thing for a while,” he admits, looking right into my eyes. “I ended things for good a few months ago.”

“Should I be sorry?”

“Nah, not at all. I don’t want to sound heartless, but I knew things wouldn’t be long-term with us from the start. I thought she did too.”

“That does sound a little heartless.”

“We got along fine,” he goes on. “But there was never…never…”

“A spark?” I ask, heart skipping a beat as our eyes meet. Sparks are flying over here, threatening to ignite. Or at least they are for me.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“So, you’re single now?”

“I am.” He closes his drink menu. “What about you? Are you with anyone?”

My last public stint with Charles was two years ago. I’ve gone on, even dated someone for a few months, but nothing ever stuck. “Single as well.”

Sam looks at me for a few seconds, gaze so intimate it makes me blush.

“What?” I finally ask.

“Remember that promise I made you?”

My mouth goes dry. Of course I freaking remember that promise. It was my first day of high school and the day had gone to hell by lunch. Sam swooped in and saved the day. He drove me home, told me I wasn’t undatable like I thought…and promised he’d marry me if no one else would.

“We’re both over thirty. You’re single. I’m single. Why not see where things go?” Sam grins, and my heart flutters.

“Just like that?”

“Sure. Why not?”

I swallow hard. All I’ve ever wanted was to see where things go with Sam, but this…this feels contrived. It’s not the way I saw things going down, and I feel like I’m at an obvious disadvantage here. He had to have known the effect he had on me back in the woods, and he is more than aware of how incredibly good-looking he is. Add in that he’s all grown up and a successful doctor now…and it’s only a matter of time before my heart completely falls out of my chest, shattering into a million broken pieces.

“I…I…” I don’t know what to say. How many times did I wish for just one chance with Sam? I was so sure that one chance was all I’d need to have him fall in love with me, to see me the way I see him. But this? This feels more like convenience—for him. Sunlight bathes his handsome face, causing the light blue specks in his eyes to sparkle. I should say no, that this is a bad idea. That this is only going to end in heartache and pain for me.

But I can’t.

Because what if it doesn’t? What if things were to work out, and I’m left wondering what if for the rest of my life if I did turn him down? The unknown is more torturous than any mistake I might make, and if Sam ends up being one, then he’ll be my favorite mistake.

He reaches out and puts his hand on mine. “What if we go out for drinks after dinner?”

“It’s Sunday. Is The Cantina open on Sundays now?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it.” Sam slowly trails his fingers down my hand. It’s nearly ninety-five freaking degrees out today, yet that man just sent a shiver down my spine. “I could always bring a bottle of wine over and we can sit by the lake while we drink it.”

Damn you, Samuel James Harris. That sounds wonderful.

“It’s been a long time, Chloe.” He gently flips my hand over and traces his fingers along the vein on the inside of my wrist. “We have a lot to…to talk about.”

“Yeah.” I quickly bob my head up and down. “T-talk…we should talk.”

“I’ve missed you,” he says, and I can’t help but wonder if he really has. He tried contacting me for weeks after the incident at the party, until Farisha blocked him from my contacts. I got a new phone the next year when I went off Dad’s network plan, so he didn’t even have my number to call after that even if he wanted to.

But I’ve had a social media presence for years now, and my email is very easy to find on my website. My assistant handles all the emails sent to my “author address” and she definitely would have flagged a message from a former friend if Sam had tried to contact me that way.

“Mm-hm,” I squeak out, nodding once again. I’m getting hotter by the second, which has nothing to do with Sam’s hand on my wrist, long fingers still tracing the visible veins. Long fingers I’m imagining somewhere else.

“What do you say?” He leans back, taking his hand off me and making me miss his touch immediately. His lips curve into another cocky grin, confident enough to be sexy but not arrogant. “Should we make good on that promise?”