I’m all jittery inside, a feeling I haven’t experienced since my first day of med school. I’m calm and collected, able to compartmentalize and deal with things rationally. Things that make a good doctor, and things that are necessary when you’re in the operating room dealing with traumatic injuries.
When it comes to Chloe…all that goes out the window.
“You don’t think she’ll see it as baggage?”
“Well, yeah, I guess. That’s not really fair, though, is it? Lots of single parents date and go on to get married again.”
“True,” I say.
“This vulnerable side of you is almost unnerving, yet I kind of like it.”
“You’re a married man, Jones. I know you miss seeing this hot piece of ass every morning, but I will not be the home wrecker you want me to be.”
“I did literally see that ass,” he says dryly. “Quinn did too.”
“It’s okay if she liked it. I will do a threesome, but not with you.”
“Best not to ruin the friendship.”
I let out a snort of laughter. “And I know you’re gonna hate me for this, but don’t tell Quinn. She’ll tell Rory, who’ll tell our mother, who will freak the fuck out.”
“I won’t say anything.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Sam,” Archer says, tone shifting. “Breathe. You have time to figure things out. Is Chloe in Chicago with you? Rory also told us she was there visiting you.”
“No, she had to go back to LA for work. She might be able to fly back out after a meeting.”
“You gotta tell her in person.”
“I know, though a text full of emojis makes things seem much less serious.”
“Hah, right?”
A baby starts to cry, which wakes up the other twin, and only a second later, another kid comes into the room calling for Daddy. Archer says he’ll check in later, and I end the call feeling pretty much the same: like I fucked everything up all over again.
2
Chloe
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I let out a breath through gritted teeth, happy at least I’ve only made it to the end of my road before Vanessa, my agent, called to say she just got a call from Mr. Trenton’s assistant, canceling our meeting at the last moment, saying he had food poisoning from dinner the previous night and hadn’t canceled sooner because he was hoping to wake up and be in good enough shape to have our meeting.
I’m running late and wouldn’t have made it there on time, so maybe this is a blessing in disguise, so I have a chance to be prompt tomorrow when the meeting is hopefully rescheduled. I make a U-turn and drive back up my street, debating if I should go back to bed or try and have a productive day since I’m up early. Mostly, I’m annoyed that my plans are getting messed up, because I’d hoped to have a good meeting and then fly back to Chicago and spend the week with Sam, writing while he’s at work and enjoying lazy evenings together, counting down until the weekend.
He wanted to come to LA, and I suppose it’s only fair for us to take turns going to see each other. Though I can’t deny it’s easier for me to travel than it is for him to, since I can do my job quite literally anywhere.
My life in LA isn’t as exciting as it sounds. I meant it when I told Sam I mostly stay home writing or I’m at the barn with Spartan. I do have friends here, and they would love to meet Sam, I’m sure. We haven’t hung out as much lately as we usually do, thanks to busy schedules. I should probably send them a text to see if they want to meet up later because I honestly cannot remember the last time we hung out.
I like them and enjoy hanging out. We always have fun and they embraced and welcomed me into their already-established circle of friends with ease. It was exciting, moving to LA with everything going on with my Nightfall series. It was newly optioned to be adapted for a TV series and I felt like all the doors were opening for me. Getting out of Silver Ridge, getting a fresh start where no one knew me, called me Creepy Chloe, or broke my heart filled me with hope.
I don’t regret coming out here, not at all. My series still would have been what it is today regardless of where I lived, but being here enabled me to be more involved, and the whole fake-romance with Charles that our publicist orchestrated definitely helped get extra attention on not only the show, but on me, which led to another boom in book sales. Nightfall is my most popular series, and a lot of people who discovered the books from the show are surprised to know I’ve written over a dozen other romance novels as well.
I’ve been feeling like my time in LA is done, like it’s given me all it can and now it’s time to go home. I’m definitely feeling that more right now, but I won’t let myself think too far into it. I’ve been in love with Sam for as long as I can remember, but our relationship is still new. We’ve known each other since we were kids, but we also went a good ten years without speaking.
The feelings never faded, but we are starting all over again. The logical part of my brain tells me I can’t uproot my life after a few weeks even though what Sam and I have is everything I wanted and then some. But then again, Silver Ridge isn’t Chicago. I’d be moving closer to Sam, but not in the same apartment as him.
I’ve always been a bit of an indecisive person, and moving isn’t something to be taken lightly. I don’t have to sell my house here in LA to go back to Silver Ridge, though, and as I slow by the gate at the end of my driveway, waiting for it to swing open so I can drive up and park in the garage, I find myself missing the lush forest and the quiet of the lake. With fall quickly approaching, I want to go back home and see the leaves change. There’s such a short period of time when the forest is full of beautiful yellow, orange, and red leaves before they blow off and gray skies stretch out above, blanketing the forest in a dull gray glow until the snow comes.
It’s a little after eight AM, which means it’s ten AM for Sam and he’s at work. He sent me a text this morning on his way in, telling me he loves me and can’t wait to see me again. I call him as I walk into the house, not expecting him to answer but wanting to leave him a message.
“Hey, babe,” I say, kicking my uncomfortable heels off the second I’m inside. “My meeting got canceled at the last minute and I’m not sure when it’ll be rescheduled, so I’m going to sit by the pool and tan while I write. I always tan topless so I’ll send you some pictures. I love you.”
One reason I hate calling people or leaving messages is because I’m so damn awkward. I feel comfortable around Sam, and more importantly, I don’t care if I am awkward, which is such a refreshing feeling. He’s always known me as an awkward weirdo, and he loves me anyway.
Staying true to my word, I change into a bikini, grab my laptop, and go into my backyard. I have a privacy fence around my pool, and the two other houses on the cul-de-sac are a little lower on the hill than mine. I don’t think anyone can see into my pool area, and no one has leaked nudes of me yet.
I spread out a towel on a lounge chair and untie my top, letting it slip down so just a bit of my nipple is showing. I take a photo and double-check that I’m sending it to Sam and not someone else on accident. Almost as soon as the text goes through, Sam replies.