“Are people really as superficial in LA as TV shows make them seem?”
“Yes and no. It depends on where you are and what crowd you’re running with. Anyone in the film world is always worried about their looks but mostly because the media will criticize them and it can be a hard pill to swallow.”
“It would be, and I would not enjoy public criticism. At all.”
“Lucky for you,” she starts. “There’s little to criticize.”
“Thanks for the ego boost.”
“Like you need it.” She’s smiling at me, and I start to get a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s not something I’m used to, and I don’t like it, not one fucking bit.
“Wow,” Chloe says when we pull onto the gravel driveway of my parents’ farmhouse. “It looks the same.”
“Are you getting emotional?” I tease.
“Maybe,” she says back with a laugh. “But it’s just like old times.”
It hits me then, that that is exactly what’s causing the bad feeling. It is just like old times. Old times where I’m stealing glances at Chloe, counting down the days until she turns eighteen so we can be together, because I was so sure everything would magically work out by then.
It’s just like old times, when Chloe will go home, alone. I don’t want it to be just like old times. And I won’t let it. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make Chloe mine.Chapter EighteenChloe“It’s so good to see you!” Mrs. Harris pulls me in for a big hug. Sam and I just stepped into the farmhouse and Mrs. Harris bombarded me just like Sam warned she would. Mrs. Harris really stepped in when my mother died, and losing contact with Sam meant not talking to his family anymore either.
“You too.”
“It’s been way too long.” She gives me a final squeeze before letting me go. “You’re even prettier than I remember. You look like your mother.” Mrs. Harris blinks away tears, and I have to blink several times to keep from tearing up as well.
“Dinner smells amazing,” I tell her, looking at the spread of appetizers on the counter. “I hope you didn’t go through too much trouble.”
“It’s never trouble for you, dear.” She smiles.
“Hey, Chloe!” Rory whispers, coming into the room holding her sleeping baby. I flash her a big smile.
“Hey,” I say back, just as quietly. “He’s so sweet.”
“He is, but my arm is falling asleep and I have to pee,” Rory chuckles softly.
“I’ll take him,” Sam, who’s standing behind me, offers. My ovaries threaten to explode when I see Rory gently hand off the sleeping infant to her oldest brother. Sam rocks the baby, keeping him sound asleep.
“Everyone is outside,” Mrs. Harris says. “Michael is outside grilling the steaks. The boys are all out there too.” She turns and checks on the sweet potato fries she has in the oven.
“Do you need any help with dinner?” I ask.
“Oh, no, but thank you.” She picks up another glass dish that’s on the counter and puts it in the oven. “I’m just keeping things warm now. Would you like anything to drink? Sam, why didn’t you offer her anything to drink?”
“Seriously?” Sam mumbles, looking at the sleeping baby in his arms. We’ve only just walked in the house. Sam hasn’t even taken his shoes off yet.
“I’m good for now,” I say.
“Help yourself to anything, dear,” Mrs. Harris says. “I think things are mostly in the same place as they were before.” She turns and looks at Sam, smiling. “You need to have one of your own.”
“I’ll get right on that, Mom,” he says dryly. Rory comes out of the bathroom and takes the baby back from Sam.
“Mom, I’m laying him down. Please do not go get him.” She looks at me. “We’re trying to get him used to napping in his crib at home. He hates it.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back. I’m so excited you’re here!”
“Want to go outside?” Sam asks me.
“Yeah, it’ll be nice to see everyone else.” We go through the kitchen to get to the covered patio out back. “What’s Rory’s husband’s name again?”
“Dean.”
“Right. I remember now. And you all approve?”
“We do. Dean and I were friends before he started dating Rory, actually, which helped.”
“Oh, for sure. So that’s how they met then? Through you?”
“I’ll gladly take credit for arranging things,” he says with a smile as he reaches for the sliding glass door.
“I never took you as a matchmaker,” I laugh. Sam holds the door open for me and I step out. Jacob, Mason, and Dean are sitting at the patio table, and Michael, who I still call Mr. Harris, is standing by the grill. The smell of the steaks makes my mouth water.
“Hey, guys,” I say with a wave.
“Chloe, hey!” Mason says back. “Grab a drink and join us.”
Sam rests his hand on the small of my back, and the heat from his fingers goes right through me. I remember all too well how good those fingers felt, massaging my sore muscles only hours ago. And I know how good those fingers will feel if he—stop it.