“Call me later?” Stacey says.
“Yeah, I’ll call you. And keep me updated on everything. I’d really like to go to that first appointment with you.”
“Sure. I’ll see what I can do.” She holds her hand up and wiggles her fingers before turning around and walking back into the lobby. I want to be in my child’s life, but I don’t want to be in Stacey’s…and I know that’s not possible.
10
Chloe
“Dammit,” I say, right after the little pink pill goes down my throat. I’m all stuffy with a slight headache from congestion, and the only thing Sam had in his bathroom for it was Benadryl. It always has a slightly delayed reaction in me, but I take it on occasion when I can’t sleep, and I remembered that I promised to drive us to Silver Ridge right after I swallowed the damn thing.
Will a cup of coffee counteract it? Maybe two cups of coffee?
My phone dings with a text and I walk out of the bathroom, set my water glass on the counter, and smile when I see Sam’s name. He’s leaving work and should be home soon, which is my cue to put the enchiladas in the oven. They’re prepped and ready to cook, and if I actually get the timing right, Sam will just be walking through the door when the timer goes off to take them out.
Then it’s a bit of a mad rush to clean the kitchen, fix my hair, put on a bit of makeup, and change into the lingerie I packed just for Sam. It’s strange, I suppose, that I love to wear matching bra and underwear sets. No one sees them but me, and having something sexy on under my regular clothes makes me feel good about myself. Yet the thought of putting on this sheer black corset with a matching thong makes me nervous.
Sam will love it, I’m sure of that. But when I look at myself in the mirror over the dresser, I feel insecure. I’m in decent shape, thanks to going with Charles to the gym and having his workouts kick my butt. Still, it can be a struggle to look in the mirror and not immediately start picking myself apart.
Yeah, I’m in better shape this year than I was in my twenties, but that cellulite on my ass isn’t going anywhere. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of that little pudge of fat next to my armpits that looks awful in photos—or at least I think so. I’ve cycled through phases of loving and hating being a redhead my whole life. Sometimes I love my dark red hair. It’s vibrant and thick and I love not being typical. Other days, I want to dye my hair blonde or go all exotic with long, dark locks.
I take one last look at myself and roll my eyes. Standing here mentally insulting myself isn’t going to change anything. Those under-eye bags I hate? Sam probably won’t even notice, and it’s not something a few hours extra sleep wouldn’t help anyway.
Shutting off the bedroom light, I grab my robe because I’m cold and want to dramatically unveil myself to Sam once he walks through the door. I get the table set, the enchiladas out of the oven, and everything else ready to serve…and Sam isn’t home yet.
“Dammit,” I grumble, debating on whether or not to put the food back in the oven to keep it warm. I usually only cook for myself and eat right away. This whole making food for others to enjoy with me is something I’m going to have to perfect.
Deciding to just leave everything on the counter, I sit on the couch and mindlessly scroll through social media. Charles updates his Instagram stories as I’m scrolling, and the ten-second video of him sitting at some sort of pub with a friend has me scrambling to get him on the phone.
“Hey,” he answers on the third ring. “You okay? You never call.”
“Why does everyone say that?” I grumble, though I know it’s true. I hate talking on the phone, or to most people in general, if I’m being honest. This whole fame thing with my series taking off threw me for a loop, but I love my characters enough to put up with it. “And you know why I’m calling.”
“Uh,” he starts, and the sounds of the pub filter through the phone. “You’re pregnant?”
“Hah, no, or not that I’m aware of. I saw your story and—I’m not on speaker, am I?”
“No.”
“Good because I know who you’re out with and oh my god are you keeping secrets from me?”
Charles laughs. “Hardly, and it was unexpected.” He’s being vague on purpose because he’s not alone. “In a good way,” he adds, and I smile. The “friend” in the photo is Eric Deaton, who’s done stunt work for Charles before. They had a super-secret romance last year, but Eric broke it off because having to lie and hide the relationship was too difficult for him. Charles tried to brush it off and say it was fine, that Eric didn’t mean that much to him, and he’d rather keep up his fake identity of being one of Hollywood’s most desirable bachelors than admit the truth…including how much Eric meant to him.
Seeing them together again makes me so happy, but also worried. I don’t want my friend to get hurt again, or for something to come out before Charles is ready.
“Well, good,” I reply. “I hope everything is going well on set.”
“Very, very well,” he says, and I'm pretty sure we’re still talking in code.
“What are you up to?” Charles asks. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you since you’re busy romancing your hot doctor.”
“I’m sitting on the couch in lingerie waiting for him to get home. Dinner is already on the table and the kitchen is clean.”
“Who are you and what have you done to my Chloe?”
I laugh. “This is how you know I’ve been possessed. I won’t bug you, but I called to bug you.”
“I’d expect nothing less from you. I’ll text you later with more details.”
“Good. Have fun.”
“You too. Love ya, Chloe.”
“Love ya, too,” I say and end the call. I waste more time looking through Instagram and watching funny TikTok videos until Sam comes home. I drop my phone on the couch and get up, heart swelling in my chest.
“Hey, babe,” I say and stride over to him. He takes his shoes off and pulls me in for a hug, holding me tight against his firm chest.
“I missed you,” he breathes, head buried in my neck.
“I missed you too.”
Sam runs his hand through my hair and then cups my chin, turning my face up so he can kiss me, and the second his lips meet mine, he melts into me, hands running down my back. He dips me backward, deepening the kiss. There’s an odd finality to the kiss, and when he breaks away, his blue eyes are filled with something I can’t quite discern.
“I love you, you know that, right?”
“I kind of assumed,” I say, hooking my hands around his neck. “But it’s nice to hear you say it.”
He smiles and some of the stress disappears from his face. “Dinner smells good.”
“Thanks. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving.”
I step back, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. Sam cocks an eyebrow, reminding me again how sexual my nervous habit can come off as, though right now it’ll work in my favor. Slowly, I pull the ties to my robe. “I hope you save room for dessert.”