Chapter 5 Chloe #2
“Hi,” he says very charmingly. Handsome smile.
And then the words start pouring out. “Um. Good morning. You look…” His eyes travel over my haphazard appearance, his lips tugging at the corners.
“You look great.” He pauses a moment and starts when he looks down at the coffee in his hands, as though just remembering it was there.
“Oh. I brought coffee…” He starts to hand it over, then pulls back, looking for the label.
“I…don’t know what kind this is—I didn’t know what you’d like.
Had to guess.” He thrusts it toward me. “Sorry. I’m…
I’m not super great at this kind of thing. ”
I think it’s the least suave thing he’s ever done. And it’s probably the most adorable.
I take the cup, and our fingers brush—barely a touch, but I feel it everywhere. The smell of the coffee hits me—rich, dark, with hints of peppermint and chocolate. The cups have the distinctive logo I’d recognize anywhere: the small brass plaque design from Brew & Rumor.
“You went to Brew & Rumor?” Surprise colors my voice. “I love that place.”
He shrugs a little.
“Is this candy cane mocha?” I take a sip. It’s perfect. Exactly what I’d have ordered myself, the peppermint and chocolate and espresso mixing in that way only Brew & Rumor manages. “How did you—”
His cheeks get redder. “I, uh, your business page. It links to your—” He clears his throat.
“I may have looked at your Instagram. After yesterday. Just to—” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly mortified.
“Wow, that sounds creepy. I swear I’m not a stalker.
I just wanted to make sure you were—” He stops. “I’m making this worse, aren’t I?”
“You stalked my Instagram,” I say, but there’s no heat in it. More like wonder.
He attempts a smile, self-deprecating and embarrassed. “Is that bad? You post about that place a lot. The typewriter. The vintage teacups. It seemed…” He shrugs helplessly. “I wanted to get it right. The coffee. As an apology. For—everything.”
I don’t know what to say, so I take another sip. The warmth spreads through my chest.
He looks relieved I’m not slamming the door in his face. He shifts his weight. “Can I come in? I’m starting to lose feeling in my extremities.”
From down the hall, I hear Jessa’s door creak open slightly.
I step aside. “Yeah. Okay.”
He enters with visible relief, and suddenly my small apartment feels even smaller.
He’s tall—taller than my memory of Barcelona allowed—and his presence fills the space in a way that makes me aware of every secondhand piece of furniture, every bill on the counter, every sign that I’m barely holding my life together.
I close the door. The click sounds loud.
He sets his cup on my counter, carefully, away from the wedding files and the stack of bills. His eyes flick to the overdue student loan notice on top. I see the moment he registers it, but he looks away quickly.
“Nice place.” His eyes take in the string lights, the gallery wall, the vision boards. “Very—” He stops himself. “Actually, I guess I don’t know you well enough to say what’s very you. But…I think it is.”
“It’s okay.” I move to the couch. He stays standing. “It is very me. At least, the version of me that’s trying to make something work on a shoestring budget.”
“You left Maple Lake for this,” he says quietly. “To start your business.”
“I moved in with Jessa two years ago.” I wrap both hands around the cup. “Did odd jobs to get by. But it wasn’t until I started planning Maya’s wedding that I even considered event planning as a job. So I scraped together my savings and decided to go all in on that. ”
“Is it working?”
The honesty slips out. “I’m here, aren’t I? Still trying. That has to count for something.”
His expression softens in a way that makes my chest tight. “It counts for a lot.”
The radiator clanks. Outside, the wind rattles the window.
“I thought about you,” he says. “After Barcelona. I thought about trying to find you. But Maple Lake seemed far, and I didn’t have your last name, and I convinced myself it was better to just—” He stops. “Let you go.”
“But you didn’t let me go. Because here you are.”
“Here I am.” He finally sits—not on the couch next to me, but in one of the mismatched chairs across the coffee table. Maintaining distance. “Turns out you were forty minutes away this whole time.”
“Not in Maple Lake after all.”
“Not in Maple Lake.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Chloe.” He says my name like it hurts. And for a moment, he’s just Brody again, the charming man I met in Barcelona. Sweet. Safe.
The moment stretches between us. Heavy. Real. The space filling with that kind of meaningful silence that makes your heart race and your skin tingle.
Then Jessa’s voice carries from her bedroom. “What about the deal? Didn’t you come here to propose something?”
Brody’s expression shifts. Like a door closing. The vulnerability disappears, replaced by something more guarded.
“Right.” He clears his throat, sits back. “The deal.”
And just like that, we’re not talking about Barcelona anymore.
“My agent thinks this could work. The photo. You and me. The response has been good. Really good. It helps my image, which I need right now.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why do you need help with your image?”
He hesitates. “Team stuff. Contract renewal coming up. It’s complicated. But having a girlfriend, having stability—it looks good.”
“More marketable.”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound happy about it. “And you need a date to your sister’s wedding events. Five of them? Starting this weekend.”
“Saturday,” I confirm.
“So we help each other.” He’s looking at me, but also not. “I get good PR. You get a boyfriend for the wedding season. Clean. Professional. Mutually beneficial.”
“No strings,” I hear myself say.
“No strings,” he agrees quickly. Too quickly. “No romance. Just an arrangement. Five events. We show up together, act like a couple, and when it’s over, we’re done.”
My heart is doing something painful. Because a minute ago, he was apologizing, being real, admitting he looked me up online. And now we’re talking business transactions.
“And to make it worth your time—” He pauses. Glances at the counter. At the bills he saw but didn’t mention. Back to me. “I’ll pay you.”
The words fall on me like icy water.
Pay me? The student loan bill burns on the counter. The rent due in three days. The business barely surviving. The life I can’t quite hold together.
He’s offering me a solution.
Wrapped in the most humiliating, complicated package imaginable.
From the hallway, Jessa’s door creaks open another inch.
I look at Brody Kane. At the candy cane mocha he brought me from my secret coffee shop. I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t understand what he really wants or if any of this is a good idea.
But I’m out of coffee, out of money, and possibly out of options.
And he’s sitting in my living room offering me all three.
brODY
The silence after “I’ll pay you” stretches like the last seconds of a tied game in overtime. Uncomfortable. Tense. Everything riding on what happens next.
Chloe’s face gives me nothing. She’s staring at her coffee cup—the candy cane mocha I spent twenty minutes in line for at some speakeasy coffee shop I found by stalking her Instagram like a creep—and I can’t read her expression.
Her roommate’s door is cracked open. She’s definitely listening. I sound like a jerk. I know it.
I should say something. Clarify. Make this sound less like I’m trying to buy her affection and more like a mutually beneficial business arrangement between two adults.
“I know how that sounds,” I start. Professional. Matter-of-fact. Like I’m negotiating a lease, not asking someone I ghosted to pretend to love me. “But I’m serious. This would be a legitimate arrangement. My agent will draw up a contract. Clear terms. Professional boundaries.”
Chloe finally looks up. Those eyes—the ones I remember from dancing under twinkling lights in Barcelona—are guarded now. Calculating.
“How much?” she asks. Direct. No games.
I respect that.
I also hate that I saw the student loan bill on her counter. Three months overdue. The number made my stomach turn. I don’t know the full extent of her situation, but I know desperation when I see it. I’ve been wearing it like a second skin for weeks.
“Twenty thousand.” The number comes out steady. Not so high it seems like I’m trying to buy her. Not so low it’s insulting. “Ten up front. Ten after the last event.”
Her eyes widen slightly. She wasn’t expecting that much.
Good. Neither was I until the words came out of my mouth.
From the bedroom, her roommate’s voice cuts through. “What are these events? What’s he asking you to do, Chloe?”
Chloe glances toward the hallway. “Jessa—”
“No, it’s fine.” I lean back, trying to look relaxed even though my shoulders are tight enough to snap. “She should know. You both should.” I look at Chloe. “All five events. Starting this Saturday.”
“All of it.” Chloe sets down her coffee. “You sure?”
I nod. “I’m sure.”
“What events specifically?” Jessa again, from the other room.
Chloe looks at me, waiting.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m not the wedding expert here. You tell me.”
Chloe hesitates, then lists them on her fingers. “Meet-and-greet party. Saturday night. We’re hosting it in a party room at a bowling place.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay. Saturday. What else?”
“Couples bridal shower in two weeks. Then three days for the destination wedding, Valentine’s Day weekend. Rehearsal dinner, the wedding ceremony, and the reception.”
I wince. That’s right. The wedding is on Valentine’s Day.
Because God has a sense of humor.
“All right. So I show up, play the part of a devoted boyfriend, make you look good for your family, the whole song and dance.”
“That’s the idea.”
“What’s in this for you?” Jessa’s voice is louder now. Closer. “Besides fixing your image and keeping your precious contract? Why Chloe specifically?”