Love, Chloe (41 page)

“Yep.” I said, hoping she wouldn’t press for details.

“Who was it?” Hannah asked, looking up from the bag.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, opening Joey’s fridge. I grabbed a beer and avoided eye contact, shredding the skin on my palm before I realized it wasn’t a twist off.

“You don’t know?” Joey stepped closer, and Hannah pushed him away.

“She doesn’t know. Stop hounding the woman.”

“You still with Carter?”

I looked up, the beer finally open, and met his eyes. “Yeah. No thanks to you.”

His mouth twisted. “I’m sorry about that. I…” He grimaced. “I was an asshole.”

“Wow.” Hannah raised her eyebrows. “The truth comes out.” Joey glared at her and she giggled, refocusing on her new bag.

“You were,” I agreed, tipping back the beer. “Total asshole. You know how you could make it up to me?”

“Tickets to the premiere?” he offered.

“I was gonna say cheese biscuits, but sure, throw in tickets to the premiere. Two,” I said pointedly.

He clutched his chest in mock pain. “You won’t be my date? I’m heartbroken.” He raised his eyebrows in hope. “And forgiven?” He looped an arm around my shoulders and waited for my answer.

“And forgiven,” I affirmed, smiling when he pulled me to his chest. “Now, get me cheese biscuits before I change my mind,” I threatened.

“Yes, ma’am.” He lifted a chin to Hannah. “You coming?”

“Oh no,” she said. “I plan on getting some one-on-one time with my new lover.” She patted the side of the Balenciaga.

“Enjoy it,” I said, waving at her as Joey dragged me to the door. “Courtesy of Victor Worth.”

She laughed. “I’m an equal-opportunity slut, I’ll take gifts from anyone. Feel free to send that Maserati my way!” she hollered, the words catching me right as Joey tossed my beer in the trash and shut the door.

The Maserati. I wondered what happened to it. I’d signed the title over and left it in the glove box. Had overnighted Vic the keys. And a few days later, it was gone.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Joey mused, reaching out to tug on the end of my ponytail.

“I’m gonna miss this place.” I held up my fingers an inch apart. “Just a bit.”

“And me?”

I scrunched up my face. “A little.”

He stopped at the back of the catering line, pushing his hands into the front of his pockets and looking at me, all hints of teasing gone. “I really
was
an asshole, pushing you to date Vic. Carter … I can see you guys together. You’re a cool girl. He’s got his shit together—always did.”

I grinned at him. “So, you approve?”

He laughed. “Yeah. You have the Joey Plazen blessing of approval. It’s kinda a big deal.”

“Thank God,” I breathed. “I can go to sleep happy.” The line moved, and we stepped up to the window. I placed my order, almost groaning with pleasure when I got the cardboard box of mini biscuits, steam rising out, the smell almost as good as the taste. Joey walked me all the way out, promising to call Carter and see me soon. I waved to Fred and stepped out the gate.

And just like that, my time at
Boston Love Letters
was done.

When I was little, my mom told me you should find a man who loved you more than you loved him. That way, she explained, you would never get hurt. In theory, it made sense. But now, I believed half of the beauty of love was
in
the loving.

I didn’t want to be the aloof woman who had a boyfriend wrapped around her finger. I wanted to be terrified of how madly-in-love I was, ready to give up everything for him, for us.

And finally, I was.

I packed boxes, and he carried them. Half of my life had been moved up one floor and into his apartment. I wanted to finish. Had set aside the entire evening. The girls offered to help, but I wanted, before I merged my life with Carter, the time to myself. He’d be busy anyway, a dinner date set with his mother. Apparently her private investigator had finished his report and she wanted to “go over it” with him. I eyed him from my spot on the living room floor, his arms above his head as he pushed a new air filter in place. “What time’s dinner?” I asked.

“Seven.” He got it in and stepped off the toolbox, moving closer to me as he wiped his hands off on his pants. “I can bring you back a plate.”

“Nah.” I busied myself with my DVDs, flipping through five seasons of
Friends
and wondering if I would actually watch them again. “I’ve got a frozen pizza I can heat up.”

“You seem stressed about my dinner.” He stopped in front of me, and I set down the DVDs, looking up at him.

“Aren’t you?” He seemed ridiculously calm. Annoyingly so.

“Her decision doesn’t matter.” He crouched before me so that we were eye level. “It’s not going to affect us.”

“Oh yeah.” I snorted. “What’s financial security?” I shrugged. “You don’t need that.”

“I’d rather have you.”

I shook my head and pulled a stack of novels off the shelf. “You say that Carter but … you don’t know. I know what a sacrifice that is.” I looked at him. “I lost everything. It’s not easy. It’s romantic, but it isn’t easy. It
sucks
. And I don’t want to be the one responsible for you to go through that.”

“You don’t think you’re worth it.”

“Changing the direction of your life?” I looked away from him. “No.”

He caught my chin and pulled it to him. “Look at me, Chloe.”

I did. His eyes grounded me. I could look at them all day. My calm in the storm, they looked at me as if they knew all of my secrets and loved me for them. They were certain and strong, as if they had never second-guessed anything. “You act like I’m the only one giving up something.”

“You are.”

“My parents’ wealth is the exact same as that Maserati that sat across from our building. You could have had it. You could have had that life, either with him or a million other guys in this city. But you didn’t. You stayed with me. You didn’t even hesitate.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not.” He shook his head. “I love you, Chloe. Everything else fades away from that.”

I thought of my mother’s advice, how stupid it was when compared to a love like this. There was no room for a safety net with love, not when you had feelings that overrode all reason. I grabbed ahold of his shirt and pulled his mouth to me, scared of the depth of my feelings for him. I wanted to give him everything and was heartbroken that I had nothing to offer, my love seeming paltry in the face of all that he was risking.

Being with him could never be considered a sacrifice. And what he was saying—that I had given up wealth by choosing him—that was crazy.
Nothing
was being given up by being with this man. I kissed his mouth and tasted his love and didn’t need another thing from this world.

The cardboard box got pushed aside, my books falling off the shelf as he pulled me down to the floor and kissed me. I got dust in my hair when he grabbed it. His tool belt dug into my hip when he pulled me to him. When his phone rang, we were breathless.

“Don’t answer it,” I begged.

“I won’t.” He silenced the phone but saw the time. “But I have to go.”

I pouted, and he kissed me. Promised to be back soon, and then left.

I rubbed gently at my swollen lips and stared at the TV stand, a moment passing before I had the sense to resume packing.

I finished the box and tucked over the lid, pushing it aside and moving to the bookshelf, pulling framed photos off the shelves and wrapped them in hand towels. I thought about the night before. We’d been up late unpacking my stuff in his place. He’d wanted to know everything, a story about every framed photo, my favorite shoes, my stuffed zebra, the set of elephants from my summer in South Africa. Some of the stories were Vic stories, but he didn’t care. It was another thing I loved about him, his confidence. Times when Vic would have slunk off to sulk, Carter pulled me closer and laughed.

My confidence wasn’t as strong. I asked him to pack up the Presa Little art. Offered to help him carry them down to the storage lockers, but he refused, announcing that he was listing them for sale.

“You don’t need to do that.” I had pulled at his arm, trying to get his cell phone, to stop his call to the gallery.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He’d frowned down at me, genuinely confused. “They bother you. And they should. They were from when I dated her.”