Chapter 6 #2
“Chloe? Dinner?” Ruby said. “Law, what is going on with young folk today?”
“Yes, of course, dinner.”
“See you at six then.” He gave her one of his trademark grins, with one corner of his mouth tipped up, as he backed toward the newly reupholstered booth.
Chloe barely noticed the cold metal of the door or the four icy steps down to the sidewalk.
At the diner, Tina wasn’t much help. She knew nothing more than last year’s headline.
“Believe me, I wish I did know more. Whoever’s behind this deal doesn’t sit at my counter and drink coffee.”
Shoot. Well, Tina promised to keep Chloe informed if she heard anything and Chloe promised the same.
In the time it had taken Chloe to walk to the diner, talk to Tina, and retrace her route, Vivienne had texted twice more.
Chloe had other things to worry about at the moment, but she took a minute to type a message.
Hope you and Albert are well. I’m keeping busy in HB. Think of you often. Talk soon.
When she walked back into the bakery kitchen, Ruby met her at the door.
“Cole said he’ll stop by later. Anything from Tina?” Ruby followed Chloe to the office, hands fisted in the pockets of her white uniform dress.
“All she knows is that someone big in town affairs, likely on the council, bought a Donut Heaven franchise and convinced the Reclaim Downtown committee to approve the business license.”
“That’s all we know too.” Ruby sank onto the office’s small couch. “The good Lord knows I can’t imagine a town without Haven’s or Java Jane’s. Donut Heaven could put us both out of business. We don’t have a drive-through or ninety-nine-cent donut sticks.”
“Not sure if the Lord pays much attention to what’s going on in Hearts Bend.” Because as far as Chloe was concerned, He’d never paid much attention to her.
“Pshaw. The Lord cares about everything and everyone. He knows the number of hairs on your head, Chloe LaRue. He surely knows who is behind this Donut Heaven plot and what we should do to stop it right now.”
“Then you talk to the good Lord, get His plan, and tell me.”
Ruby slapped the couch arm. “That’s a great idea.
We’ll call a prayer meeting, barnstorm heaven, and come up with some divine ideas.
” Ruby patted her ’60s beehive hairdo. “I’ll tell Laura Kate and Robin that we’ll meet tomorrow morning at five.
Course Robin won’t make it, but we best invite her anyway.
That girl ain’t never seen five in the a.m.”
“I’ll be busy making the morning donuts and bread. Y’all pray without me.”
“Nothing doing. You’re the boss. The Lord is sure to hear you.”
She seriously doubted it. He’d not heard her much in the last couple of decades. Not that she’d offered much to Him for response. But ever since Daddy had died, she’d wondered if He was a good God at all. How could he take her father and claim to be a good Father Himself?
Sam sat in front of the Beason house and checked email. Marco Martelli invited him to a party. Decline. Couldn’t run the risk of running into @CurvyCarla. Besides, he’d rather hang with the married players these days than the single ones.
The next email, from his assistant Delia, asked if he wanted a plus-one for the banquet the Nashville Foundation was hosting at the Hotel TN in a couple weeks to honor him for his work with underserved youth through his SportsWorld organization.
Buck Mathews was also being thanked for his I Hate Cancer concerts that had raised a bazillion dollars for research.
Well, maybe closer to a few million, but still.
Mikayla Onofrio was the third honoree. The Hollywood actress lived part time in Nashville and used her name and status to raise funds for respite programs for Alzheimer’s and dementia caregivers.
It promised to be a perfectly boring evening. Why would he subject another person to that?
Though it would serve @CurvyCarla right if he showed up with a real date.
He sat up straight. Yeah, it totally would.
Who would he bring? Chloe could make the night bearable, fun even.
At last night’s event, he’d remembered dancing with her back in the day.
Maybe he should invite her to this shindig.
Delia attached a list of what had been donated for the swag bags. He gave a low whistle. They might need security guards to escort the guests to their cars. He scanned the rest of his inbox and told Delia to accept a podcast invitation.
Six o’clock on the dot, Sam climbed the steps to Meredith Beason’s front door, gripping the handrail.
His knee still throbbed from therapy, but he trusted Dr. Morgan’s process and prediction—he’d heal just fine.
Though if she was right about his physical healing, did that mean she was right about his emotional healing?
Sam shook off the thought and knocked on the door.
Chloe opened it and stood in the middle of the entry, backlit by a glow from the living room. She wore tight jeans, knee-high boots, a gauzy blouse, and a jeweled hair clip behind one ear. She was beautiful. Stunning.
“Wow,” he said, feeling very underdressed. “You look great.”
“Thanks. So do you, Hardy.”
He scoffed. “Liar. I’m wearing what I wore to PT.
” He should’ve gone home to change but instead he had knocked around town, visited the Kids Theater, and run into his old friend, Luke Stebbins.
They’d had coffee at Ella’s until it was time for Sam to pick up Chloe.
He’d brushed his teeth in the men’s room before heading out.
Smart men always carried a portable toothbrush and toothpaste.
“So where to, Hardy?”
“How about Angelo’s?” He held the door for her as she stepped from the house into the night. “We can walk.”
“Are you sure? What about your knee?”
“It’s not far and walking will do me good. Just don’t go too fast.”
She offered her arm in an exaggerated move. “You can lean on me, Hardy.”
The way her offer floated over him, he wanted to believe it. Really believe it. Dive in deep and drown himself in it.
They walked the short distance down Red Oak to First Avenue then to Angelo’s, Sam waving at people who passed, gawking, whispering. “Is that really Sam Hardy?” A couple of cars honked as they passed. “Titan-up!” He waved to acknowledge the cheer and call to get in the game.
A man about a decade younger than Sam approached them at Angelo’s front door. “Hi, Mr. Hardy. Kofi Smith. I’m a big fan.” He stuck out his hand. Sam shook it with a blushing glance at Chloe.
“Thanks, keep watching. This is going to be a great season.”
After a few more praises from Kofi, Sam reached for Angelo’s door. “I didn’t set that up, you know, to impress you.”
She laughed, a sound he liked. Had always liked it. “I’m impressed you’d think you need to impress me.”
He regarded her intently. “Don’t I?”
“No,” she said, so pure and simple. “Never have, never will.”
He liked her more and more. Holding the door for her, they stepped into a warm, old-world Italian atmosphere with romantic candles flickering on the tables and soft classical music playing over the speakers.
The ma?tre d’ escorted them to a red-checked tablecloth booth in the corner. Sam ordered a bottle of wine to come out with their garlic knots.
“So…you didn’t ask me to dinner to counterbalance the tweets from Curvy Carla, did you?”
She knew. Well, what did he expect? “No. She’s making it all up.
I saw her at a party, she was drunk, and I drove her home.
Didn’t even get out of my car.” He should record this story and just play it for folks each time they asked.
“She’s an NFL groupie, hanging around one of the other players.
I didn’t know…” Sigh. “But given my past, my choice to drive her home was incredibly stupid.”
Chloe stretched her arms across the table and took his hand in hers. “You’re a nice man, Sam, and I mean that with the most admiration and regards. Not the cliché nice guy routine, but a genuinely nice man. A good man.”
Darn if she wasn’t making him choke up. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “You remember the old Sam from high school.”
“I know about your party life. Remember, Jean-Marc was a big fan. Also, the ‘Sam from high school’ wasn’t always so nice.”
“Oh, to the heart.” He slapped his hand over his chest. “What did I do to you in high school?”
“That night at the fair with Missy Byrnes, Cole Danner, and Tammy Eason.” She looked away. Now she looked embarrassed. “Never mind. It was a long time ago.”
“According to Dr. Morgan, things from a long time ago can still hurt.” He reached for her hands this time. “We’d gone to the Fry Hut together.” She’d looked at him with this sparkle in her eyes, an anticipation of a fun evening, their first group date. Then he’d…been a jerk. What could he say?
“Here we are…” The server arrived with their wine and garlic knots and interrupted their conversation.
After a garlic knot and glass of wine, Sam had to return to the situation of Curvy Carla.
“She’s just playing off who I was, Chloe. Curvy Carla.”
“Is there a but coming?”
“No but. One day I woke up and—” He wasn’t sure he wanted to confess everything here and now. That he wanted a real relationship, real love, a real woman. “And decided I didn’t want to live like that anymore.”
She tilted her head to one side, a serious expression on her beautiful face. “I’m proud of you then. It’s hard to change your path, your direction.”
The server came back for their order. Pepperoni and mushroom pizza with a Roma crust.
“Your turn now,” Sam said. “Tell me about France. Do you miss it?”
She paused before answering. “I think I miss what it was more than anything.” Chloe described pieces of her life in Paris. The restaurant where she worked, who trained her, how much she loved making delicious things.
Sam couldn’t help it. He stopped listening and just watched her. The more she talked about making beautiful things to eat, the more her sadness of being a recent widow vanished and she was the Chloe he remembered. Vivacious and glowing with passion.
Their food arrived and the conversation gave way to large bites of hot, cheesy pizza and low moans of, “This is so good,” and laughing as they pulled strings of melted cheese from their chins.
“Is it hard to talk about your husband?” He didn’t exactly know the etiquette of what was okay to ask or talk about. How had she gotten through it? Being widowed and left alone so young.
She gave a wistful smile. “Not anymore.”
“How did he die? I mean, I heard it was an accident, but—”
“A tree.”
Sam froze mid bite. “A tree?”
Chloe dabbed her lips with her paper napkin, then set it beside her plate.
“His family owns a large sporting goods company and Jean-Marc tested new equipment and designs. He was trying out a new ski design in Switzerland when he lost control and hit a tree square on. He lived a few minutes, but the crash was too severe.”
“I’m so sorry, Chloe. I can’t imagine.”
“I dreamed about it afterwards for months. How he lost control, crashed into that tree. What he must have felt. Did he know he was dying? As his life ended, did he say anything to me? His parents were with him so if he did, they’ve not told me.”
“Did you want him to say something to you?”
Chloe looked away and peered out the window. She watched the headlights as they streamed past the restaurant—illuminating the trees, the parked cars, the outside tables, and umbrellas—while she considered her answer.
“Yes.” Her reply was simple and low, gravely with emotion. “We’d argued before he left. It was unresolved. Then I was so angry at him for dying, for leaving me. He didn’t have to be the one testing the skis, but he insisted. He was supposed to be with me in Paris. I wanted to hear he was sorry.”
“Sounds like he lived life to the fullest,” Sam said, curious, though not jealous. Because who would be jealous of a dead man? “But I’m sorry about the circumstances before his death.”
“Thank you. Believe it or not, it’s a bit of a relief to talk about it, to talk about him.
” She drew a deep breath and smiled. “Jean-Marc was vibrant and full of life. A daredevil. The fun of doing something new was an addiction. He loved a challenge, loved the adrenaline rush. He loved being ‘the first.’ Hence the test run.” She took an awkward bite of her pizza.
“Which is why he loved you. Thought you were a daring quarterback. He was watching that day when you got sacked and had to miss the last few minutes of the game. I was trying to sleep and he’s yelling at you to scramble or something.
Then you didn’t get up and missed the final drive and the team lost. He was worried you were concussed. ”
“So was I. That loss stung.” Sam took another bite of pizza. “I’m sorry I never met him.”
Her eyes glistened when she looked across the table and gave him her answer. “Me too.”
“So, was Chloe—the former emo girl—a daredevil, going on adventures with her husband?”
“No,” she said with a soft laugh. “The only chances I took were in my recipes. I hate heights, which I think was a bit of a disappointment to him. I would stand at the base of the mountain and watch.” She sipped her wine and it seemed to him the conversation about Jean-Marc was over.
“Are you ready for Frank’s big party tomorrow night?” Sam said.
“Cakes are frosted and partly decorated. I’m looking forward to it.”
He restrained from any sort of negative response and rather welcomed it when the conversation fell into a civil and like-minded political discussion.
They polished off the pizza in style and ordered tiramisu for dessert—without hesitation.
A couple of fans shyly approached, and Sam signed his autograph for them, paid the check, then suggested a stroll through Gardenia Park.
When she looked up at him in agreement, his heart melted a little, despite the late winter chill in the air. What are you doing to me, Chloe LaRue?
Huge honor meeting @SamHardyQB15 at Angelo’s in Hearts Bend. #GoTitans #TitanUp
– @KofiSBBaller on Twitter