8. Dialing Up Tension
Chapter eight
Dialing Up Tension
Chloe
“There you go again, off in space…”
Eli’s bemused grin snaps me back to reality. Awesome. I’ve been caught zoning out mid-conversation. Not awkward at all.
I dust the grass from my butt and hold out my hand. “I’m going to go.”
He waves it away and struggles to his feet without any help. “You always make me feel so old, I refuse to accept your pity, thank you.”
“Older and wiser.” We fall into an easy stride beside each other, making our way back out of the park.
“Three years. That’s all it is.” He waves his arms dramatically. “We’re basically twins.”
His indignation makes me laugh a little harder, and I’m relieved to have my usual lightness back.
“We can’t be, because you’re well-acquainted with thirty, and I don’t even know what that feels like.”
Eli rolls his eyes. “Yet. You don’t know what that feels like… yet. But just you wait.”
“Oh, I’m waiting. But I’m also going to use the next two years to give you all kinds of grief about it, while I still can.”
He hangs his head, laughing. “I don’t expect anything less from you, eternal child.”
“Good,” I say, slapping him on the back.
My mood is back to normal by the time we reach the wrought iron gates, and the weight of everything Brody-related doesn’t seem impossible to carry anymore.
Eli’s right, if I want the town to believe we can handle this without Brody’s corporate cavalry, I’ll need something concrete to show them.
A PowerPoint won’t cut it this time. My mind begins sifting through a slew of options.
“I’ll see you at the lodge later?” he asks. “Legacy League asked if I’ll mediate their menu issues with Chef.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Again? What’s the problem this time?”
“They didn’t appreciate his literal take on their request to have the food at their last meeting be indicative of Bluepeak’s heritage. Gave ‘em nothing but nuts, seeds, and pine needle broth.”
“Well, forest and timber are our heritage,” I chuckle heartily.
Chef Vince has had it with our high maintenance historical society. He’s begged me to talk them into changing the venue of their monthly meeting, but there’s no persuading them. Where else can they dine under the stars in style? I don’t blame them, but I don’t blame Chef, either.
“Then I guess I’ll see you later, and good luck talking him out of messing with them.”
Eli simply shakes his head with a laugh and climbs onto his bike. Gotta give it to him, zipping around like Bluepeak’s own eco-friendly vigilante.
“Want a lift? ”
His cheeky grin spreads across his face.
“What? You’re going to stick me on the handlebars like when we were kids?”
The breeze whips through his wavy brown hair, giving him a boyish charm. For a second, I’m transported back to those carefree days of piggyback rides and scraped knees.
“You’ll never not be that little freckled nuisance haggling me for a ride.” He laughs like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Pigtails flying, nearly taking out my eye while you’re yelling for me to go faster.”
The warmth of the memory washes over me. Damn, I miss those days. Simpler times, simpler problems. Like trying not to fall off a bike.
Instead of taking Eli’s offer, I choose to walk, letting the rhythm of my steps settle my nerves. Just me, my thoughts, and a mental checklist on how not to completely lose my shit over Brody Stirling.
Once again, there’s no destination in mind. What I need is the space between now and wherever I end up. Talking with Eli helped, but now it’s solitude that’ll pull me back to myself.
It’s almost ten, and in typical Bluepeak summer fashion, the sky is wide open and the sun’s dialed up to one hundred. I’m slow roasting out here, but hey, anything to keep me distracted from today’s 'Brody bomb.'
Sweat snakes down my back and dampens my hairline, but I hardly notice. My brain’s focused on the next step. Talking’s over. It’s time to act.
These people need a reason to believe we don’t need Brody’s rescue plan.
At the end of Ruby Lamp Lane, I hesitate. This is usually where I turn left to go home, but I don’t want to go home yet. Going home means facing my thoughts. And those thoughts are currently obsessed with a certain CEO’s lips.
Not going there.
Right it is. Claire Adams pep talk? Yes, please.
“Chloe.”
My dad’s face lights up when he opens the front door. “Your mom told me not to call, so I didn’t. But we were worried, as you can imagine. The way you left—”
“I know, I’m sorry. I needed some time to think.”
He nods with understanding, making way for me to come inside. “Claire,” he calls out. “You were right, honey.”
Then he winks at me, lowering his voice. “Secret to a long and happy marriage: tell them they’re right at least twice a day.”
“You’ve mentioned,” I say, stifling a laugh. Yep, that’s my dad. A pro at marriage advice, usually delivered with a wink.
My parents’ relationship isn’t perfect, but goddamn do they love each other. I sometimes find myself staring at them, always affectionate and making each other laugh. Theirs is the kind of love I hope to have some day. If that’s even possible.
Harper and Liz are always telling me love like that is an anomaly, that I’m setting myself up for disappointment by holding out for it. And judging by my failed attempts in the past, I’m beginning to think they may be onto something.
My mother walks into the living room as Brody invades my brain again, and I’m thankful for the interruption. That man has occupied enough of my attention for one day.
“What was I right about?” She takes me by the hand and leads me to the sofa, where she flops down onto it. I follow, the poofy cushions hugging us both.
“That she’s okay, and needed to think?” My dad looks at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for me to confirm. He knows me too well.
“Pretty much, yeah.” I’m still holding my mom’s hand. Why? I don’t know, but I don’t really want to let go yet.
She clamps her fingers around mine and leans closer. “What is it, baby girl?”
Baby girl. I’m almost thirty, and she still calls me that. But it feels good. Like I can still fall apart a little, and she’ll be there to pick up the pieces.
“Brody Stirling,” I sigh, and even saying his name feels like a weight dropping on my chest. “You were there, you saw what I’m dealing with.”
My mother waves a hand, dismissing it. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s trying to push your buttons.”
“You think that’s what he was doing when he asked me to dinner?” Because it sure didn’t feel like button-pushing at the time. It felt... hotter. Much hotter.
“That’s exactly what he was doing,” my dad cuts in, sitting down. “He knows you hold sway in the community. He obviously wants to charm you into agreeing with his plans.”
My mother shakes her head. Here comes the curveball. “I think Chloe should hear him out.”
“What?” Both my dad and I speak at the same time. Hold on.
“You saw what she looked like when we got the storage room open,” he says, and I sink a little deeper into the sofa. Oh no, we’re talking about the kiss. Abort, abort! Luckily, they’re too focused on each other to notice the heat rushing to my cheeks.
“He’s full of himself, throwing his weight around. Chloe doesn’t owe him anything, and she definitely doesn’t have to go to dinner with him.”
“We could sit here all day and assume things about Mr. Stirling,” my mom responds, unshaken.
Her put-together demeanor doesn’t waver even a little.
“But the only way to know for sure is to talk to him. Dinner is a great idea. It gets rid of the audience, which he loves. This way, Chloe can have a real conversation with him.”
“What if he talks and I don’t like what he says?” I finally find my voice.
She tuts impatiently, clearly annoyed that my dad and I aren’t catching onto her train of thought fast enough.
Mom gives me the "don’t be dramatic" look. “It’s just dinner, Chloe. You hear him out, say your piece, and leave. Simple as that.”
Dad sighs, nodding reluctantly. “Right again.” He mutters it like he’s resigned to the fact that she’s always right. “It’ll give you a chance to see what he’s really about.”
I bite back a laugh when I see my mom’s face shift into a scowl.
“Norman,” she warns, “this isn’t war. Stirling isn’t an enemy to be vanquished. He’s a person, just like you. And there’s nothing that can’t be sorted out with adult conversation.”
My dad scoffs. “Tell that to every politician ever. ”
“Don’t listen to your dad,” she dismisses him with a wave of her hand. “We’ve already established that I’m the one who’s always right. Now, give Mr. Stirling a call, and tell him you’ll have dinner with him.”
My dad and I share a look that spans the history of being a part of this family with Claire Adams as its matriarch. Arguing a point will predictably reach one outcome, hers. I sigh heavily, not mad about that, but rather the fact that I have to suck it up and contact Brody.
Which reminds me…
“I don’t have his number,” I stare blankly at my cell phone. That initial sense of resolve slowly starts to seep away.
“Got you covered,” my dad holds up his phone, and sure enough, a message from Eli pops up with Brody’s contact info. Of course, Dad already planned this ambush. “I knew Eli would have Stirling’s number. I’ll text it to you now.”
My mother pats my knee with a pleased smile. “He has his moments.”
My phone pings, and there it is, Brody, now saved in my contacts.
I hadn’t noticed the slight tremble in my fingers before, and the realization makes masking the sudden flash of nerves a little harder.
My mother’s eyes are glued to me. She’s always had the uncanny ability to read me like an open book.
Get it together. He’s a person. A stupidly handsome, smug-as-hell guy with a mouth that really needs a warning label.
Heart in my throat, I hover my thumb over the call button. Why does this feel like I’m about to summon a demon instead of setting up a dinner date ?
Before I can second-guess myself, my phone starts dialing. Crap. When did I hit the button?
No no no. Too late now.
“Who is this?”
Brody’s voice, cool and clipped, jolts me like a bucket of ice water. I almost drop my phone, scrambling like a complete idiot to keep it from slipping out of my hand. Yeah, way to play it cool.
“Uh, this is, um, it’s Chloe.” Heart pounding, mouth dry, I take a slow, steadying breath to get a grip.
There’s a pause, and I can almost hear the cogs turning in his head. He must be enjoying this.
“How did you get my number?” There’s no accusation in his tone, but I don’t miss the obvious hint of amusement.
Of course he thinks this is funny. He didn’t run out of that storage room like a mess. I did. And he’s probably loving every second of this. I roll my eyes, scoffing lightly as I turn away from my parents. I can feel them watching me with burning curiosity.
“Eli Cruz, our community planner, gave it to me,” I reply, hoping I don’t sound like a complete wreck.
“So, you’re stalking me now, is that it?” He chuckles.
“Excuse me?” Oh, hell no. My grip tightens on my phone, heat rushes up my neck and into my cheeks.
“Don’t sound so shocked, Chloe,” he teases. I can picture his cocky smile. “I was expecting to hear from you… after what happened this morning.”
Oh, the audacity of this man. The unshakable air of arrogance he moves through the world with is enough to make my blood boil.
“This has nothing to do with that, if you must know.” Steeling myself against it. Don’t let him rattle you. You called for a reason. Stick to it.
He’s enjoying making me squirm, and I hate that I’m making it easy for him.
“No?” His surprise sounds genuine. “So, you didn’t hound Eli for my number so you could talk to me about the secret kiss we shared in the storage room? Well, maybe not so secret, considering how everyone was there when that door opened.”
I clench my jaw, afraid my teeth might crack. He’s really pushing it. Provoking me is easy, since it’s all still so fresh in my mind. Back there, in the dark, his hands firmly gripping my thighs.
“You’re making it really difficult for me to not end this call.”
His laugh spills through the speaker, smooth and annoyingly satisfying. I hate how much I notice it. Damn him.
“Need I remind you that you’re the one who called me?” his voice dips, like he has the upper hand and knows I hate it. “You still haven’t told me what this is about, by the way. I mean, if it isn’t what I think it is…”
God, he’s arrogant. I curse silently, annoyed by how easily I got called out. He’s right, I was the one to call him. Afraid I’m going to lose my nerve, I take a deep breath and blurt out what I’ve been dreading.
“This line is terrible,” Brody says. “Can you please speak up?”
I clear my throat, breathing slow to calm the hell down. “I’m free for dinner. The day after tomorrow.”