Sitting back in her turquoise velvet desk chair, Chloe sighed inwardly, knowing full well why she was here. Knew the subject of the conversation before it even started.
The reason for her mother’s surprise in-person visit when it was normally an impersonal text message.
“I was just at the club with the girls, enjoying our monthly bridge date”—the girls were her inner circle of catty friends who gathered once a month to fuel the rumor mill under the guise of playing high-stakes bridge—“And Tatiana mentioned something over mimosas.”
When she paused for dramatic effect, Chloe rolled her hand.
“He’s back in town, sweetheart.”
She said it as though she was giving a fatal medical diagnosis. Straightforward, yes, but with underlying dread.
You have terminal cancer. He’s back in town.
Both equally dreadful in Genevieve’s opinion. She added the sweetheart part to soften the blow.
“Yeah, I know.” Because in a town this small, she’d have heard about Jameson’s return far sooner than three days in, even if he hadn’t crashed her bubble bath on night number one. “No need to clutch your pearls. No need to act all concerned, either. I’m fine.”
Her mother’s brow wrinkled, as though determining whether that was a lie.
“Have you seen him? Talked to him?” Suddenly flush, she leaned forward, running a hand down her delicate neck. “What’s he told you?”
This wasn’t Genevieve, the caring, concerned parent. This was Genevieve, the nervous cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.
“Why?” Because his presence had her mother spooked when she wasn’t easily rattled.
“You know I always thought he was bad news.”
“No. You thought he was blue-collar. Not good enough for me.” Truth was, Chloe wasn’t good enough for him.
“He would’ve derailed your life.”
He was my life.
Her mother had never understood that, despite Chloe’s repeated pleas for emancipation, all-out defying the rules just to be with him.
“Let’s not hash this out again,” Chloe said, tapping through her digital calendar with urgency. “I have appointments the rest of the day and no time or desire to discuss ancient history. I’m booked solid as of five minutes from now.”
Though it was a handy excuse, it happened to be the truth.
“He left you high and dry ten years ago, darling. He’ll do it again. You’d do best to remember his track record if he crooks his finger at you.”
Chloe’s hands froze on the keyboard, and she looked at her mother from the corner of her eye.
“I remember it like it was yesterday, Genevieve. And it’s disgusting that you think I could ever forget.”
Her mother’s lips flattened, the first name formality a clear sign she was nearing a line.
“Zero contact, Chloe. I’m begging you. You don’t want to lose . . . all this,” she said, looking around the office, grasping at what exactly Chloe did for a living. “You’ve worked hard for it.”
“I have. But trust me, Jameson isn’t interested in . . . all this,” she said, repeating it with the same lackluster tone her mother had. “He’s not here to ruin me. Something Borrowed’s not in for a hostile takeover.”
Wait. He probably was here to ruin her.
Just not her business.
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Genevieve said, grabbing up her handbag. “Please, stay away from him. And how is that other young man you’re seeing? Waylon, is it? I bet dating him is physically satisfying.”
“His name is Wyatt and . . . ew.” Her nose wrinkled at Genevieve’s icky suggestion. “And we’re not dating.”
“Seeing each other, then?” she asked. “Hooking up?”
Wendy laughed when Chloe repeated, louder this time, “Ew.”
“I was young once too, darling. I know all about casual sex. Hell, I’m still young,” she said, patting her perfectly styled hair.
Casual sex, no.
Seeing each other, well, yes. Technically.
“You don’t look a day over twenty-nine,” Chloe commented, and that was actually true. “Now, I’m so sorry, but I really do have to work.”
Her manners—and her mother’s frown—made her add, “It was so nice seeing you. Let’s do it again real soon.”
A smothered snort sounded in the background, Wendy watching the entire conversation like a spectator.
“But I thought we could spend the afternoon together.” Genevieve pouted. “Have tea over at the new bed and breakfast in Bridgehampton. It’s lovely. Right on the water.”
They had mother-daughter outings sporadically. Lunch and shopping in the city at Christmastime. Dinner and movie nights when The Sound of Music aired. Gin and tonics when Genevieve ran into her dad and stepmom at a charity event.
Those nights, she got sloppy drunk and regaled Chloe with stories of lost love and mistakes made. One night, a gin-soaked, legal-aged Chloe even confessed her own story. And after they gorged on cold milk and Double Stuf Oreos to sober up, they fell asleep together in Genevieve’s big brass four-poster, after talking for hours about fashion, about being fearless women, and about the odds of finding a second forever man.
Essentially, Chloe’s childhood dream—quality time with her mother—fulfilled several years post-childhood.
That moment made Chloe feel closer to her mother than ever. Because, yes, they had one major thing in common beyond blood type, blonde hair, and natural beauty. They both had one true love.
And they both let him get away.
“I have a cake tasting scheduled in a half-hour,” Chloe said, and if her mother hadn’t brought up Jameson, she might have invited her along. But not now. “After that, a standing appointment in Riverhead.”
An appointment she never missed.
Once a week, no matter how packed her schedule, she made sure she was in Riverhead by four o’clock sharp. They practiced rain or shine, fans watching from the stands, for two hours.
And during that time, Chloe didn’t answer a call or look at a text or otherwise remove her attention from the field.
Instead, she watched him. His every move familiar and soul-filling. Soul-crushing too, because, after two hours, Chloe walked away. She had to. There was no longer a choice in the matter.
Some evenings she followed Wyatt after he left. Met him at a pub for tacos and tequila shots. And tears. Jose Cuervo tended to make her cry.
But most evenings, she left alone, making the drive home in complete silence, taking a rain check on the tacos. The tears still made an appearance. Riverhead tended to make her cry.
She suspected tonight there’d be a flood because, well, Jameson.
And because of the surprise news Wendy shared just this morning, all aglow in happiness. Baby number three was on the way.
Wendy would soon have a trio.
While Chloe had zero.
Tossing her tablet into a leather case, she gathered the file for her cake-tasting bride, hoping Genevieve took the hint and left without being told.
“So, have you run into him, darling? Did you two speak?” The questions were edged in subtle panic. “I wouldn’t believe a word.”
“What are you so worried about?”