Chapter 5
5
CHLOE
What the hell had I been thinking agreeing to this date? It must have been the fiftieth time I questioned my mental capacity since yesterday. Normally, I did due diligence before I agreed to a first date.
I stared at my reflection as I applied my moisturizer and went through my mental list of what I did know about him.
I knew his name. Bradley Calhoun. He was from a local family and Marilyn vouched for him. Marilyn wouldn’t steer me wrong and no doubt had known Brad when he was in school, same as she did everyone else under the age of fifty. He had a solid job—the main arborist for the only tree-cutting company in the township, hell, in the region. Arborists made good money. Best of all, he wasn’t self-employed, which, compared to my ex, was a big check mark in the yes column of my dating checklist. Marilyn had also assured each of us that the other was single, so another check mark in his favor.
I thought about the results—or lack of results—about him on my social media search for his name as I applied my foundation. Either he went under some weird nickname like BigWood6969 or he wasn’t on Facebook, X, Instagram or TikTok. Which was a possibility, I supposed. I wished I knew some of his friends, could ask someone for… Pondering that took me from my concealer, bronzer, powder and blush, before I paused with my eyeliner hovering over my left eyelid.
What was I doing? Interviewing him for a job? Expecting him to hand me a resume or references? Or should I look at dating a lot more prudently this time around?
What interview questions would I ask someone who might want the position of my boyfriend? I scoffed at the word boyfriend. I didn’t want to date a boy. I wanted a man. Someone responsible. Who paid his bills. Who could be relied upon. Trusted.
When I’d met Tony, I’d let my heart lead the way and ignored what my brain had been niggling over as little red flags. I’d dated a fair amount before I’d met him, but something about Tony’s positivity, his outgoing nature, his talkative charm, had hooked me.
Initially, I’d been impressed by his air of worldliness. Tony had impressed me with his confidence in his own ability, that he owned his own home renovation business and could fix a faucet, which a lot guys these days can’t do.
I got taken in by his flashy latest-generation tech (that I’d later learned had been a fake), and his flashy truck (that turned out to have been purchased on a loan that never got repaid) with his company’s logo on the side. I thought they were signs that he was successful, that he managed his money well. Which is why I’d taken the leap and moved in with him. Or why I’d let him move in with me, and why we’d gotten married shortly after.
I trusted him when he’d convinced me to move to a new town a hundred miles away a year later, because it had so many business opportunities for home renovation, only for him to hit on an even better business opportunity halfway across the province before the ink on our rental agreement was dry.
So we’d moved again, and again, and I’d given up job after job, but I told myself that I loved him and that someday we’d settle down. Which we finally did about seven years later, staying in the same location for over a year and I’d found a job I loved. I’d been able to use my business degree and I was about to get a promotion in the city’s building service division. I was starting to think of kids and picket fences, though it turned out Tony didn’t have time for personal home repair, always keeping busy with his various opportunities.
I should have seen the writing on the wall. I should have known that one day, I’d come home to find my ex’s latest truck winched onto the back of a tow truck by a repo guy, and another tow truck waiting to repossess my little sedan. Worse were the police spread out through our rented house, where I’d discovered only my clothes remained in the closet, and all of Tony’s belongings were missing, with no sign of Tony anywhere.
The neighbors’ phone cameras had captured the moment the police led me, handcuffed and sobbing, across the lawn to push me into the back of one of their vehicles as if I were the criminal. While I sat in the interrogation room, appalled and confused as the police accused me of being an accomplice to Tony’s fraud, my neighbors posted the video to all the social media sites, videos that were picked up and played over and over again on the local news, and the not-so-local news. It was only then I learned that for the whole time I’d known him, Tony had been ghosting clients while pocketing checks worth thousands of dollars—in one case, a hundred thousand—in every town we’d lived in. Because the office where I worked oversaw building and work permits, they assumed I’d provided the permits for all the shoddy work he had done there.
I was still paying off the debts from hiring an attorney to defend me—successfully, though many of Tony’s victims weren’t convinced, despite the judge’s ruling. Oh, and I mustn’t forget the cost of the divorce attorney. Luckily, my lawyers had ensured I wasn’t responsible for all the debts Tony had run up or for paying Tony’s legal bills after he was sentenced to four years for multiple counts of fraud.
I found it ironic that I was still struggling with the debts he’d caused while he walked free as a bird after serving eight months.
Sometimes I felt like I’d never be free. But one thing was true.
I was free to date Brad Calhoun if I wanted. Since he worked for John Chisholm and got the seal of approval from Mrs. B, I knew for sure Brad wasn’t a fraudster or a wheeler-dealer. There was no way John would keep anyone on if they were doing shoddy work, and Brad had apparently lived in Port Paxton all his life. He wasn’t running from town to town, two steps ahead of his angry clients and the banks, and eventually the cops.
Time to stop second-guessing myself. Time to move on and prove to myself I was worthy of better.
Was Brad better? So far that seemed to be a sound yes. With a flurry of “but what ifs” bouncing around in my brain, I plucked my keys from the hook by the door, pulled on my coat, and headed to what might be a great night, or might not, but I chose to aim for the former rather than the latter.
brAD
Even though I’d arrived a half hour early, The Alleys’ parking lot was already filled, so I’d ended up across the road in the grocery store’s lot.
After a quick check in the rearview mirror to make sure there was nothing stuck between my teeth—yes, I’d brushed my teeth, flossed and used the mouthwash, but I’d been caught out before with some errant piece of whatever I’d eaten for lunch that day. That misadventure had cost me a potential first date. I’d stood up to greet her, smiling broadly, she took one look at me, and strode away.
Strangely enough, it had happened right here at The Alleys, but my first first date had taught me to be vigilant about my oral hygiene. Future experiences had taught me to ensure my shirt had all its buttons and that they were done up correctly, socks had no holes, and to be careful about not intimidating my potential love interest by looming over her.
The Alleys used to be a five-pin bowling alley with about a dozen lanes, but business disappeared. The building got sold and the new owners turned it into the bar. While they’ve kept four lanes, with actual working ball returns and pin setters, they’d converted the rest into a bar and restaurant. In the summer, there’s a small dance floor with a DJ, though this time of year, it’s empty and the music is piped in through an intercom system that really isn’t great. Having dated one of the bartenders a few times, I learned that the music is dependent on the head bartender’s smart phone. Tonight we were serenaded with golden oldies, 60s and 70s rock like The Beatles, Stones, a few Gordon Lightfoot songs, along with Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” which got played every time I’d come in, no matter who was in charge of the playlist.
Because I’d arrived early, I’d had the good luck of snagging a booth with a window overlooking the parking lot so I could see the moment Chloe appeared, walking along the sidewalk from downtown.
The work boots she’d been wearing yesterday had been replaced with a pair of black boots that looked like Doc Martens. While her red top draped loosely over her chest, her black pants accentuated her curvaceous butt and muscular legs.
Before she’d entered The Alleys, Chloe spotted me through the window—probably because I held up my hand in acknowledgment. I half rose as she seated herself. Her gaze flicked over me, gauging my plaid flannel shirt—okay, it’s cliché attire for an arborist, but it was comfortable. It didn’t have any holes, and best of all, it was clean.
“Hey.” Her beaded earrings that dangled darned near down to her shoulders caught the light as she glanced around the restaurant area. “Have you been waiting long?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
She glanced pointedly at my nearly finished beer and raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, I got here about twenty minutes ago and I felt like I had to order something before they kicked me out.”
“Twenty minutes? Is that normal for you, or were you that desperate for a beer?”
“It’s my first.” And now would be my last. “I got here early because I wanted to make sure I got a good booth.” Should I point out that I’d been here enough times that I’d discovered this booth was in the quietest part of the restaurant, so you could hold a regular conversation without shouting?
She studied the menu, then closed it and noted my still closed menu.
“I already looked it over.” I frowned. I decided not to use the old Come here often phrase because I did come here a lot and hadn’t seen her here before. It boggled my mind that she’d been in town for over a year, yet I hadn’t run into her or seen her. Normally I couldn’t walk down the street or go to a restaurant in Port Paxton without meeting someone I knew, or who knew me.
As if on cue, the waitress hurried over and took Chloe’s order—the Five Pin Burger, hold the onion, with veggies on the side, along with a ginger ale. On a separate bill.
Nadine shifted to face me. “What’ll you have this time, big guy? Your usual?”
What the hell was Nadine playing at? I had tried nearly everything on the menu at least once, so my only usual was that I came here a lot. “I’ll have the Ten Pin Burger with all the fixings,” I reconsidered, and added, “hold the onions—” who wanted to kiss a guy who smelled of red onions? Not that I expected to kiss Chloe tonight but a guy could have hope “—and a side of the pulled pork poutine.”
Nadine’s, “Sure thing, Brad,” as she gathered our menus had Chloe raising her eyebrow at me. “Okay, you caught me. I come here a lot but for the record, I don’t have a usual.”
The sound of someone rolling a ball down one the four remaining alleys rumbled its way across the room, followed by the smash of the ball hitting pins, and a shout of “Strike!”
To change the topic from my dining out habits or my hope that I might get to kiss her tonight, I gestured with my head toward the alleys. “D’you bowl?”
She shook her head, which set her earrings in motion, catching the light, then frowned. “A couple times. I used to bowl five pin as a kid, and ten pin a few times when I was in university, but it’s not my thing. You?”
I was an open book, and I found it paid in any kind of relationship not to act like you had anything to hide. “My parents enrolled all of us in a league when we were kids.” They’d started me in kindergarten. I thought I was all grown-up because I got to play like my brother and sisters. “I think it kept us out of their hair on Saturday mornings. Gave them a bit of a break.”
“All of us?”
Before I could answer, our food arrived. Chloe stopped talking and leaned back in the booth as Nadine set the plates on the table, along with Chloe’s drink. Once we were alone, I finished what I was saying, fiddling with the burger and wondering the best way to bite into it without getting any crumbs or condiments stuck in my beard.
“Yeah, I’m one of five. Two older sisters, and older brother, and a younger sister.” I turned it back on her, since it seemed to be the order of the day. “You?”
“I’m an only.” She speared a piece of broccoli, ate it, and asked, “So that makes you…the fourth?”
I shrugged and squeezed the burger a little so it would fit in my mouth easier. “Yes. And youngest son.”
“Does that make you more spoiled or less?”
I snorted. “My brother claims that I was more spoiled than him, but he got a lot of perks I didn’t.” I spread out one hand in a “who knows” gesture while balancing the burger in the other.
I wondered if my sisters knew Chloe. I needed to hit them up for details if they did.
As if really interested in what I had shared, she shifted forward in the seat and asked, “That’s a lot of kids for these days. As one of the younger ones, did you feel like your parents still had time for you or…?”
I carefully bit into my double burger as I considered her question. “Never really thought about it.” I took another bite and chewed slowly, trying to figure the motive behind her questions. Was it to find out more about me or to avoid talking about herself? “I don’t feel like I was ignored. Both my parents worked, so my elder sisters were in charge of us a lot, but I had a lot of friends so I was usually out playing with them when I wasn’t in school.”
A pattern had definitely formed. Whenever I asked her a question, she gave me short answers or deflected the question back to me. I wasn’t used to a woman of few words—not because she was a woman, but because every person in my family talked a lot. Which made me wonder if she didn’t trust me or if she was a really private person?
We turned our attention to our food, allowing the conversation to pause. Once she finished her salad, she pushed the plate to the side, excused herself and headed toward the washrooms. I will admit I checked her side of the bench to ensure she had left her sweater and wasn’t planning to flee out the back door.
Some people might think the conversation was going great. Except when we were busy eating, there hadn’t been much lull in the back and forth, but I was unsatisfied. This wasn’t just about me. I wanted to get to know her better. To make a good impression. I needed to find a way to break through her defenses, to find some sort of connection. But how? I knew who I could ask, but wasn’t sure I should.
I pulled out my phone and pulled up the family chat on a message app my sisters had set up when we were planning a party for my mom’s sixty-fifth birthday a few years back.
Brad
Hey any of you around?
Shelly (my eldest sister)
What’s up?
Joy (my second oldest sister)
Sort of. I’m at work. What’s up?
Brad
I am on a first date but I’m finding conversation with her hard…
Before I hit send, I paused, re-read my message, backspaced to delete hard and changed it to difficult. I also debated mentioning Chloe’s name and asking if Shelly or Joy knew her. I decided against it—for now.
Brad
I need suggestions to get her to open up to me.
Shelly
Have you listened to nothing I’ve told you? Ask her about herself, doofus.
Brad
I did!
Shelly
Have you asked her if she has any hobbies? If she reads? If so, ask who’s her favorite author? Favorite book? Favorite movie? Does she have any pets? Would she want any in the future?
Cynthia (my younger sister)
Aww, what’s the matter, big fella? Does the tree surgeon have a case of weakened wood?
sends a photo of a limp carrot
Joy
Whatever you do, don’t send her a dick pick. Or even mention your dick. To any woman. It’s a huge turn-off.
Cynthia
Until you get to know them better. ;) Then sexting can be fun :D
Shelly
Will you never grow up, Cyn?
Cynthia
What’s the fun in that?
I know! Our widdle Bwadley’s got wangxiety!
sends a meme of a drooping dragon
Brad
Cyn, could you at least be helpful? I like this woman.
The moment I hit send, I knew I’d made a mistake and wished I could unsend it. Now my sisters would open up a private chat to discuss how to find out more information about who I was on a date with and how to get all the goods on Chloe, all without involving me.
Shit.
I was so involved in waiting for a response, I failed to notice Chloe returning. She gestured toward my phone as she slid back into the booth. “Checking me out on social media?”
I closed the app and stuck my phone in my pocket. “I’m not into that shit. No Facebook, no Twitter or whatever it’s called these days. I can’t be bothered.” I reconsidered, in the event she liked social media and I’d just called it shit, and admitted, “Though I am addicted to watching videos. You know those short ones people put up?”
“Let me guess, tree stuff?”
I nodded. I must be the most boring date ever. “And funny animal videos. Like that one of the dog chasing the chicken? Have you seen that one?” I stopped myself from pulling out my phone to show her. The way my luck was going it would open on the chat app and she’d read my sister’s comments. About her.
Instead, she muttered, “That explains a bunch.”
“What d’you mean?” Was it a bad thing I liked funny animal videos and didn’t know much about social media?
She bit back a sigh. “It means I checked you out online but came up empty.”
Of course she would have. What woman wouldn’t these days?
I leaned back on the bench and rolled my shoulders. “Here’s the quick and dirty. I’m thirty-four, never married.” Though I had been in a couple serious relationships that never made it to the altar for various reasons, but decided that wasn’t conversation for a first date. “I started out working for John as a groundsman straight out of high school. I realized I love to climb trees for a living, so I went for my arborist degree six years ago. I rent an apartment over a friend’s garage because who the hell can afford to buy a house these days unless your grandparents leave their house to you. I’ve never been arrested though I will admit to having a couple speeding tickets. For the record, I got them both the first year I got my license when I was young and stupid. My insurance rates have finally come back down to normal so I guess they consider me a safe driver now. Anything else you want to know about me?”
Her lips twisted to the side, considering. “Are you as tired of those stupid ‘how’s the weather up there’ comments as I am?”
I couldn’t stop my laugh, which is as big as I am tall, and had heads turning even out in the bowling alley section.
“Yup. As well as being exhausted with the questions about playing basketball, not needing a pole for high jump or running the hurdles being easy.”
The smile that warmed as I’d recited my tall guy pet peeves slowly cooled again. “I’m guessing you expect me to give you my CV now?”
“Your what?” Was that some new social media platform?
“Curriculum vitae.” She waved a hand to dismiss her explanation, whatever it meant. “Never mind. But heads-up—this date? Isn’t going to end up with us walking off into the sunset like a couple in some romance novel. There’s not going to be some white-hot whirlwind romance where we end up at the altar. I’m not in the market for a serious relationship. You clear?”
I didn’t think of myself as a romantic, nor as someone who considered marriage during a first date, though I never turned down an opportunity to tumble into bed when the offer presented itself. But her blunt warning made me wonder what I’d gotten myself into. Obviously, this woman had a history. Had been hurt. Still, I nodded. “Crystal clear.”
She flattened her hands on the table and stared at them, the nail polish sparkling in the light of the overhead LED, then curled her fingers into fists and shoved her hands beneath the table. “I’m divorced, have been for three years now. I’ve always thought of myself a smart person but I trusted my ex when I should have seen all the red flags he was tossing around. The last few months with him were…rough.” She held up a hand to stop me when I bristled. “Not physically—he never hit me. Not even verbally. In fact, he was one of the most attentive men I’d ever met. He could charm the rattles off a rattlesnake, he was so smooth. Which is probably why I’m cautious around people—not just men, but anyone. So if you think I’m too much work and want to walk away now, go ahead. No harm, no foul.”
Prickly. Wounded.
And vulnerable.
Whatever her ex had done to her made me want to string him up a tree, coat him with honey and leave him for the black bears and wasps to find.
“I don’t mind hard work. And I’m not going to pressure you about anything, Chloe. I’m just enjoying your company. I appreciate you being willing to share those things with me.”
After a long, uncomfortable silence while she seemed to be examining me for…something—trustworthiness?— she asked, “Have you done much travelling or are you home boy?”
While I wanted to reassure her more, if I could, maybe it was my best move to let her direct the conversation. The more we talked, the more she might feel comfortable sharing.
“I’ve been to Halifax when my eldest sister got married. I drove down again a couple years ago when they had their second kid. I love Nova Scotia, but from what Shelly tells me about their winters? Count me out.”
“I’ve never made it to the east coast. Or west. Mom used to mention it, but with my dad’s business taking up most of the summer, and Granddad’s business busiest in December, we never found the time.”
Interesting she didn’t mention the time she married. Guess her husband never took her anywhere either. Maybe they couldn’t afford it. Travel wasn’t cheap. But her admission gave me hope that she was relaxing.
“I’ve been to BC. When I was in tenth grade, my parents flew us out to BC to use up some of my dad’s travel points.” Technically they’d taken me, my brother Adrian and my younger sister Cynthia with them because Joy and Shelly weren’t living at home anymore, but I didn’t figure she needed that much detail. “I loved it there, especially the island and out by Whistler. I’d go back in a heartbeat. Try hiking around Tofino or Nanaimo. Climb some of their trees. They’re huge.”
She made a snorting laugh that had her clapping her hand over her mouth so I couldn’t quite make out what she said, but I’m pretty sure it was a “that’s what she said” joke. Instead, once she dropped her hand, she said, “You ever thought of going to live out there? Working for one of the logging companies?”
I shook my head. “Nah, my family’s here. Well, everyone but Shelly and her kids. Plus, I like being an arborist. I know you think all I do is cut down trees, but being an arborist is more than that. It’s saving them too.” Worried I might lose her if I launched into a recitation of exactly why I loved my job, I turned the question back on her again in hopes this topic was innocuous enough that she could share with me. “How about you? Have you travelled much?”
She stared out the window for so long, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. I contented myself in admiring how the glow from the parking lot lights accentuated her cheekbones, the curve of her lips. Finally, she faced me again, her lips staying curled up, giving me hope that I’d won her trust. “I’ve never had the chance to travel. I’ve wanted to. I’d love to see France. And England. And Italy. Maybe Iceland. My ex and I talked about taking a trip somewhere—I even got my passport, but then he decided either we couldn’t afford it right then, or there was some big project he couldn’t get away from.” Bitterness crept into her voice and her lips thinned. “There’d always be some reason. But one day I’ll get to travel. I have my passport so if the opportunity comes up, I’m set to go.”
“You’re a real-life Lucy Moderatz.”
She lowered her glass and stared at me, obviously confused. “Lucy who?”
“Lucy Moderatz. Or whatever her last name is. Sandra Bullock’s character in While You Were Sleeping .”
Her jaw dropped slightly before she sipped on her drink as if she were hiding behind the glass “You’ve watched While You Were Sleeping ? And you aren’t afraid to admit it?”
“Hey, I have two older sisters who controlled the TV when they babysat me. So yeah, I grew up on rom-coms. For the record, While You were Sleeping is a Christmas classic. I also like Clueless, Sleepless in Seattle, Sweet Home Alabama and Legally Blonde . Full disclosure, I also like Hot Fuzz , the original Star Wars movies, the entire Terminator series, Zombieland . Shaun of the Dead… ” I let my sentence die off. Would she prefer movies like Dead Poets Society or something classier?
“And?” Chloe prompted.
Damn it. I dug through my memory for another movie title but came up blank. Eventually I blurted, “ Shawshank Redemption .”
That should be acceptable, shouldn’t it? It was from a Stephen King book, and that was literature.
Her eyes narrowed. “Is this first-date fodder you’re feeding me, when you’d really rather watch football or baseball all weekend?” She grimaced. “Or golf.”
I grimaced in return. “I only watch golf when I want to have a midafternoon nap. For sports, I prefer baseball,” I explained. “But I don’t watch all the games. A friend of mine, Nick, is friends with Dante Wood. So he gets Nick tickets whenever his team plays the Blue Jays and sometimes Nick invites me.”
At her blank expression, I explained. “Dante Wood? He’s from Toronto? Plays in the big leagues down in Texas.”
I stopped. Chloe Pogue. My friend was Nick Pogue. It wasn’t an unusual name but to know two people from the same part of the province with the same last? Couldn’t be coincidence, could it? “Wait a minute. By any chance are you related to Nick Pogue?”
“Yeah, he’s my second cousin.” She frowned. “Or cousin once removed. I never could figure that out. My grandfather’s brother was his grandfather.”
Her shoulders hunched, and something in her expression hardened. Was it that she didn’t like Nick, didn’t like me knowing Nick or…what had happened? What had I triggered when mentioning her cousin?
“Huh. Small world.”
First thing once this date was done, I’d be texting Nick to find out Chloe’s backstory, and all about her snake-charming ex.