Chapter 7 #3
“Good, good. We’ve got our season tickets. We’ll be there no matter what.”
The confession struck a deep chord in Sam.
One he’d thought he had completely walled off from his father’s reach.
Frank had always been his number one football fan.
He also loved the Titans. When they drafted Sam nine years ago, Frank was with him and his agent in Indianapolis.
The image of Frank’s face when the Titans called his name in the first round would forever live in Sam’s memory. Pride. Frank had been proud.
But that changed nothing about what Frank had done to their family. To Mom.
“Hey, I want to talk to you about something,” Frank said. “You got a minute?”
“Now? Frank, this is your big birthday party. We’ll talk later.” Sam gestured to the crowd as Janice made her way toward them.
She slipped her hand through Frank’s arm, and together they worked the room.
Sam leaned against the wall, watching, wondering if Chloe and Laura Kate had snuck away. In spite of the group surrounding him, it seemed lonely without her nearby.
Snatches of conversations floated to him. “…tourism on the uptick…” “…Top 40 and movie soundtrack…” “…filing process…” Frank’s voice and laughter stood out above everyone else’s.
Finally, Janice led Frank to the cake table. “We’re going to sing “Happy Birthday”—where’s Buck Mathews?” The country music star strolled out of the kitchen with his guitar and a mini sandwich. “Buck, you raided the food already?”
“I told you, Janice, I sing for food.”
The guests erupted with laughter. Sam caught Buck’s eye and they chin nodded each other.
“Well, then I’ll just cancel my check.” Janice winked.
“Listen, y’all, we’ll sing, cut the cake, and then you can load up your plates.
We’ve got tables inside and out, with a fire blazing in every possible place and pit to keep y’all warm.
” The guests laughed and Sam had to admit Janice was charming. “Buck?”
Buck strummed his guitar and launched into “Happy Birthday.” Harmonies and melodies intermingled as the mix of seventy friends, family, and colleagues honored Frank Hardy.
Why couldn’t Sam do the same? He cleared his throat and joined in on the last two lines. If he was going to prove to Dr. Morgan that he’d forgiven his father for the past, he’d best sing him a happy birthday song.
But he wasn’t over it, was he? Not entirely. Pain shot from his knee up his thigh. Sam leaned hard against the wall.
“Look at this gorgeous cake.” Janice handed Frank the cutter. “From Haven’s. Meredith’s daughter, Chloe LaRue, made it.”
Sam glanced around to see Meredith smiling from the fringes of the party. He inched through the crowd to say hello and wish her well with her health.
“Love this cake. Howard, grab your nine iron. We’ll shoot a few rounds.” Frank took a bite of the slice on his plate. “Edible golf? I’ve died and gone to heaven.” The guests rewarded his quip with a hearty laugh.
Janice instructed everyone to grab a plate, and Sam made his way around the room to head outside.
Someone tugged on his sleeve. “Sam.” Chloe looked at him with trust and confidence. “Janice said she’d pay us tonight. But should I just leave and get it next week?”
“Let’s ask her. If she said she’d pay today, then make her do it.”
Chloe made a face like You sure? then followed him inside. “I’ll ask her, all right? Since you’re keeping your stake in Haven’s a secret.”
“For now, until I start working there.”
“Here I go…” Chloe started across the grand room with high ceilings and expensive art on the wall. “Janice,” she said. “We’re off but I wondered if you wanted to pay us tonight or—”
“Oh, darling, of course, but aren’t you staying?” Janice withdrew an envelope from a nearby drawer.
“Staying?” Chloe said with an over-the-shoulder look at Sam.
“For the party?” Janice glanced at Meredith. “Didn’t you tell your daughter to stay?”
“Thank you, but I can’t.” Chloe regarded her mother and then Sam. “I’m Cinderella, not dressed for the ball.”
“Well, then I’m your fairy godmother.” Janice grabbed Chloe by the hand and even if she tried to wrestle her to the ground, Chloe wasn’t getting free of that grip.
“I’ve a million gowns. What size are you?
I have a four and sixes from my WW days, but that ship has sailed,” she whispered conspiratorially.
Chloe leaned toward Sam as Janice led her toward the broad staircase. “If I’m not back in fifteen, rescue me.”
Rescue you? Anytime, Chloe, anywhere.
Janice wasn’t lying—she had a dressing room full of cocktail dresses and gowns.
From the outside, the Hardy bungalow looked like a small, old-time family home with three beds and a bath, but no, this place never ended.
Five bedrooms at least, five bathrooms, a to-die-for gourmet kitchen, and a media room that could be classified as a small theater.
“Try this one. I only wore it once and then somehow, who knows, I gained ten pounds.”
“That usually comes from someone adding butter to your food when you aren’t looking.” Chloe accepted the ice-blue organza gown with the halter neck and beaded embellishments at the waist. “Janice, this is too much. Are you sure?”
She’d gone to some fancy balls and banquets in Paris with Jean-Marc.
Her in-laws were connected to the French nobility, after all, but she’d rented gowns for those occasions.
What would a pastry chef who worked elbows deep in dough do with a closetful of designer gowns?
Though she did have a few nicer dresses she’d bought at resale and consignment shops to wear when Jean-Marc took her to dinner for their anniversary or her birthday.
“I think these shoes will work.” Janice set a pair of red-soled Louboutin heels at Chloe’s feet.
“I’ll fetch my stylist. She’ll fix your hair and makeup.
” Janice paused at the door. “If you want, that is. Am I pushing you? It’s just, well, Sam seems more relaxed when you’re around and I remember how he was with you when you were teens. ”
“We’re just friends, Janice.”
“Right, of course, but shall I get her? My stylist?”
Chloe looked at her image in the mirror and saw the spark of life she’d felt in recent days reflected back at her. No didn’t seem like an option.
“Send her up. I need all the help I can get.”
“Chloe.” Janice hesitated at the door. “About Sam—speak well of his father, would you?”
“Janice, really, this is none of my business. It’s between you and Frank and Sam. All I know about your relationship with Frank back then is that you were his secretary before my mom. If your invitation comes with conditions, then I should just go home.”
“It doesn’t. You’ll look stunning in that gown. Please stay. But Chloe, there are lots of details Sam doesn’t know either.” Janice headed out of the room.
While she waited for the stylist, Chloe tucked Janice’s payment into her purse then texted Laura Kate to take the van back to the bakery and lock up everything. Thank you and see you in the morning!
Twenty minutes later, Chloe was tucked and zipped into the ice-blue organza confection with a crossover neckline that bared her shoulders and a good deal of her back.
A large burn on her forearm, a regular occurrence for someone continually reaching into hot ovens, made her self-conscious.
She stood in front of the mirror, one hand over the angry welt in an attempt to hide it.
“Here.” Francie, the stylist, daubed on some concealer and rubbed gently. “It barely shows.”
Francie gave her a sophisticated makeover with subtle spring colors.
Not much could be done with her pixie cut, but instead of Chloe’s usual spiky do, Francie brushed her hair flat and managed to make her look sleek and sophisticated.
Chloe had one of her sparkly hair clips in her purse that she swapped out for the beaded one. That made the finishing touch.
Francie handed over a disposable toothbrush. “Can’t really be complete without fresh teeth.”
“You’re an all-service stylist.”
Francie laughed. “When you work with artists and actors like I do, you learn to come prepared.”
Teeth brushed, lipstick reapplied, Chloe left Janice’s dressing room and started toward the stairs.
Dang, she was shaking. Like a princess making her debut.
This was Frank’s party, not hers. She was just a guest. Relax, act casual, pretend you’re wearing street clothes.
But as she made her way down the stairs, every head turned and the voices faded. Everyone watched her.
Chloe held onto the railing, sure she’d trip and tumble down to the bottom.
As she hit the third step from the bottom, Sam parted the crowd to stand in front of her.
It was like a moment in a movie that a girl always dreamed about but never really happened.
His eyes, his expression, told her she was beautiful, and for the first time since Jean-Marc had left for Zermatt, she honestly believed it.
“Chloe, wow.” He offered her a hand down the last two steps.
“Stop,” she whispered, the slight tremble in her voice giving her away. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“You’re gorgeous. Easily the most beautiful woman in the room.” He took her in his arms as the band began to play, then swept her through the crowd and out to the lighted dance floor overlooking the pool and the vast Hardy grounds.
Was this happening? Being swept up in Sam Hardy’s arms to melodies from the ’60s? He wasn’t a skinny teen with lean muscles anymore, dreaming of playing for the league. He was tall and broad, his body sculpted by years of training. He was kind and smart, funny and an achiever of the impossible.