Chapter 17 #3
“Hi, this is Chloe from Gwenynen Hollow… Yes, thanks for ringing me back. I was calling about participating in the festival we’re hosting at the end of August …
you did? That’s great. So, basically, we’d love to have you, I just wanted to ask about your sustainability practices to make sure they align with the ethos we’re going for… ”
I listened as she interrogated whoever was on the other end – a cheesemonger, from the sound of things – about their sourcing methods, their waste management processes, and their approach to packaging and transportation.
She was thorough without being aggressive; friendly while still making it clear that we had standards that needed to be met.
It made me beam with pride. Jen and I had worked so hard to do things the right way over the years – we could have grown the farm so much faster if we’d been more conventional, but we wanted to be proud of the way we’d done it.
So, to see Chloe not only respecting that effort but enforcing it in the relationships she was building for us? Honestly, it made me a bit emotional.
When she hung up, I couldn’t help but tell her how impressed I was.
“Yeah, well,” she said sheepishly, “I know it’s important. And I care about all of that, too, even if I’ve not been living it for decades like you have.”
“Can I see what you’ve put together so far?” I asked, pointing to her laptop.
So far, I hadn’t asked to see much of what she’d been working on – only what she shared in meetings with Jen and me, and those had become fewer and further between as we moved from planning mode to execution.
I only knew what I needed to in order to contribute, so I was out of the loop on who all would be involved, what the event would actually look like, all of that.
Chloe turned her laptop toward me and started to walk me through it, and I found myself genuinely amazed by what she’d created. So impressed, in fact, that I barely noticed how close we were to one another; the way the sweatshirt I’d loaned her brushed against the skin on my arm.
The festival plan was comprehensive and thoughtful; perfectly balanced between showcasing the local goods and focusing on the arts.
She’d managed to arrange more than a dozen partnerships with other vendors, a silent auction of local artwork with proceeds going to a rewilding charity Jen volunteered for, and a carefully curated lineup of musicians from the surrounding area, including a band I’d actually heard of.
It was both incredibly impressive and completely …
well, us. It felt like things couldn’t have come together in exactly that way anywhere else on Earth.
“This is incredible,” I said, scrolling through the detailed timeline and vendor list after she’d given me the run-down. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“I’ve tried to,” Chloe said, and I could hear the pride in her voice. “I wanted it to feel authentic to what the farm represents, not like some generic festival that happens to be held here.”
“Honestly, you nailed it.” I looked up at her, seeing her work with new eyes. “Though, I have to ask, why did you come in today? You could have done all this from home, couldn’t you?”
Chloe sighed and glanced outside. “I need to send the dimensions for the temporary stage to the AV company by the end of the day. I’ve been trying to do it all week, but today is the first day there’s been a forecasted dry spell.” We both looked through the window at the distinct lack of dry spell.
“I can help,” I offered. “I know every inch of this property.”
“Yes, well, if you hadn’t noticed,” she said, “it’s a bit drizzly. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saw one of your neighbours building an ark.”
I laughed, and Chloe smiled a little satisfied grin at having caused it.
“Yeah, well, one thing I’ve learned in my years of working here,” I said, pushing my chair back and standing up, “is that, if you wait for the rain to pass before doing any work, you’ll never get anything done.
” I held my hand out to Chloe, who looked at it for a short moment before accepting it, and I dragged her outside, not dropping her hand until we made it through the door, and even then only reluctantly.
It was a mad dash to get the measurements.
The rain was coming down so hard that it was difficult to see, and the tape measure kept slipping out of my fingers, ricocheting back onto Chloe as she struggled to hold it.
She was trying to note the measurements on her phone, but her fingers were so wet she could barely get the touch screen to work.
Plus, we were laughing the whole time, delighted by the ridiculousness of trying to get anything done in such conditions, which made it somewhat difficult to focus.
Just as she made a note of the final measurement we needed, the rain somehow started coming down even harder, and a loud clap of thunder sounded in the distance.
“Come on!” I called to her over the sound of the rain. I started jogging ahead, but she shook her head, her wet hair twirling out to the sides, water droplets flying off it like a sprinkler head.
“I don’t run for anything if I can help it!” she called back, walking only just faster than her normal pace despite the downpour. I doubled over with laughter, this somehow seeming like the funniest thing I’d ever heard.
By the time we made it back to the studio, we were both completely soaked through – again, in Chloe’s case.
My North Dakota T-shirt clung to her in the best way, every curve of her upper body deliciously visible.
Droplets of water clung to her lashes, and her hair had fallen out of its bun and was plastered to her cheeks and forehead.
Without thinking, I reached out and lifted a wet strand away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
The moment my fingers touched her skin, something shifted between us, the same way it had in Fatima’s kitchen the other night.
Chloe went very still, her eyes wide and fixed on mine.
The air felt charged; electric in a way that had nothing to do with the storm outside.
This is it, I thought. It’s actually going to happen this time.
Then Chloe seemed to realise what was happening and took a step back.
I searched her face for fear or anxiety or desire – all the things I was feeling – but her face was downright impassive.
Unreadable. She didn’t try to couch it by saying anything, either; she just turned and walked into the kitchen, leaving me standing there in the puddle we’d made.
* * *
I gave her a bit more space for the next couple of hours.
She was in yet another set of my sweats and a “leave no trace” T-shirt this time, the dryer not quite having finished with her clothes, and I was in a fresh set of my own.
I’d need to do laundry again soon based on how much of my clothing we’d both been through today.
When it was time for her to leave, the rain was still coming down in sheets. I watched her gather her things with growing concern.
“There’s no way you’re taking public transport in this,” I said. “I’ll drive you home.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Chloe protested. “I can manage.”
“Chloe, it’s a monsoon out there. I’m driving you home, and that’s final.”
She must have seen something in my expression that told her arguing would be useless, because she just nodded.
The drive started off well enough. When music began playing through the car’s speakers – one of my favourite songs, though admittedly a bit melancholy – I reached to change it.
“This might be a bit depressing,” I said. “I think the next track is a bit more upbeat.”
“It’s fine,” Chloe said, settling back into the passenger seat, holding up the cord connected to her phone. “It’s my playlist anyway.”
I looked at her in surprise. “You know MUNA?”
She smirked at me. “Do you think MUNA is niche? Because if so, let me introduce you to this little-known artist called Chappell Roan.”
Something warm unfurled in my chest at the unexpected overlap. I’d mostly thought of us as opposites ever since meeting her, but I was learning we were far more alike than I would have guessed. God, I’d been so harsh on her. I hated myself for it now.
We drove mostly in silence after that, and the quiet felt charged with unspoken tension.
Our breath was fogging up the windows, despite the defroster running, and I kept having inappropriate thoughts about what else might cause that kind of condensation.
About what Chloe might look like if those borrowed clothes ended up on the floor of my car.
The rain was worse than either of us had expected. What should have been a forty-minute drive turned into well over an hour as I crawled along the country roads, the visibility so poor I could barely see the markings.
“Jesus,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter as another gust of wind rocked the car on the A road.
But otherwise, we didn’t talk. Chloe’s music played in the background, but we could barely hear it, except for the brief moments when we would drive under an underpass, and the rain would stop for just a heartbeat.
But in those half seconds, all I heard was my own breathing, shallower and more ragged than usual.
When we finally pulled up outside her building, the rain was still hammering against the windscreen.
“You could come up,” Chloe said, glancing at the weather. “Wait for it to calm down a bit? It’s meant to ease up in the next half hour or so. Not all the way, but enough to make it a little less terrifying out here.”
I knew I should say no. That I should thank her politely and drive home through the storm rather than spend more time alone with her – and in her flat this time.
Twice now since the cheese festival, something had almost happened, and both times, she’d been the one to bow out.
I knew I should be putting some distance between us.
But the rain really was worryingly bad, and the sensible thing was to wait it out.
“If you don’t mind,” I said, then dashed inside after her.
Chloe’s flat was as chaotic as I would have expected when I first met her.
Video games were stacked in teetering piles next to the TV and on the coffee table, dishes sat unwashed in the sink, and there were books and papers and other detritus scattered across every available surface.
Takeout containers littered the table and one end of the sofa; Chloe plucked these up hurriedly ahead of me as I took in the space.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said. “I obviously wasn’t expecting company.”
“It’s fine,” I said, and I meant it. There was something endearing about seeing this less curated side of her life. The chaos was comfortable sometimes.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, straightening a pile of journals on a desk that supported an impressive gaming setup. “Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?”
“Better not repeat what happened this morning,” I said, meaning it as a light joke about the spilled-tea incident.
But Chloe didn’t laugh. Instead, she turned to face me with an expression that was suddenly serious.
“Why have you been so nice to me today?” she asked.
“I’m always nice,” I said automatically, meaning it as a joke. We both knew it wasn’t true. It did make her laugh, but it wasn’t the kind of laugh I’d been going for.
“No, Teddy, you’re not. You’re professional, and competent, and occasionally helpful.
And you’re kind to Jen, and to Maggie, and to Willow, and to the bees.
And occasionally you’ve done considerate things for me, too.
But you’re not nice. Not to me. Not like …
not like that. Reassuring me. Making sure I was okay. That’s not something you do.”
The directness of the question caught me off guard.
Why had I been so nice to her today? I could say it was because I’d finally decided to trust her; because I’d seen enough of her work to know she was capable and dedicated.
That was true, after all. But the real truth was more complicated than that.
“You’re my only friend,” I found myself saying, and immediately I wanted to take the words back.
Chloe looked like she’d had some witty retort prepared, but she swallowed it when she saw my panicked expression.
I felt exposed; vulnerable in a way I hadn’t intended.
It was true; Chloe was my only real friend.
Sure, I was getting to know Jack and Fatima, but they didn’t know me like she did.
Like I knew her. But the word “friend” sounded wrong, too, for reasons I didn’t want to examine based on the way our last few encounters had panned out.
“I should go,” I said quickly, suddenly wanting to be anywhere else, moving back toward the door. “Rain or no rain.”
“Teddy, wait—”
But I already had the door halfway open, unable to face whatever conversation might come next.
I’d revealed too much; made myself too vulnerable.
Better to retreat while I still had some dignity intact.
So I pulled the door to her flat shut behind me, leaving her standing in the middle of her lounge, takeout containers still in her arms.