Chapter 9
This was a risk.
It could be argued that it may be the biggest one he’d ever taken, including the wild throw that had caused him to blow out his knee. Here he was, standing at the Beason front door at six o’clock on a Sunday night, unannounced, about to ring the doorbell.
If Chloe opened and punched him in the nose then slammed the door in his face, he’d deserve it. In a way, he sort of hoped she did.
So ring the bell, smart guy.
Sam took a deep breath and pressed the button, the pretty chime muffled inside the walls of the house. At first, he didn’t hear anything, then steps sounded over hardwood floors. The porch light flipped on, and the door swung open.
Chloe stood across the threshold in a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, her hair pulled back from her face with one of her shiny clips. She cocked her right hip and leaned against the doorjamb. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, could you punch me in the nose?” Sam leaned toward her, pointing to the middle of his face.
“Gladly, but that would make me petty and small. Like you.”
“Good point.” He righted himself. “Can this jerk come in?”
“Are you here in an official capacity? As my boss?”
“No, I’m here as the guy who sent you a stupid text.”
“Stupid? More like honest. But whatever, best to know things between us wouldn’t work before we even left the gate.”
“That’s what I want to talk about. Chloe, look—”
“Sam, we’ve said our piece. Let’s just move on, forget Friday night.” She wrapped up in her arms as a cold blast blew across the porch. “See you at work.”
“Come to dinner with me. Valentino’s. I took the liberty of making a reservation. They were booked but I did some name-dropping. See, that’s how much I want you to come out with me.”
“I don’t think so, Sam. Let’s just—”
“Sam, hello.” Mrs. Beason appeared from the kitchen down the hall, a bowl of popcorn in her hands. “Come in, come in. Chloe, you’re letting out all the warm air.”
Chloe made a face and stepped aside. “Sam was just leaving, Mom.”
“Leaving? He just got here.” She tugged on the belt of her robe. “Sit. I’ll make some hot chocolate. I was sick yesterday, but Chloe's chicken soup last night fixed me right up. I'm feeling so much better.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He paused. “And actually, Mrs. B, I made reservations at Valentino’s. I’d like Chloe to join me.”
“She’d love to join you.”
“I’m busy.” Chloe pointed to the television in the living room and bowls of popcorn.
“Not really,” Mom said. “We haven’t even started the movie yet. Sam, she’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Hold on, don’t I have a say? You and Ruby have got to stop answering for me.”
“Go on up and get changed, darling. I’ll keep Sam company.”
“Mom, I really don’t think—”
“Good, thinking is so overrated.” Mrs. B turned Chloe for the stairs and with a pat on the back, sent her on her way. “Wear your LBD, the one from Christian someone?”
“I don’t have a Christian Siriano little black dress.”
“Yes, you do. I saw it in the back of your closet when I was hanging up your laundry.”
Sam checked his grin as Chloe’s mumbled complaint echoed in the stairwell. But she obeyed her mom, climbing up.
“LBD, can’t make me… Dinner with Sam after he… Why am I doing this?” Her footsteps hammered her displeasure across the downstairs ceiling as she stomped into her bedroom.
Sam winced and sat in the chair next to Mrs. Beason. “Guess she told you about my text.”
“She did. But don’t worry, she’ll come around. If you do a bit of wooing.”
“A bit of wooing, eh?”
“Yes, and while you’re here, did you call your father?”
Dad. Right. Frank. “No, not yet.”
“Please, Sam, do. He’s eager to talk to you.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
Mrs. B gave him a look. “Then try. He’s proud of you, Sam. Talks about you all the time.”
“He’s a fan of the Titans.”
“He’s a fan of you. On and off the field.”
“I’m ready.” Chloe came down wearing a fitted black dress with a flared skirt. She’d spiked her hair, adding a gold clip with flowers formed out of little pearls. She wore a touch of makeup, and her effort made him feel a little bit forgiven. “But I don’t know why I’m doing this.”
“Because you’re a nicer woman than I am a man.” Sam moved to help her with her coat.
“Well, it’s a reason. I’ll take it.”
“I’ll have her home early, Mrs. B.”
“I trust you, Sam.” Three simple words and he felt them all the way through. This woman, this mother, trusted him with her daughter. Two, three years ago, no mother should’ve trusted him with her daughter.
But Mrs. B saw something he wondered if anyone would see. That he was trying.
“Thank you. That means a lot. And I’m cheering for you to beat this cancer.”
In the meantime, Chloe was out the door and down the sidewalk without him.
“My car’s back here, Chloe.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you there.”
“Chloe, wait.” Sam hobbled after her. “Look, I’m sorry.
I shouldn’t have sent that text. Especially since I didn’t mean it.
I’d just gotten off the phone with my agent who announced I might be looking for a new team this year and—” He dashed in front of her and walked backward.
“Please forgive me. Forget what I said.”
“You’re forgiven, Sam. To be honest, I wasn’t really surprised by your text. You did this to me before.”
“When? I never.”
“You ditched me at the county fair to go make out with Missy Byrnes in the Fun House.”
He forced a laugh. So she did remember. “I was fifteen.”
“You still abandoned me. I had to follow Cole Danner and Tammy Eason around like a bumpy third wheel. Unwelcome, I might add, but Tammy refused to abandon me. She couldn’t believe you ditched me.”
“Excuse me, but I don’t recall you going as my date?”
“I thought I was your date. You invited me. You picked me up.” Chloe set off again toward Valentino’s. “I’m hungry.”
“As I recall, you hardly spoke to me before I snuck off with Missy.” He stretched to match her quick stride. “By the way, Cole didn’t speak to me for a month after.”
“Good for him. I felt like a fool. Obviously, I wasn’t good enough for you and your friends. I don’t even know why you invited me.”
Valentino’s came into view with its string of twinkle lights under the awning, so he tabled the conversation.
The ma?tre d’ bowed and smiled when Sam entered, calling him Mr. Hardy, and led them to a romantic table in the back. Immediately, he motioned to one of the servers who hustled away and returned with a bottle of wine.
“On the house, we insist.”
The silence felt steely as they looked over the menu.
“I’ll have the lasagna.” Chloe set her menu on the table.
“Looks good. Me too.” Sam closed his and stacked it with Chloe’s. “Look, you want the truth—” He sat back as the server set a basket of bread on the table and two antipasto salads.
Next, he poured the wine, then took their order, smiling like a crazy man the whole time. Sam itched to get back to the conversation. A couple at the table across the way waved, trying to catch his eye. He gave a wry smile and waved back.
Please, leave us alone.
“The salad is good,” Chloe said, digging into hers, shoving lettuce and tomato into her mouth like she was on a fifteen-minute break.
“Chloe, the truth is, I had a mad crush on you.” He adjusted his knee brace, loose after their fast pace down First Avenue.
She scoffed and shoved in another forkful of lettuce. “You’re such a liar. I was the emo girl. You were the cool, popular guy, a jock with jock friends and cheerleaders shouting your praises every Friday night of the season. Batting their eyes at you in the hallway and class too.”
“Maybe…but Chloe, all my friends thought you were hot. And fun. That summer we hung out at my pool, after my folks split up, we all had crushes on you. But no one dared ask you out.”
“Right. Because I was so scary.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, if you must know, sitting on the edge of the deck in your black bikini—very sexy, by the way.” He finally elicited a smile from her. “Scowling at all of us through narrowed eyes and this ‘I’ll kick your butt’ look on your face.”
“Because all of you were judging me.”
“No one judged you. We wanted you there. Even the girls. When you stopped walking around with your proverbial dukes up, you were cool. Funny, smart, and you were always baking something. Between the black bikini and your sugar cookies? All the guys were in love.”
“I heard you all laughing behind my back.”
“When? Who?”
“That day some of the seniors from the football team came, and they wanted to know what I was doing there, said I was weird. You said, ‘She’s doing the best she can.’”
“Well, weren’t you?”
“That’s how you defended me? ‘She’s doing the best she can?
’ You were my best friend. I almost didn’t let you in again.
Only to get your texts yesterday.” Chloe sat up straight and saluted.
“Aye, aye, Captain. You and I, we’ll never be a thing.
I get it. I’m not cool enough for your football world. ”
“Now you sound like a twelve-year-old. I invited you to my upcoming honors banquet, didn’t I? You’re more than cool enough.”
“Let’s face it, we’re still from two different worlds.
We’re too different.” She gulped her wine, then scooted from the table.
“I’m sorry, I’m really not hungry after all and I have to get up in”—she glanced at her phone—“seven hours, so I need to get to bed.” She fished around in her handbag for her wallet and dropped a couple of twenties on the table. “Will this cover my half?”
He reached for her arm. “Chloe, come on, stop. That was fifteen years ago.”
“And yet, it was also yesterday.”
He followed her as she retrieved her coat and exited the restaurant.
“Look, Sam, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I do forgive you. But it did hurt. I thought maybe I was finally moving on from grief and death. Maybe I should just stay in my lane a little longer.”
“Sir, Mr. Hardy, your dinner?” The ma?tre d’ came after them. “Your dinner?”
“Box it up for us.” Sam handed his credit card to the man. “If you have a basket, put it in there, please. Chloe—”