52. CHLOE
52
CHLOE
Itake my time in the shower, scrubbing away the sweat and massaging out the soreness consuming my body. My legs tingle and are limp in the best way possible. I have to lean against the shower stone to stay upright.
Cal told me to be ready by 6:30 before taking Tucker on a run. How his legs don’t have him horizontal after skating for the first time ever reminds me of the male specimen that he is.
Wrapping the heated plush terry cloth towel around me, there is a haunting sensation of when Cal did this. I close my eyes, bathing in the memory of his touch.
He holds the lighter that can ignite the candles of my fear in one hand. Instead he distinguishes them when I light them myself.
No one’s cared for me how Cal does.
No one’s held me how Cal does.
No one has ever made me feel as Cal does.
My chest tightens, heart straining against my rib cage. There’s a burst, an explosion, a switch flipped. All the emotions I’ve been sitting on finally make sense.
The person I’ve been completely ripped at the seams. No longer overflowing and oversaturated with the fear of loving someone and losing them.
There’s a chance I could lose Cal every day, but I don’t want that to be the reason I don’t love him. Because I do.
I love Callum.
SOS! Help!
Is anyone up?
Immediately, my phone buzzes, an invitation to a group FaceTime request pops up on my screen. The call opens to my platonic soul mate, Emerson.
“What’s wrong? Chloe, are you okay?” She’s throwing on clothes. Liam pulling out bags. “We can get on the plane in the next hour.”
“I’m okay, Emme,” I tell her, and she pauses.
“You SOS’d—”
“I need help picking out an outfit.”
She exhales, shoulders relax. “You scared me.”
“Who scared you?” Audrey asks as a square with her face appears on the screen.
“Probably Chloe. She can be quite scary,” Beatrix adds. “Sorry babe, intimidating.”
Audrey’s phone is propped up in front of her, blonde hair filling the screen. “Are you calling for the same reason my brother called?”
“Tell your brother to call me, Audrey! No one is telling me anything,” Liam says over Emerson’s shoulder.
“Call him yourself you big baby. I think Chloe and I have officially surpassed you and George as best mates,” Audrey jokes—sort of.
“Oh, piss off.” Liam huffs, storming out of their bedroom, mumbling to himself.
“You are my favorite!” Emerson calls to him, laughing.
“What are your options? Give us a fashion show.” Beatrix is rocking Sofia as she breastfeeds her.
I run through my options, putting them on and spinning so they can get the complete picture. Audrey and Emerson ooh and aww over each one. Beatrix’s face doesn’t show any sign of liking .
“You were uncomfortable in all those outfits,” Beatrix says, finally. “Why are you trying on outfits that aren’t you? It’s Cal.”
“I know. . . I just. . .”
“Haven’t you two been out before?” Audrey adds in.
“Yes, but. . .” Those were all fake or as friends. This is our first date. There’s a giddiness bubbling up in me, the same kind you get on your first day of school in elementary.
“You could wear a burlap sack and my brother would fall to his knees for you.” I could test that theory.
“Give me a closet tour,” Beatrix demands politely.
The girls help me pick out a better-suited outfit, helping me to not overthink the entire night. The leather mini skirt I wore when Audrey was here, tights that have Bite Me stitched into the ass, a lilac fitted sweater, an oversize leather bomber jacket, and platform combat boots that have dainty flowers on them. Beatrix picked out my accessories, making sure they paired with the bag Cal surprised me with for Valentine’s Day—he says it was to make up for the book. I laughed when I opened the bag and found another tabbed one for me.
Cal comes downstairs while I’m feeding Tucker.
“Hi, pretty girl.” His hand snakes around my waist, tugging me back into him. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of being in his arms, smelling him, or how my body comes alive when he kisses me. The way his accent tickles my ears and sends a shiver dancing down my spine. “You look beautiful.” He kisses my cheek and takes Tucker’s bowl from my hand, returning it to its spot on the raised feeder and replenishing his water.
“Not so bad yourself, Pretty Boy.”
“Ready to go?”
“No more surprises for the day, please.”
“None from me. Unless you have anything up those sleeves.”
“Only a game plan for how you can ruin my lipstick later,” I smirk. “Let's go, boyfriend .”
** *
Cal sheds his coat, draping it over the arm not occupied with holding me. He’s always holding me now. I’m not sand, I won’t slip through his fingers, but I can tell by the way his hand is in mine, he might believe I am—and I thought I was the one with abandonment issues.
“Do you want me to take your coat?”
He drops my hand, helping me slip out of the sleeves, laying it on top of his. I readjust my purse on my shoulder and flatten my sweater.
Cal finds my hand again, interlocking our fingers.
I’ve always thought life was one big puzzle, with the people you meet and the experiences you have all being pieces. You can spend your whole life collecting them and organizing them to see what fits where. I’ve tried a lot of pieces to find the one that fits perfectly. Piece after piece, they were all wrong.
Rubbing my thumb over Cal’s knuckles, I glance up at him—he wore his glasses tonight and I feel as if I’m out with the blond Clark Kent. He’s so handsome—and it settles over me that he’s the right piece.
Walking into the next exhibit, we stop at the different card markers to learn about the species of plants. I know I told him no more surprises, but a perfectly planned and executed date doesn’t count.
We took the train two blocks from our place to Garfield Station and then walked hand in hand to Garfield Park Conservatory. I wanted to tell everyone we passed that Callum is my boyfriend. They’re hosting an adults only Plants After Dark.
Cal and I made our way through the outside grounds. They were lit up with string lights and glowing art displays. I’ve been here a few times, but never at night. My pace slowed from inside, coats returning to our bodies, but Cal never complained. He let me take my time, and I never saw him appear bored once.
Every so often, I’d peek over my shoulder or up at him and find him watching me. It was as if I was on display, the exhibit he’d pay an infinite amount of money to see. On the date alone, I knew he saw through me, who I am at my core, but standing there under his watchful gaze. . .
I’m seen.
I’m appreciated.
I’m understood.
I’m loved.
Tugging on his wrist, I pull him to me, my back resting on the side of a pavilion. A breeze dances through my hair, blowing the dark strands across my face. Cal pushes them behind my ear before putting his hand above my head. Rising on my toes, I softly kiss his lips, murmuring, “Thank you,” against them.
“What for?”
“For being you. You’re the best person I know.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He pulls my bottom lip into his. Pushing us further into the side and kiss. He takes advantage of the small gap between my lips, colliding his tongue with mine. Cal kisses me and it feels like a thank you. He’s kissed me before as if he could take away my pain, heal my scars, but this kiss is as if he’s thanking me for doing that. That somehow, together, as we’ve threaded ourselves to one another, we’ve stitched each other back together.
We finish strolling around the gardens and head out when an announcement rings that the conservatory is closing.
“We will have to come back in April when flowers bloom outside.”
“I’d like that.”
We take the opposite train back into The Loop.
“This isn’t too casual for you?” he asks as the guy hands us our hot dogs wrapped in paper .
It brought me back to the end of last summer when we attended Dime a Dog Night with Liam and Emerson. Cal told me he’d never had a hot dog before. I thought he was lying, trying to pull one over on me, but he wasn’t.
Who has never had a hot dog before?
At the concession stand, Emerson and I picked up ten. Bringing them back to our seats, she about dropped the tray, trying to climb over the stadium seats.
The three of us watched as Cal took his first bite. He gave it a five out of ten.
“Never,” I laugh. “It has to be illegal how good these are.” The initial bite is my favorite—the dogs are good on their own, but I prefer a little bit of mustard and then a lot of ketchup—and I pause to admire it before I indulge. “Not many stands carry celiac safe hot dogs,” I say with a mouthful.
“Probably started stocking them for you.”
“Nope. They’ve always had them. The owner also has celiac disease.”
Eating our dogs, we walk to The Hayes. Flynn has been working on a new cocktail menu and asked if we would come to sample the drinks.
When we enter The Cleopatra, the restaurant on the first floor is moody. After nine, the chandeliers are set to dim. Each table has a small light that customers can adjust to their preferences. Most tables in the restaurant's center are dark green velvet curved booths.
I snicker.
“What?”
“Booths the color of Emerson’s eyes?”
“You’ve never noticed?”
“I think I forget sometimes that Liam’s love for her is preserved in this place.”
Around the perimeter are tables that seat two, four, and six—chairs on one side and the same material booth on the other. Staff move around each other easily, delivering food and drinks to the lively crowd. The Cleopatra, named and designed after Emerson’s love for Cleopatra, has been open for a year and still has a wait of over two hours. They stopped taking reservations when the hotel opened and are now first come, first serve.
There are two barstools open at the bar—they have two—one for those who want to eat and drink and the other solely for drinks. Cal pulls out the chair, helping me into the high seat.
“Chloe. Callum,” Flynn greets us, pouring two glasses of water. “I appreciate you two stopping by. I have a round of drinks to finish making, and then I’ll be back.”
“Take your time.”
Fifteen minutes later, I think every employee stopped by and said hello to Cal.
Leaning into him, I ask, “Do you know everyone’s name?” Not once did he ask for their name; he knew it automatically.
Cal swallows his drink of water. “I do. I might not be their boss, but I still sign their paychecks. Knowing someone's name is the simplest way to show you care. To show you see them. One shift a week at a restaurant or full-time as an SVP, each employee deserves to know they are appreciated and respected.”
Sitting next to me is the man I’m falling in love with, but within him still is a little boy that wants to be noticed. That wanted to be loved. Even grown up, I know he still wants that, deserves that. Despite it all, here he is making sure that no one else feels as he did.
How did Cal turn out this way? Sweet, caring, genuine, respectful.
It makes me want to be better. How often did I blow off a coworker or the person making my coffee because I was having a bad day or in a rush? How hard is it to acknowledge their name, compliment them, or thank them? We’re all human, after all. We all want to be seen and loved.
“That’s special, Cal. Incredible.” My eyes are soft, weighed down by love for him. “I bet they love working here because of that. ”
Flynn returns with a tray of miniature cocktails. He gives us a rundown of each one and a sheet of paper for notes. Then leaves us to enjoy them. He didn’t want to hover and force us to like them because he was around.
Flynn makes us full size versions of our favorites after listening to our notes—which were minimal.
Cal spins our chairs to face each other, his knees sandwiching mine.
His blue eyes flare when he looks over my shoulder, and he coughs on his drink.
I pat his back. “You okay?” He shakes his head like nothing happened. “Cal.”
He takes a deep breath, shoulders bopping. “Seth is here.” I try to glance over my shoulder. “No. Don’t.” Cal stops me with a protective caress of his hand on my cheek.
“What is he doing here? Who is he with?”
“Umm.” He quickly ping-pongs his eyes from me to them, trying not to stare directly at them. “She has reddish pink hair. Magenta? Her back is to me. I can’t see anything else.”
He doesn’t need to, I know who that is. Tamara.
I get up from the chair.
“Where are you going?”
“To confront them.”
“Is that smart? Maybe they haven’t seen us, and they’ll leave soon.”
“Or could you have security kick them out?”
“Do you want me to?”
Do I? Would be funny.
Sighing, “No.”
“Okay, sit back down—” Cal doesn’t finish because we’ve caught their attention.
Seth and Tamara stand, drinks in hand, and walk over to us.
“Hey, Carlisle,” Seth greets. “Chloe. ”
“What are you two doing here?” Tamara asks the question that has me on alert.
“This is my hotel,” Cal says cooly. His collected personality on lock. “We’re testing new cocktail recipes.”
“On a date,” I butt in aggressively. “Also, it’s Callum.”
Tamara sticks her hand out and introduces herself. I raise a brow, giving her a poisonous glare as she bats her overly mascaraed eyelashes at Cal.
“Date?” Seth’s attention is on me. His gaze roams over my body, and I hate being in his spotlight. “Is this who you are living with?”
“Is this who you cheated on me with?”
“One of them,” Tamara cockily chimes in.
I stifle a self-deprecating laugh. I should have known.
I give myself a moment to try to understand why she’d be bragging about that. “Right, and how many were there?” At least two. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t care.”
I don’t. I realized I never acknowledged what he did to his face, and maybe this is the universe allowing me to do that. Seth got away with what he did without repercussions.
He is a manipulator.
Seth was more concerned with my reactions to what he said and did rather than focusing on what he did or how he treated me. That is manipulation—sounds a lot like what Cal’s mom has done to him.
I turn to Tamara. “When did you sleep with him the first time?”
She bites her lip, pretending to think hard about it. “The same event you met him at.”
“So the entire time we,”—I point between myself and Seth—"were together. And you know he cheated on me with other girls while you two were also sleeping together?” She nods. “Why are you with him? Do you have that little self-worth to be with someone who will never appreciate you?” I may not like Tamara or want to be her friend, but she deserves better.
Since when am I protective of Tamara? Have I gone soft ?
Seth is whispering in Tamara’s ear.
“Don’t listen to him. You are outspoken and determined. Don’t let that piece of shit sway you.” Now we’re turning the things that annoy you into positives about her. “Tamara.” She freezes.
Then turns and kisses Seth. I tried.
“Hey, you tried,” Cal whispers, then kisses my cheek. His hand is around my waist protectively, and he squeezes my side.
“I can’t believe I dated that asshole,” I say, not caring that Seth can hear.
They break their public display of infidelity. Pulling her behind him, Seth levels up in front of me.
“Dated me? What about dating you?” Seth laughs, each one a sharp dagger. “You’re a slut.” He keeps at his menacing laugh, words slurring together. “And a hypocrite. Getting mad at me for cheating when you were doing it the entire time. Did you blow him while I was in town?” His gaze lifts to Cal, whose fists are balled at his side behind me. “I should be thanking you for taking her off my hands, but I’m sorry.”
“Watch how you speak to her.”
“Speak to her? You know, there was only one way to shut her up. Even then, she was heartless and empty.”
Flynn comes up to the bar, and Cal nods at him. I’m assuming he’s communicating to get security.
“At least he knows how to shut me up better than you did.” Cal pinches my side. I know what Seth was insinuating and I shouldn’t react, but I’ve been known to have a short fuse. “Call me a slut again because when you point the finger at me, there’s three pointing back at you.”
“I’ll call you whatever I want, whore.”
“That’s it.” Cal steps around me. He bunches Seth’s shirt near his pec, pulling him to him. “It’s time for you to leave here and Chloe alone. Try to speak with her or cause shit again and I won’t be as nice next time. She can handle you herself, but now I’m handling you.” Giving him a quick scare, Cal keeps going. “You’re a piece of shit. A fucking prick. Never speak about a woman the way you do. Calling them whores? It’s disrespectful and degrading. Be a man. Be better.” Cal shoves him back down on the ground.
Security is behind Tamara and Seth.
“Did he drive here?” Cal asks Tamara. She nods. “Take his keys and put them in a room on me. He’s not driving tonight,” Cal addresses security.
With eyes on us from the closest tables, they are exited out.
“Thank you,” I whisper. Grateful that he’s watching out for others on the road in addition to me.
Cal hugs me tightly. “I’m sorry he said that about you.”
“You don’t need to apologize for him.”
“I do. I know you’ll never get an apology from him or whatever pricks you were with before that or a male who catcalls you on the street, but I can apologize for them. And I can promise to never treat you that way, Chloe.”