21. CHLOE
21
CHLOE
“Hello?” I grimace into my phone, sitting up in bed. Kicking at the foreign sheets, my eyes barely open.
“Chloe Henry? Hello, this is Jonathan, your landlord. Are you able to meet me at your apartment in thirty minutes? I’ve reviewed the damage and need to walk you through it.”
Jonathan is an older gentleman, easily in his sixties, spry for his age. He’s owned the building for years, and up until this year, I hadn’t interacted with him. Now it’s an on-and-off again relationship between him, me, and my bathroom pipes.
I rub my hands over my sleepy eyes.
“Yeah, sure. I can be there.”
Jonathan doesn’t respond. He grunts and hangs up.
I release a deep exhale, pulling back the covers. I climb out of bed, changing into a pair of black leggings and an oversized black sweater. From my duffle, I dig out a pair of Vans, having to throw out my water-logged sneakers from yesterday. I don’t even want to think about what could have potentially been in that water.
Cal’s door is open when I step into the hallway. Debating whether to dip my head in, see if he’s there—or to snoop—when the sound of a cabinet closing rumbles downstairs.
My phone vibrates. Spinning it around, Emerson’s name lights up the screen and my face. She’s been gone barely two weeks and I miss her.
EMME: Checking in! How was your sleepover with Cal?
There was NO sleepover. I stayed in the guest room.
EMME: : (
EMME: Come on, you know you want to at least once AND that he would comfort you in your time of need
Not true
EMME: sure…
BTW, I’m fine, going to my apartment now to find out the damage
EMME: Call me after 3 I can search apartments or whatever you need.
I find Cal sitting at the counter. A cup of tea in one hand, the newspaper in the other. He places the paper on the white marble, licking his finger, and then turning the page.
He’s extremely handsome. Rugged facial features and sandy blond hair recently trimmed close to his head. A dimple in his right cheek. Cal could have been pulled out of a GQ edition of Home and Garden sitting there. His dark jeans and gray T-shirt are fitted to his body.
Maybe another sleepover—with zero clothes—wouldn’t hurt. Chloe, focus—apartment .
“Good morning,” I say as I walk up next to him. Pulling out the bar stool and plopping down on it.
“Morning.” He sets down his mug. “Sleep well?”
“Restless.” I catch his eyes, concerned that I wasn’t comfortable. The bed was comfy, but I couldn’t get my mind to turn off. “It happens sometimes,” I quickly add for his assurance.
“And now?” I pop a shoulder. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“Yeah, actually.” I turn my body to face him, pulling my feet up to rest on the bar under the chair. “Would you come with me to my apartment? My landlord called and has an update but wants to meet in person. I figured that since you are in the building space, you’ll–”
He cuts me off with a small and quick laugh. “Building space? Yeah, you need me to come.”
“Are you sure?” I immediately backtrack, guilt swarming. “There’s a chance it could end up being an all-day affair if I need to pack it all up.”
“And if it is, I don’t mind spending all day with you.” Callum smiles casually.
“I bet you have other, more important plans than me,” I hesitantly reply. I should be accepting his yes for help, but for some idiotic reason, I’m trying to give him a way out. The last time I asked for help didn’t end well.
I really hope he doesn’t say no.
“None are as important as you.”
“What about if I say we need to leave now.” I give him a quick, tight smile.
“Still more important.” He finishes off his tea.
“And if I say you’re buying coffee?”
He calls after me as I jump off the stool to grab Tucker’s leash. “Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”
** *
“Five to six months?” You’ve gotta be kidding me.
“What did you expect?” Jonathan asks.
Obviously, not that. A week? Two? Maybe a month, tops. How long does it really take to fix a bathroom? Where’s this information in home ec classes?
My face falls at the confirmation that my apartment is practically ruined.
At minimum, it’s going to take three months to dry out and redo the floors, baseboards, and the ceiling. Not to mention that they need to locate the pipe at fault in my upstairs neighbor’s apartment.
Jonathan went on to explain the remaining months will be for the bathroom renovation and any plumbing updates he will need to make. He uses big words I don’t understand, that go in one ear and right out the other, my brain filtering through the damage of my personal items.
Thank goodness Callum is here. He’s asking all the right questions, dumbing down the parts I pull confused faces on, and keeps a supportive hand on my back.
According to Jonathan, I’m lucky I caught it when I did.
Yeah, okay.
Tell that to the legs of my couch, soaked completely through. Or my brother’s piano. Or the laundry I was doing before taking Tucker on a walk. My clothes in a pile on the floor outside the stacked laundry smell worse than Tucker does when he’s gone swimming in Lake Michigan.
Lucky me.
“You do have the option to live here after the place is dried out and we can confirm there are no signs of mold. The shower won’t be functional, but the toilet and sink will.”
I close my eyes, rolling my shoulders back. Inhale and exhale, Chloe. It could be worse.
Have you ever seen that movie Inside Out? You know Anxiety and when she’s running in a circle too fast and uncontrolled. That is what happens when my anxiety decides to take the wheel. My entire emotional control room shoots off sirens, overwhelmed, and then I don’t know how to do anything but try to feel everything at once.
And it doesn’t end well.
Callum must sense my tenseness, probably observing the way my shoulder blades pinch, jaw tightening. He returns to my side and places a hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing it twice. My muscles unfurl, feet flattening.
“I can’t stay here without a shower.”
“Sponge bath! Don’t knock it till you try it,” Jonathan suggests.
My head moves from side to side, eyes wide and brow furrowing.
Jonathan says something else, but I don’t catch it, as he wanders out of the apartment with barely a goodbye.
Somehow, I don’t believe it’ll be six months.
I think I’m going to need to find a new apartment. Add it to my list of goodbyes.
“Do you think Liam would put me up too?” I ask Cal as we slip on our coats.
Even though it’s comforting to not be in this situation alone, my neighbor is also needing to relocate, I hate that they’re going through this too. I already asked—more like forced Cal. I wouldn’t take no for an answer—if there is a way Hayes Hotels can put them up in a room for the time being. Their unit didn’t have as much damage.
“It’s my hotel too ,” Cal says with an underlying bite. “And we wouldn’t mind, but you’re staying with me.”
“ I can’t intrude on you. ”
“You aren’t if I’m offering, and I believe I did. I told you last night, I want you there.” He raises a brow at me, flashing a smile that screams, come on, Henry, let’s be roomies.
The smug grin doesn’t disappear while he watches me chew on the offer.
“Okay.” I don’t want to fight with him on this.
“No rebuttal?”
“Nope, but don’t push it, or I’m fake dumping you.”