60. CHLOE
60
CHLOE
Tucker’s tongue hangs out the side of his mouth. He drops his orange and blue ball onto the grass in front of my feet.
I bend down to pick it up. He starts dancing—or that’s what I call it. His four paws bounce in place, butt and tail circling like a helicopter. Throwing his ball, he’s off after it.
Sliding my hand in my back pocket, I pull out my buzzing phone.
“Hey, Adler. Please tell me you are calling to say you found an apartment and are moving sooner.”
Whilst I was in London, my childhood best friend, Adler, was interviewing for a teaching job here in Chicago. I missed her by a day, but she called to tell me she was offered a reading specialist position and was moving here. I was elated, still am.
“Yes, but something even better. I know it’s barely been forty-eight hours since you quit your job, but I have an offer for you.”
When Monday morning rolled around, I wasted no time after Emerson and I had our weekly coffee date. I waltzed into Michael’s office and quit with no notice. Boxed up my office and left. Not without a quick stop in Tamara’s to give her a snarky finger wave.
The look on both of their faces was priceless.
I called Ryan when I got home and he tried to jump through the phone to hug me. He cried tears of joy.
“Okay?” I ask hesitantly.
“Everything is happening fast, but I was offered a spot yesterday on the local skating academy’s board. They wanted me to coach, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for that yet. When they asked if I knew of anyone else, I thought of you.”
I’m silent.
“Chloe?”
“I’m here.”
“This is what you want, yeah?”
“Yeah, it is.” I throw Tucker’s ball. “Can you send over the job posting?” My excitement tangos with nerves, a need to question if this is happening.
“Already did.” Adler’s sunshine personality can be felt through the phone. “Epp! I’ve got to go, I just got to my physical therapy appointment. Call me if you have questions, but Chlo, you're a shoe in.”
“Thanks, Adler.”
“You’re welcome. Bye, babe. Love you!”
I tell her I love her back and end our call. Attaching Tucker to his leash we head back to the apartment leisurely, only stopping once for an iced coffee and to smell flowers.
***
“Chloe, you home?” Cal’s voice crescendos as he gets closer to the room.
“Bathroom,” I holler back.
Twisting the towel around my hair, I flip my head back over. Tucking one of the corners in the bottom, I secure it.
He leans against the bathroom counter in a far more casual attire than his typical suit. His thigh tattoos peek out from the bottom of his shorts. The long sleeves of his black linen shirt are rolled up, and far too many buttons are undone. Cal is out of contacts, and I sort of love it. He’s forced to wear his glasses, and right now, looking at him like this, all the air is sucked out of the room.
“Hi.” He smiles at me. “How was your day? ”
“I think I found a job.”
“Yeah?”
“A skating academy here is in need of a new director for their high school and competitive teams.” I squeeze a dollop of lotion onto a few fingers and rub it on my face. “I know it’s not my own program, but—”
“It’s a start.”
“Yeah, I think so. I emailed them my resume and sent a highlight reel of my old competitions. Plus, Adler is on their board and said she put a good word in for me.”
“You’re excited.”
I shake my head, yes, sucking in my cheek and biting it. “I am, and not because I could potentially avoid a tireless job hunt. How was your day?”
“I also have good news. Wanna meet me downstairs? I brought home takeout.”
I brush by Cal, walking to the dresser we split. Split is a highly loose term. Cal might have more clothing than me, so while yes we share a bedroom, we do not share a closet. Eighty percent of my clothing remains in my old bedroom across the hall.
The towel around my body pools on the floor and I can feel his gaze burning into my backside.
There’s a cough. Then footsteps.
“Chloe.” Cal levels his mouth with my ear.
“Yes?” I wonder if he can see the smirk on my face.
Besides taking Tucker to the park and my surprise phone call with Adler, I had a tattoo appointment with my artist. I added two new fine line tattoos to my left arm—a bundle of wildflowers and an outline of Tucker’s head. When she finished up, we were catching up, and I asked if she had extra time for one more.
“How many tattoos did you get today?”
“Three.”
I stick out my left arm. You can see them through the Saniderm bandage.
“And?” He runs his hand up my backside, over the curve of my butt.
“Your name.”
The artist didn’t have another appointment for an hour. I wrote out Callum while she changed needles. Twenty minutes later, I was branded. But I’ve been branded a lot longer. My heart marked and healed by him.
He outlines the bandage with a finger, then smacks the skin next to it.
“I thought you’d never be anyone’s.”
“Changed my mind. Met someone, and I don’t know. . . don’t mind being his.” I spin, leaning into the dresser. Bite my bottom lip. “Do you like it?”
“Love it, Dais.” He opens the drawer next to me, pulling out a shirt. “Arms up.”
I lift my arms, and Cal tugs the shirt over me. Gently pulling each arm through the sleeves and down over my torso. On the other side, he opens my underwear drawer and pulls out a pair of underwear. Dropping to his knees, he lifts each leg, pulling the underwear up my thighs. Snaking his hands under the shirt, I scrunch it up. He kisses the top of the waistband before standing back up and kissing me.
Downstairs, we catch Tucker with his front paws on the counter. He’s trying to reach the brown takeout bag. Cal pulls it away from him, while I try to reprimand him but Tucker gives me his big brown eyes, and I fail.
We bring our plates to the couch. Cal queues up a new episode of Survivor .
I skewer a piece of chicken. “What’s your good news?”
“I spoke with Liam today.” Cal takes a few bites of food, letting the anticipation build. He talks to Liam every day, but if he’s bringing it up this way, then he finally spoke to Liam. It’s killing me, and I have to set my bowl down before I spill it on myself.
“And. . .” I push my head out, turn it to the side. My eyes wide.
“He told me he’s been waiting for me to ask about buying in. I guess Liam has been thinking about it for the past year but didn’t want me to feel forced into doing it. Then, when you moved in, he didn’t want there to be an obligation to return to London.”
“You told him you don’t feel that way, right?”
“Getting there.”
“Sorry.” I zip my lips. Just because Cal is more open doesn’t mean he talks more. I still use up both of our word counts for the day.
“He wasn’t surprised when I told him my one caveat. I admitted to him that I didn’t want to move back to London.”—I go to open my mouth but close it quickly. If Cal needed to go to London for this, I’d go.—“I’ll need to go back and forth, but I went ahead and assumed you wouldn’t mind. Maybe tag along for the trips.” I nod fervently. “Liam’s working on putting together the legal documentation, but by the end of the quarter, I’ll be part owner of Hayes Hotels.”
I take his plate from him and set it next to mine. Throwing my arms around him, I tackle him into the couch. Tucker’s head perks up, sniffing at the food before jumping onto the couch, and nuzzling his way in.
“Callum, that’s incredible. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you for encouraging me.”
“I always will, and I’ll always be your biggest fan.”
“Back atcha, Henry.”
After we finish eating, Cal does the dishes. He joins me back on the couch, laying me across his lap before pressing play on the remote.
My fingers dance along his jaw, stubble tickling the sensitive pads of my thumb. In this light, his irises are pools of the deepest and clearest blue, ones I’d drown in over and over again.
“Why do you call me daisy?” I ask quietly. “I’ve always wondered.”
“I assumed you figured it out by now.” His dimples appear .
I shake my head no.
“The first time I was in your apartment I was shocked by the interior. I finally had this peek into your mind—who you are. That behind all the dark exterior is this soft, strong, and beautiful woman. Your sheets were a field of wildflowers. And they smelled exactly as I imagined.
“I thought you were a wildflower at first. A radiant flower that grows in the wild. Unintentionally planted. Sometimes prickly, sometimes poisonous, but they always make you turn your head.” He laughs, intertwining his hand into mine to kiss my knuckles. “You turned my head the moment I laid eyes on you. You still do, Chloe. Any time you are in the room, my attention has to be on you. I can’t look away, nor do I want to. You are a wildflower, but specifically, a daisy. My daisy.”
“Yours.”
“Mine.” Our lips brush. “Daisies represent innocence, loyal love, and new beginnings. The same as you.” Cal reaches out, tapping my heart, then rests his hand there. “Right here. Your heart pours out love and I see your protectiveness as loyalty.”
“I’m not innocent, though.”
He smolders. “Most certainly not, but you are innately good. You are fierce, loyal, and good, Chloe.”
“Which color? There are—” I run my tongue along my bottom teeth, counting silently in my head. “Too many to count.”
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t think you could be contained to one color.”
“I’m still wearing black, though.”
“Wouldn’t ever ask you not to dress like Darth Vader.”
I swat at him, but he catches my hands, kissing my knuckles.
“There’s one other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What?” I play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Let’s move in together.” I pull a face. “A place that isn’t shared. Friends don’t need to walk in on us. Tucker needs a yard. . .” Cal keeps listing reasons to try to convince me.
“You want me to be your roommate for life, Pretty Boy?”