“You knew it was going to storm and you still went out into the woods?” I ask, shocked again by how much of a Chloe thing that is to do.
She nods and turns, holding out her hands to the dwindling flames. “Yeah. I intentionally got caught in it. I figured it would be good inspiration.”
I’m smiling again, forcing myself to take my eyes off of her and pick up two logs to carefully work them into the fire.
“Why are you here?” she asks, question coming out a little pointed.
“I went for a run and came here to wait out the rain. There was a family roasting hotdogs, hence the flames.”
She nods, staring into the fireplace, watching the smaller of the two logs slowly catch on fire. “I mean in Silver Ridge.” Snapping her head to the side to look at me. I see her there—the Chloe that I knew from our childhood—but it’s then I realize how much of a stranger she’s become.
And how much I fucking hate it.
I run my hand through my hair, brushing it back. I was hot and sweaty before stopping, and even with the temperature dropping a good ten degrees from the storm, standing here next to Chloe, and the fire, is making me hot again.
“Oh, we’re, uh, all here,” I say, confused as to why I’m suddenly so unnerved. “Mason and Rory too. Jacob never left.”
“He’s the town vet. My dad takes his dog to him. I didn’t realize Rory moved, but I suppose it makes sense since she got married.”
Chloe and Rory are still Facebook friends, and Chloe sent Rory a card with a very large amount of money inside the week before her wedding. Rory was so excited Chloe not only remembered who she was but took the time to write her a personalized note inside the card.
“Mason moved?”
“Yeah. He’s an FBI agent now,” I tell her. “So he’s all over the place.”
“That’s fitting for him.” She smiles. “What about you?”
“I’m a doctor. I’ve been at a trauma center in Chicago for a few years now.”
“Wow,” she says in a way that makes me think she actually had no idea what I’ve been up to. Not low-key stalking me like I do her…though really, I don’t have to put much effort into it. Anytime I log online or turn the TV on, I see advertisements and commercials for her books or the show her book is based on. And Charles Baldwin, the star of her show who supposedly dated her, is all over social media. “What kind of doctoring do you do? Is that even a word? Doctoring?” She laughs, and the smile on her face paired with the slight crinkling of her eyes is the most gorgeous thing fucking ever.
Dammit.
“I think so, and I’m an anesthesiologist.”
“Oh wow,” she repeats. “That’s intense. And you said a trauma center, right?”
“Yeah,” I say with a nod.
Her brows furrow and a sobering moment passes between us. “I’ve written about doctors before,” she offers with a half shrug. “It’s not the same, I know, but from my own research I know working trauma can be, well, traumatizing.”
“I have my days,” I admit.
“But we need people like you. God forbid I ever end up there…” She trails off, looking at the storm. I almost forgot about it. Being this close to Chloe after all this time is a fucking hurricane of emotion, paling in comparison to what could very well be an actual tornado.
“Cold?” I ask, though it’s obvious she is. Nodding, she leans closer to the fire.
“This helps. Too bad those people didn’t leave any hotdogs. I’m starving.” Smiling, she looks at the picnic area. “I haven’t had cookout food in a long time, and I miss it, though I don’t really know why. Lukewarm potato salad, hotdogs and burgers that you know had flies walking all over them, everyone reaching their hands into the same bag of chips…it’s rather unappetizing yet so good at the same time.”
“Don’t forget the taco tip that is always in direct sunlight.”
She laughs and rakes her wet hair back again. “It makes the cheese nice and melty, though I know that had to be terrible for the sour cream.”
“I’m surprised more people don’t get food poisoning from cookouts, now that I think about it.”
“We’ve built up an immunity, I’m sure.”
We both laugh and then a moment of silence ticks by as we watch the storm and the fire. We’re barely out of reach of the rain, and with the wind gusting harder now than before, we might not be out of reach for much longer. Chloe gets up, going to her backpack, and unzips it.
“Did your stuff get wet?” I ask.
“It’s not too bad.” She checks her notebook, nodding approvingly at whatever she just read, and pulls out a hair tie from a little zipper pouch on the back. Flipping her head upside down, she gathers her wet hair into a messy bun, securing it at the back of her head. “Much better,” she muses to herself and goes back to the fire, standing with one foot on the hearth to try and dry her shoes a bit.