Chapter 20 #2
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said with a soft groan.
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to kiss you,” he said softly.
“I do want you to kiss me. You’re the one who put this song on,” she teased, dizzy with dancing and port and being in John’s familiar yet wholly unexpected embrace.
“We should stop dancing, then.”
“Why? Because of Rob?”
“Yes, because of Rob, your six-foot-something, terrifyingly muscular boyfriend.”
“What if I told you he’s not really my boyfriend?” she said, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
“What do you mean?” John asked, still holding her waist as their spinning slowed further.
“He’s not real. I asked him to pretend, for this weekend.” She sighed, then laughed, not because it was funny, but because this was an impossible conversation. “Pathetic, I know.”
“What?” he said, pulling away from her. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I didn’t want to come here alone.”
John’s face creased into a scowl. He stopped dancing and let go of her hand, taking a step back, just as the song came to an end.
“Does he know it’s not real?” John asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. “Because he seems very into you.” He started pacing the room now, shaking his head. She could almost see his brain working this through. “What is he, like an escort?”
“I know it’s strange, I can’t really explain it. I just wanted someone to keep me company this weekend.” She let out a wry laugh. “You were right on the bus, he’s my emotional support boyfriend.”
John was still watching her, waiting for more.
“I felt intimidated, okay. Everyone else is doing what they set out to do in life, and I’ve done nothing.
I was embarrassed.” She gestured with her hands, animated now.
“I gave up on my dreams, I live with my parents, I’m a loser.
You say I seem lost; well I am, I’m so fucking lost. At Oxford, I knew exactly who I wanted to be, and I am so far away from being her, from ever being her.
” She took a breath, let out a defeated sigh.
“If she could see me now, young me would be so disappointed.” She felt her eyes well, and she sat back down on the crate and squeezed her knees tight to her chest.
John paced in front of her, tapping out a rhythm with one fist against his palm, but his voice was gentle as he said, “She wouldn’t.
And those aren’t the criteria to measure a life by.
You get to live with your parents. Do you know how much I’d give to have one more breakfast with my dad?
You might not be where you want to be professionally, but you’re smart, you’re creative, if you don’t like what you’re doing, change it.
” John turned toward her, his face shifting to a frown.
She wiped her face with a palm. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“All judgy.”
She rested her forehead on her knees. Her bladder was becoming a problem. She needed to get out of this room now. She jumped up, leaped toward the door, and started beating on it. “Help!” she called out. “We’re in here! We’re stuck!”
“There’s too much stone. No one’s going to hear you,” he said.
She banged on the door, called out again, as loud as she could. Then, spent, she turned to find John standing behind her. He reached for her fist, clasping it in his hand, opening it, knitting his fingers with hers as he turned her to face him.
“I’m not judging you,” he said gently, “and I’m sorry you feel that way about your life.”
“It’s just—it’s complicated,” Chloe said, and though he didn’t understand, she felt a relief in having told him.
Their faces were inches from each other now. He held her wrist in one hand, and she reached for his other hand, so now they stood, locked in this standoff, the sweet tension of simmering chemistry.
“Quantum mechanics is complicated, not this,” he said, drawing his lip between his teeth.
Every cell in her body was on high alert; she yearned for him to close the gap between them again.
“Chloe…,” he whispered, his voice steady, serious as a vow. He leaned in, surrendering to the pull between them, feeling her insides turn to molten lava. Just an inch closer—
Clunk. The sound of shifting furniture. A shaft of light cutting through the dark. The door scraped open. They jolted apart like guilty teenagers, then turned to see Rob, framed by the doorway, his broad body filling the space.
“I came to find you,” he said evenly, a cordial smile on his face. “Were you stuck in here?”
“Yes, thank you,” Chloe said quickly, too quickly. Her cheeks burned.
Rob took a step inside and wrapped his arms around her.
She returned the hug stiffly. Rob suddenly felt like a stranger, a cardboard cutout made flesh, doing all the right things to comfort her but it was not the same.
Because being down here with John had reminded her what real intimacy felt like.
And it didn’t always approve of you or flatter you; it challenged you, called you out, made you feel seen in ways that were sometimes unbearable.
But it was honest, and unflinching, and real.
John stood motionless, watching them—waiting for her to say something. But she hesitated. What was she supposed to say? She’d tangled herself up in half-truths and was now a spider caught in her own web.
She looked at John. Their eyes met for the briefest second, and then she looked away, afraid. That was enough. John registered the silence. His expression hardened, not in anger, but in resignation. Then he pushed past Rob and strode out of the cellar.
Chloe stood, frozen to the spot, looking up at Rob. His smile didn’t falter. Did he know what he’d just walked in on? What was going on inside his head?