Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
DREW
The hostess leads us to a cozy table near the bar. I pull out Chloe’s chair, then take a seat opposite her. The table’s already set, with menus tucked neatly into crisp linen napkins and water glasses settled onto gold-rimmed coasters.
I glance across at Chloe. She’s fiddling with her silverware, lining up the fork and knife. Her cheeks are a little flushed, probably from the cold. Or from the whole “setup” thing I just dropped.
I know I shouldn’t have said that. But it’s the truth. Emma doesn’t do subtle. The thing is, my sister’s not wrong about me. At times lately, I have been a little depressed. The life I was building outside of Winterbrook went up in flames. Coming back here felt like a neon sign flashing “failure.”
The server drops off a basket of rosemary rolls, and a pair of tiny bowls filled with whipped butter. I grab a roll and tear it open, letting the steam warm my hands. My gaze shifts back to Chloe.
She really is beautiful, and shines from the inside out.
I’m sure she could grace the cover of any magazine she wanted.
But what I love about her is that she’s not trying to impress anyone.
She’s just . . . well, herself. Today, she’s wearing minimal makeup.
Her hair is in a ponytail, and she’s bundled in a black puffer vest over a white long-sleeve shirt.
But that’s not what keeps pulling my focus.
It’s her. The way she lights up when she talks, especially about the skating lesson she gave earlier.
She might be shy, but there’s this quiet fire in her when she speaks.
Her eyes are glowing. Not with pride in herself, but in the students.
She really cares about everyone around her.
She’s humble too. Chloe doesn’t throw around the fact that she’s a national champion.
If anything, she tends to shy away from the spotlight.
Winning hasn’t changed her. She’s still the same down-to-earth person I met at the Santa Monica Pier.
I’d love to be someone she could lean on.
But deep down, I’m not sure I’m good enough for her.
“So, um . . . are you lonely?” Chloe asks, placing her napkin on her lap.
I glance up from the roll in my hands, caught off guard. She’s not fishing or making conversation just for the heck of it. She’s asking because she wants to know.
I lean back slightly in my chair and give a half shrug.
“Yeah. Sometimes,” I admit. “Especially this time of year. The holidays are all about family and spending time with the people you love. Which I do, more than I’d like.
I mean, I live with my parents and my sister.
And I work for them. But I’d like to have some space and someone I can spend time with outside the family bubble. ”
She nods. “I get that. It’s the same for me. I have my skating family back in Sequoia Valley, but sometimes I wish there was someone else in the picture. I don’t want my entire life to revolve around skating. It’d be nice to have a break from it every now and then.”
I glance at her, struck by how honest that is. Considering her parents once skipped her graduation to go jet setting, I wouldn’t be surprised if she spent most of her childhood with nannies and rotating babysitters.
Even now, the way she says “skating family” makes me think that deep down, she’s still on her own. And yet, I bet she never complains. In all the time I’ve known her, she’s always carried herself with this quiet inner strength. I wish I were as strong as she is.
I tear off a piece of rosemary roll and dip it into the butter, glancing over just as Chloe does the same. Her cheeks are a soft, wintery pink—the exact shade you’d paint on a Nutcracker doll. I wish I could help her and make her feel a little less lonely.
“If you ever need a break from the skating world, someone who doesn’t ask about triple Axels or talk about winning the Olympics, I volunteer as tribute,” I say.
She glances up. Her eyelids flutter. “Thanks,” she says quietly. Then, almost as if she needs something to focus on, she cracks open her menu. “You know, the offer works both ways. I’m around if you ever need a friend too.”
My stomach twists in knots at hearing her words. Chloe isn’t just being polite. She means it.
A sudden realization hits me—maybe the reason no one else measures up is because I’ve been comparing them to her all along.
All the women I’ve dated, like the one lecturing me about carbon footprints, and the influencer who was glued to her phone chasing the perfect reel, always left me wishing they were more like Chloe.
She’s easygoing, genuine, and the kind of person who, like me, would pick a burger-and-milkshake joint over a stuffy rooftop wine bar for dinner.
I take a deep breath, pretending to study the menu since I already know I’m going to order the rib-eye steak. Across the table, Chloe is flipping through hers, her brows scrunched in concentration.
I’m not really looking for a girlfriend right now. As it is, my life is a half-unpacked suitcase that’s still stuck in the hallway. I don’t know what I’m doing next or where I’ll land, or if I’ll land at all.
But compared to the women I’ve dated lately, Chloe’s in a different league. She’s funny, kind, and genuine. When I am ready to date, I want somebody exactly like her.
I steal another glance at her. She’s tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes are flicking over the menu. There’s a small crease between her brows like she’s working something out in her head. I get the sense she’s not just thinking about lunch.
She sets her menu down and looks at me, a little hesitant.
“I’ve been thinking . . . would you be willing to hang out with me at a few of the events this week?
Nothing major. I just figured since Emma’s going to be working most of the time, and I know you get off earlier from work than she does, that it might be nice to have someone I know around. A friend.”
My pulse increases. Has she been reading my mind? I raise an eyebrow, trying to play it cool. “A friend, huh? Is this a strategic snack-sharing alliance, or are you just after my sparkling conversation?”
“Nothing like that.” She draws a few circles on the tablecloth with her fingers. “I . . . I don’t feel like I belong here.”
“Don’t belong?”
She tilts her head toward the bar. “There are so many famous athletes here. I’m not exactly on their level.”
“Chloe, I thought everyone with lanyards was just really into CrossFit until just now. I’m the worst person to ask about celebrities. But I’ll tell you this—You do belong here. Don’t sell yourself short.” I shake my head. “If I tag along with you, do I get a name tag or a commemorative tote bag?”
She glances down like she’s not sure whether to believe me, and something about that look hits me harder than I expect.
She really doesn’t see what the rest of us do—how insanely talented and driven she is.
I want to say more, to tell her she’s impressive and a role model, but the words stick in my throat.
Her body relaxes. “I can’t make any promises on a tote bag, but I can probably get you some free snacks.”
I pump my fist. “I’ll take it.”