Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
CHLOE
“Hand me that hazelnut syrup, would you, Chloe?” Maggie points to a bottle on the counter behind me.
“Thank you again for coming in at the last minute. I would not have been able to handle this rush without you. Josie called in again. I may actually have to fire her this time.” She frowns, pouring some syrup into the iced coffee she’s making.
“No problem. Believe it or not, this is going to be the highlight of my day.” An indie rock song plays over the speakers, some local band that Maggie sometimes lets play on Thursday nights. It’s not really my taste, but it could be worse.
“Your mom will come around soon, I’m sure. She was worried, that’s all.”
“I know,” I say, studying my fingernails. “And that’s totally understandable. I just wish she’d let me explain. I mean, I didn’t actually do anything.”
“But you were with…” Maggie drops her voice to a whisper. “A boooyyy.”
I toss a towel at her. Maggie catches it, laughing.
She’s the cool aunt I didn’t get by blood. She’s always been easier to talk to than my mom. Sometimes I feel guilty about it. But not at the moment.
“Yes. But two months feels excessive. And like I said—”
“Nothing happened,” Maggie finishes. “Okay, okay. If you say so. Can you refill the cream carafe?”
“You got it, boss.”
Maggie sticks her tongue out. She hates when I call her that. Even in her overalls and tie-dye, it’s obvious she owns the place.
I swipe the stainless-steel pot off the counter and head to the back, rinsing it in the sink and refilling it with fresh cream.
“Hey, Chloe?”
“Yeah, Mags?”
“What did you say that cute boy looked like, again?”
“Scoreboard-bright smile. Eyes like bottomless mugs of French dark roast.” I screw the lid on the carafe and make my way back toward Maggie’s voice. “Messy dark hair. Why?” I turn the corner into the shop and my feet cement to the floor. My hands grip the carafe tighter.
“You forgot to mention my talent for arriving at the exact right moment.” Rhoads lifts his shoulders and smiles at me shyly from the other side of the counter.
I shoot Maggie a what-the-heck look, but she smirks and shrugs.
Traitor. Heat builds in my cheeks.
“How much of that did you hear, exactly?”
He relaxes a bit. “Oh, not much. You really think my hair is messy?” He touches the wet strands.
“You can take a break now, Chloe, if you want. We’re slow.” Maggie raises her brows. I haven’t really been here long enough for a break, but I take the hint.
“Yeah, thanks. Just the fifteen.” I hang my apron on the hook and round the counter.
“Hi,” Rhoads says. Without the counter between us, he feels so close.
“I swear I didn’t know you’d be here. I’m not like, following you or anything.
Though you probably didn’t think that until I just said it.
Anyway, I just remembered you mentioning this place, and I had some free time, so here I am. Feel free to jump in anytime.”
I laugh. “Come on.” I lead him up the stairs to the canopy of the Tree House and into my oasis, my version of his workshop. Sinking into my favorite chair, I eye him. “So?”
He breathes in deep. “So…I sent you a message that you never answered. Are you okay?”
“My mom took my phone. She won’t even let me look at it. Maggie had to call my landline to get me to come to work today. Who still even has a landline these days? It’s archaic.”
Rhoads runs his hand through his hair. “So, you don’t hate me for getting you in trouble?” His dark brown eyes search mine.
“No. I don’t hate you. Not even a little.”
He visibly sighs. “You had me worried, Baker.”
“I did?”
He steps closer and nods. “I thought maybe everything last night was too much trouble.”
He looks so open and vulnerable right now, like the thought of me breaking off our arrangement would deeply hurt.
“No. I mean, I’m grounded. No phone. No car except for school stuff. I haven’t even been able to email Anita and Charlotte to tell them. I’m sure they’re freaking out that I haven’t texted today. Anyway, I’m on lock-down for the next two months.”
Rhoads’s eyes widen. “Two months? That’s until Christmas!”
“I know.”
He sinks into a beanbag chair and focuses on a spot on the wall. “So, does that mean you won’t be able to go to Winter Formal?”
My fingers tap, channeling all my anxiety and memories associated with those two words into the soft knees of my wide-leg jeans.
I frown. “I’m not sure. Technically, it’s a school function.
But on the most basic level, it’s a social event.
Jury is still out on that one. Maggie thinks Mom will let me off sooner.
But I’m not convinced. She’s really mad.
” Would I want to go, anyway? If the right person asked me?
“Oh.” He rumples his hair. “Well. Here’s hoping Maggie is right.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to last two months without my phone. Or my car.”
“I’m sorry again. For getting you in trouble.”
“It’s not your fault. But I appreciate it. I actually had a lot of fun.”
He beams. “Me too. So, next time, I want the town’s best omelet.”
I clear my throat, a genuine smile cracking my frown. “Deal. When I’m ungrounded, omelets.”
“Does your omelet place serve French dark roast coffee?”
I shrug. “Probably, why?”
He grins at me again, mischief brewing. “Well, I thought about it, and I’d really like my coffee to match my eyes.”
My own eyes widen in panic. “Oh, no. You heard everything, didn’t you?”
“That depends. Is this”—he smiles huge and a bit manic— “my scoreboard-bright smile?”
I pick up a throw pillow and whack him with it. “I’m going into this corner to die of embarrassment now.” I turn away from him and hide my reddening face in my hands.
“Wait. If you do that, you won’t hear this very important message.” The creak of the beanbag tells me he vacated his seated position.
I don’t turn around, even as he enters my space, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Citrus and cedar cut through the smell of coffee in the air. “Go on. Get it over with.”
“This is really better received face-to-face.” He touches my elbow, and I spin in my chair.
My face has to be a zillion shades of vermillion. Vermillion? Now I think in SAT vocab. Perfect.
“I think they’re more Colombian roast than French, don’t you? I mean, just look at them.” He leans down, opening his eyes as wide as he can and fluttering his long lashes.
As much as I want to break his gaze, I can’t. His warm hand cups my jaw. Ignoring the voice in my head that says this is a very, very bad idea, I don’t retreat into the comfort of my chair. Instead, when Rhoads leans in, I do, too.
Don’t think, just do.
Before our lips can touch, a voice breaks the moment.
“Chloe Baker, you have got some serious explaining to do.”
Rhoads jumps back, hitting his head on the low ceiling. A short blond figure stands in the doorway. We should have heard her climbing the stairs. But nothing about my senses are functioning like they should at the moment. It takes another breath, but I finally find my voice.
“Hey, bestie.”
“Umm. I’ll just give you guys a minute.” Rhoads moves to the doorway, then turns back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Baker. At school.”
“Right. Sounds good. Bye.”
When Rhoads has descended, Charlotte plops into the chair next to me. “Okay, spill.”
I cover my face with my hands and groan. My pulse jumps from my palms into my scalding hot cheeks.
“You kissed him!” Charlotte squeals. “I knew it!”
“Well, not exactly.” My words come out muffled, but Charlotte catches my meaning.
She gasps. “Oh, no, I ruined it, didn’t I? Rhoads! Come back!” Charlotte shouts out the Tree House door, but thankfully Rhoads is already gone. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. I’ll go get him if you want. I totally forgive you for ignoring my texts.”
I wave her off, finally removing my hands and facing the situation.
“It’s fine. We almost kissed. I think. But maybe you did me a favor.
Can I really get caught up like this so close to Regionals?
” Rhoads has been good for my soccer skills.
At least I think he has. I’ll know for sure at our next game.
But what if getting romantically involved ruins all the progress we’ve made?
* * *
“I can’t believe you stayed out past curfew with Hotty McStriker, finally!”
“Shh, Anita, keep your voice down,” I scold her. I point across the cafeteria, but keep my hand low so only my friends can see. “He’s right over there, you know.”
Charlotte told Anita everything I told her at Coffee Jungle, so now, Monday afternoon, we’re all on the same page.
“Well, it’s not like it’s a secret from him.” Anita steals a peek at him through her bouncy dark curls, scooping her taco salad with a fork.
“It’s a secret that you call him Hotty McStriker.”
Rhoads catches my eye across the room and smiles. His dimple sends a shock through my body. I lift a hand and wave.
“Looks like it’s getting warm in here,” Charlotte says. “Play it cool. Turn down the blush.”
I throw a piece of Anita’s blueberry Pop-Tart at her. “Shut up.” I turn back to Anita. “So you’re not mad I ditched?”
“Nah. The party was trite anyway.”
Charlotte takes a bite of her salad. “Anyway, Chloe, I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. Especially after the thing with you know who.”
“You can say his name. He’s not Beetlejuice or Bloody Mary.” I bite into the Pop-Tart Anita gifted me out of pity and sigh with pleasure. Chocolate.
“Just making sure. We’ve been banned from saying the G-word since you know when. It’s a hard habit to break,” Anita says.
“It’s fine. I mean, I think what I really needed was closure. And I got it.”
“Well, he’ll only be around until May, when he graduates.” Charlotte sips her cranberry juice and wipes pink gloss off the rim.
“I don’t think he’ll be a problem anymore.”
“So, then, what’s stopping you from giving it a go with Rhoads?” Anita sweeps the crumbs from her Pop-Tart onto the silver cellophane wrapper.
My mind unhelpfully cuts together a highlight reel of Graham and me meeting in study hall, getting ice cream on our first date, and driving in the Jeep.
Like Graham mentioned at Dionne’s, we had a lot of good times together.
And then the reel comes to a screeching halt with a freeze-frame of me seeing him lip-locked with someone else.
I clear my throat. “We’ve been over this a million times. He’s a flirt. He’s not looking for a relationship. And I still need his help. I can’t go making things weird.”
I want to kiss him so badly. But what happens if he thinks it’s bad or he loses interest? I’ve made a lot of progress on the soccer pitch since we started training together, and I don’t want to regress. Not with the post-season hanging in the balance.
Whatever attraction I feel to Rhoads, I can’t let it distract me from my goal. I fell for a charming boy in the past. But I’m older and wiser now. I won’t make the same mistake again.