Chapter 10
This Year
C HLOE WAKES BEFORE THE rest of the house. The night before, they sat in the rooftop bar of Bud & Alley’s and watched the sunset as they ate smoked Gouda pimiento cheese, crabcakes with arugula and fennel salad, and drank a steady stream of watermelon margaritas. After dinner, Marianne needed to go back to the house to pump, and Chloe quickly joined her. She was happy to leave as everyone else was debating where to grab drinks. Wyatt wanted to stay at Bud & Alley’s because it was easy. Sloane wanted to take everyone to Neat for their custom craft cocktails. And Alden and Luke wanted to go to some hidden bar in a gas station. Chloe had skipped the argument, using Marianne as an excuse to escape and go to bed early.
But now she’s awake while everyone else sleeps off their hangovers. Except Marianne, who’s been asleep for ten hours and seems to be stockpiling rest while she’s away from her baby.
Chloe throws on her yoga pants and a sports bra and takes one of the mats Sloane stores under the stairs. She plans on heading out to the beach to stretch before the sun is too high, but she sees a steady stream of people walking toward the amphitheater in the center of town and her curiosity wins. She leaves the mat propped by Sloane and Alden’s front door, grabs her bag, and follows the growing crowd.
It’s a giant farmers market, full of locals and tourists moving from one stand to another. Chloe smiles as she moves between the stalls. Jars of pickled green beans and boiled peanuts are next to homemade soaps, the scents of lavender and rosemary tickling Chloe’s nose.
She samples the plump strawberries and juicy peaches and buys some of both to take back to the house. The sun beats down on her skin, but she’s cooled by the breeze coming off the Gulf of Mexico.
At the end of the market, there are several artists selling their work, mostly beach scenes and wooden bird carvings. Chloe shifts her produce purchases from one shoulder to the other as she navigates between the artists’ booths, surveying their work.
She stops at a booth of oil paintings, mostly unframed canvases hanging from metal hooks on the rails of a pop-up tent. The paintings are of the same location, a beach scene, but the colors subtly shift from one canvas to the next. As Chloe examines the paintings, she realizes she’s watching the sun rise as she moves around the tent.
“What do you think?” a woman asks, approaching Chloe.
“Are you the artist?” Chloe asks.
The woman extends her hand. “Ashley Tyler.”
She’s at least a decade older than Chloe, dressed in loose linen overalls splattered in paint, with tanned arms and dark hair pulled into a simple ponytail.
Chloe shakes Ashley’s hand and turns back to the painting in front of her. “Your brushwork is so delicate,” Chloe says. “The way you created the cloud line mirroring the ocean. It’s really perfect.”
“Thanks,” Ashley says, beaming. “Are you an artist?”
Chloe shakes her head. “I just really like paintings.” Chloe wonders why she still feels a pain in her chest every time she admits that she’s not an artist. “I work at a gallery,” she says, taking a deep breath and trying not to dwell on major life regrets while shopping at a farmer’s market. “It’s called the Wick, in Washington, DC.”
Ashley’s eyes widen. “Yeah, I’ve heard of the Wick,” she says, nervously laughing.
“I just work in installations. But I could pass along your name to the director. If you’d like.”
“Are you kidding me?” Ashley quickly grabs a business card and shoves it in Chloe’s direction.
“I’m serious,” Chloe laughs.
“I’m selling a couple of paintings at a farmers market that I did during my kid’s nap time, and you want the director of one of the best galleries in the country to take a look at them?”
“Yep,” Chloe says, smiling at Ashley’s card. There’s a splatter or paint on it and Chloe doesn’t think it’s intentional. “I can’t make any promises. Our exhibits are usually more established artists. But if my boss Sylvia likes your work, she’ll connect you with the right people.”
“This feels like a prank,” Ashley says.
“It’s not. Do you have another card?” Chloe asks, knowing that Sylvia can be unfairly judgmental.
“Of course. You can have all my cards.” Ashley starts reaching deep into a giant, messy bag.
“Just one will do.” Chloe takes the clean card and slips it into her bag before waving goodbye.
“Thanks for stopping by,” Ashley says.
Chloe winds her way back through the vendors. She buys a smoothie and heads toward the house. But she’s not ready to talk to her friends yet. And she also doesn’t want Sloane catching her with outside, unapproved food when there is likely some elaborate breakfast planned.
Instead, Chloe makes her way to the beach to enjoy the quiet.
Even though she’s been there for two days, she’s still surprised by how private the beaches are. It’s still early, but Chloe basically has the sand to herself, with the exception of one runner jogging along the shoreline. She sits on the beach and runs her hand through the fine-sugar sand, drawing letters with her finger, just like she used to as a girl.
She keeps thinking about the artist from the farmers market and how Ashley said she created those paintings in stolen moments during her daughter’s nap time. It’s a comforting thought for Chloe. That maybe dreams can be dormant and come back to life when they are needed most.
The jogger, with his steady gait, veers away from the water and starts heading in Chloe’s direction. As he gets closer, it’s clear who it is, even behind his dark sunglasses. He’s covered in sweat, his bare chest glistening in the morning sun, and Chloe holds up her hands as he approaches.
“Do not stink up my square of beach with your cardiovascular efforts, Wyatt.”
Wyatt tosses his phone next to Chloe, turns around, and runs into the ocean, diving under the waves. He surfaces and shakes his dark hair like a shaggy dog and walks back up to Chloe.
“All clean,” he says as he plops next to her on the sand.
“I thought I was the only one up,” she says.
“Nah.” He leans back on his elbows and digs his feet in the sand. “I saw you head out this morning and gave up on trying to sleep.”
“Is the bed too fancy for you?”
“Something like that.” Wyatt doesn’t elaborate and Chloe doesn’t pry. Her head is already full of too many secrets.
“Where did you guys end up drinking?” she asks.
“Where do you think?” His mouth pulls into a half smile.
“Wherever Sloane wanted you to go.”
“Correct. We went to Neat. The drinks were very good and very fancy, and after Alden spilled half of his down the front of his shirt, it was easy to convince Sloane that we needed a more casual place for the rest of the night. We ended up at Redd’s Fueling Station and closed the place down.”
“How are you up running?”
“I stopped drinking early.” Wyatt shrugs as he continues. “It looked like there might be some babysitting needed. Plus, I got some excellent footage of Alden and Luke singing with the band. Want to see?”
“Absolutely.”
Wyatt hands Chloe his phone, and she scrolls through the videos and pictures he took the night before. Alden and Luke were in prime form, re-creating their signature moves from senior spring karaoke sessions. Chloe almost wishes she’d stayed out.
“Did you and Marianne have a wild time with her pumping machine?” Wyatt asks.
“Crazy night. You really missed out.”
“Maybe I did,” he says earnestly.
She leans over and elbows his side, the salt water and sand from his body now lingering on her own.
“Where have you been this morning?” he asks.
“There’s a farmers market in town.”
“Get anything good?”
She hands him her bag of fruit and he reaches for a peach and takes a bite, the juice dripping down his chin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, rotates the peach and finishes it off in a second bite. “Delicious,” he says.
“There was an artist there,” Chloe says. “She was pretty good. She painted this whole series during her daughter’s naps.”
“If you care about something, you make the time,” Wyatt says.
“I know.”
“How is your series coming along?”
She looks over her shoulder. “That’s supposed to be a secret.”
He leans back on the sand and laughs. “There’s literally no one else out here. How is your painting going, Chloe?”
The night of her birthday, Chloe had invited Wyatt back to her apartment and showed him what she’d been doing for the last year. For the first time since college, she was painting again. She wasn’t sure why she’d picked up a paintbrush, but once she did, she found it hard to stop. Her painting kept her company on nights alone, and then her painting became more exciting than the idea of any night out.
“It’s going well,” Chloe understates. Because the truth is, her latest series of watercolors is quickly becoming the most important thing in Chloe’s life. But that isn’t an admission she’s ready to make. “Please don’t bring it up around anyone else,” she whispers.
“You can trust me, you know that,” Wyatt says.
Chloe nods because, despite the ups and downs in their relationship, Wyatt is right. He’s always been trustworthy.
“Why are you scared to tell everyone?” Wyatt gently asks. “You should be proud.”
“Because it’s a hobby. Not a job.”
Wyatt’s eyes narrow. “I’m pretty sure your entire job is based around other people taking their artwork seriously.”
“I mean for me. I handle installations. I’m not a painter.”
“Who told you that?”
“Everyone. My entire life.”
“Liar. You grew up in California. Surrounded by artists.”
“Yes, but this life,” Chloe says, motioning around, “the world I entered when I went to Mayfield, is not like home.”
“You let the Mayfield bubble dictate how you spent your life?” Wyatt asks.
“I was already different enough. I wanted to fit in,” Chloe admits to Wyatt, and maybe to herself too.
“How does giving up something you love help you fit in?”
Chloe takes a deep breath, reflecting before she answers. Then she tells Wyatt a story. One she hasn’t told anyone else, not even Luke.
“Do you remember when Luke’s parents came to visit for homecoming junior year?” Chloe begins.
“Yeah,” Wyatt says. “They took us out to that ridiculous tasting menu. Alden was puking red wine the next day.”
“And Luke’s mom had to leave twice to take conference calls,” Chloe adds. Luke’s mother is a top litigator at an Atlanta firm, and despite almost a decade with Luke, Chloe never fully relaxed in his mother’s presence.
“There was a painting on the wall by the restroom at that fancy restaurant,” Chloe says. “I was studying it and bumped into her.”
“Did she say something?” Wyatt asks.
“She asked if I liked it. I said something about the perspective of the horizon line. Then she asked me if I painted.” Chloe closes her eyes, remembering a moment that seemed to shift so much in her life. “I na?vely said yes and started rattling off dreams about life as an artist.”
“You were twenty, Chloe. You should have been full of dreams. You should still be full of dreams.”
Chloe shrugs. “Luke’s mom said there are two types of people in life. The ones who create the art and always wonder if anyone likes it. And then the people who never have to wonder. Because they have the money to buy the art they like. ‘Never underestimate the power of money, even in matters of creativity,’ she said.”
“That’s bullshit,” Wyatt quickly replies.
Chloe turns and faces him, her legs crossed and her body leaning toward his face. “Is it?” She starts tracing letters in the sand again. “There’s a lot of truth in what she said. At least that’s been my experience.”
“What are you talking about? You’re around artists every day.”
“Yes, but all of them have made it. I’m not around artists like the woman at the farmers market.”
“So if you’re not successful, then there’s no point in creating something beautiful?” Wyatt asks as he turns and faces Chloe. Their faces are inches apart, their bodies tense.
“I wanted to be a part of Luke’s life,” she claims. “But Luke’s life is cocktail parties and entertaining clients. Showing up in T-shirts splattered with paint is not conducive to Luke’s life.”
But really, it started before the move to New York, subtle shifts so that Chloe could make herself more palatable to Luke’s world. She wanted a close relationship with Luke’s parents, and Luke’s mother expected perfection. Chloe changed the way she dressed, and she spoke less about her own projects and more about art as an investment, a topic Luke’s mother enjoyed. It was easy and Chloe was good at playing the role. She justified those changes as small sacrifices to make for love, but when she stepped back, she realized that all those tiny shifts added up to leaps away from where she began.
“Well, you aren’t a part of that life anymore,” Wyatt says defensively. His face pulls in a grimace and then softens.
“You’re right,” Chloe says, swallowing. “I’m not.”
“So are you going to keep painting?”
“I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out what I thought was expected and what I actually wanted. They’re not always separate.”
“I think you’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Wyatt says. Chloe wonders whether he’s only referring to her artwork. Or if he’s talking about their friendship too.
“Yes. I’m still painting,” Chloe says. “But I’m not talking about it yet. Because I’m not ready to wonder if anyone likes it. It’s just for me.”
“I like that life motto,” Wyatt says proudly.
“Me too.”
“And by the way, you don’t have to wonder with me. I like it. You are incredibly talented, Chloe.” He reaches out and brushes his hand over hers.
She looks down and sees their fingertips lightly touching as the rest of her body buzzes. “What do you even know about art?” she says in a breathy whisper.
“Maybe not much. But I know passion.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, that I believe.”
“I’m serious,” he says, drawing his brows together in a mock scowl that Chloe knows has elicited sighs from more than one woman. “Hear me out.”
“Okay, I’m trying to keep my serious face.”
Wyatt pulls his hand away from Chloe’s and rubs his jawline. She immediately misses his touch, even though she knows she shouldn’t. “Do you remember the first night we met?” he asks.
“At Waffle House?” she says, trying to focus on the conversation and not his body.
“Yeah. What do you remember about that night?”
“I remember fighting with you.”
“About art. You loved it so much you were willing to fight with a stranger about it.”
“It’s easier to fight with strangers.” Chloe sighs.
“Is that what happened? You didn’t want to fight with Luke about it?” he asks quietly, perhaps knowing it’s a question that crosses some invisible line.
“Luke and I never really fought,” she answers honestly.
“And you liked that?” There’s a genuine innocence to his question that invites a truthful answer, unafraid of the judgment that typically accompanies relationship postmortems.
“I thought I needed it,” she says. “But I lost a lot of myself so that I could avoid fights. Maybe now I’m realizing that you can fight and still love.”
“I think that’s definitely possible,” he says, smiling broadly before turning away. He looks out at the ocean when he says, “Show Sylvia your paintings.”
Chloe shakes her head. “No. Definitely not. Sylvia is too judgy,” she says, knowing her boss is one of the toughest critics in the industry. “I’m still not sure I’m going to show anyone.”
“Other than me,” Wyatt says, not trying to hide the twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes, other than you. You caught me in a moment of weakness.”
“Is that what that was?”
Chloe swallows. They are on an empty beach and, in that moment, it feels like they are the only two people in Florida, the heat radiating from Wyatt’s body making her burn. He reaches out and brushes his fingers against her cheek and she feels the redness creep up in her face.
“I don’t know what that was,” she whispers.
“Are we going to talk about it?” he asks.
Chloe can still feel the way Wyatt’s lips briefly brushed against hers that night. He came back to her apartment so that she wouldn’t spend her birthday alone. And somehow, they ended up standing in front of her bay window, the light flooding into her living room as she revealed the artwork she’d hidden from everyone else. They opened a bottle of champagne Chloe had been saving, and after they finished that, Chloe suggested one shot of tequila.
Maybe it was the vulnerability, exposing a part of herself hidden for so long. Because when Wyatt leaned down and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling their bodies together, his familiar lips entering unfamiliar territory as they met Chloe’s, she felt herself come alive for approximately two seconds before she realized what was happening. She jumped back quickly. Wyatt did the same. They mumbled excuses about tequila and bad judgment and accidental lip connections. And then they pretended it never happened.
It was an almost kiss with no discussion. No dissection the next day. Just two electrified bodies that bounced against one another. We shouldn’t , Chloe had said. You’re right , Wyatt had agreed. It shouldn’t have felt like a betrayal after a year of being broken up, but they both knew it was.
Chloe shifts, leaning forward, and Wyatt mimics her actions, not letting their faces have more than a few inches of distance.
“Can we skip the talking?” Chloe swallows.
Wyatt lights up in a smile. “As much as I’d like to do that, we probably do need to talk.”
“Have you said anything to Luke?”
He shakes his head. “There’s nothing to say. Besides, I think this is between us. I’d never talk to anyone else before you, Chloe.”
Relieved by his answer, she flashes a quick smile. “Wyatt, I need to work things out with Luke. Not just because it’s important to me, but because it’s important to the whole group. I put it off for a year. I kept thinking things would magically work out, but clearly they haven’t. Luke has to be my priority this week.”
“Of course,” Wyatt says, and Chloe watches as his entire body alters, connection replaced with stiffness. And she returns to the mindset she’s embraced all week. Regret. Regret. Regret.
“We should probably head back,” he says, an automatic quality to his voice as he stands.
He extends his hand to Chloe, pulling her up. She weaves their fingers together and she’s grateful for the smile he returns. Wyatt should expect more, but for now he seems to accept what Chloe is capable of giving.
Thunder cracks, forcing them to break eye contact as they both examine the sky. Up one end of the beach, the sun is bright and the sky is a cloudless blue. But the other direction is an ominous gray, full clouds melting into a purple horizon.
Standing in the middle, neither of them has time to speak before the clouds open and sheets of rain pour down.
Chloe stares upward and starts laughing. At how quickly things change. At the universe’s sense of humor.
“Should we make a run for it?” Wyatt says.
Chloe shrugs. “You’re already soaked from your swim in the ocean. I don’t mind the rain,” she shouts over the downpour.
“White was a good choice,” Wyatt says, eyeing Chloe’s top.
Chloe looks down, her clothes plastered to her body and on the pathway to ridiculously indecent. “Okay. Maybe we should run.”
Wyatt picks up Chloe’s bag of fruit, and they dash toward the house. The sand is soft farther up the beach, making a run almost impossible. She sinks and loses her footing, but his strong arm is quickly there to steady her movement. Her breath hitches at the feel of their wet bodies pressed together as they are surrounded by sheets of warm coastal rain.
By the time they reach Sloane and Alden’s house, there isn’t a dry spot on either of them. Chloe’s hair sticks to her back, droplets pooling on the entryway floor. They sheepishly stand on the doormat, knowing that this level of wetness is probably in violation of Sloane’s house rules.
Matching smirks are plastered on Wyatt and Chloe’s faces as they quietly shut the door behind them.
“We were wondering where you guys were,” Marianne says as she walks toward the kitchen with a mug of coffee.
“Got caught in the storm?” Alden absently asks while staring at his phone on the couch.
“Dry off. We’re going to play some games.” Sloane gestures toward a stack of towels in the entryway. Sloane’s arms are full of every board game imaginable, from Monopoly to Cards Against Humanity. She’s clearly well-prepared with a rainy-day itinerary.
When Chloe reaches out to grab a towel, she realizes she’s still holding Wyatt’s hand. She quickly disentangles their fingers, feeling the lingering electricity despite being thoroughly soaked. A blush creeps across her cheeks as she looks around the room, relieved to find that no one else seems to have noticed.
Chloe wraps a towel around her shoulders and walks toward the kitchen. She doesn’t see Luke standing on the stairs. And when Wyatt asks if Chloe will be on his team for Trivial Pursuit, she says, “Of course.”
No one notices Luke walking back to his room.