Chapter 5
It wasn’t every day Chloe found herself feeling at ease inside a mere stranger’s home. Well, in her defense, sheneverfound herself inside the home of anyone she didn’t know. She wasn’t the type to take risks. Playing it safe was her lifelong mantra.
Yet, Dylan Hawke seemed like he was someone she could talk to, trust, as if she’d known him longer than only a few hours.
Plus, he had FABs—aka fabulous abs.
Sitting on the couch in his living room, face in palm, she giggled at the memory of her asking for abble pie. Another true-life moment that would no doubt make for a hilarious scene in her novel. Most of her real-life instances ended up in her books, contributing to eighty-five percent of the laugh-out-loud bits.
Not that her life was anything to laugh at.
Okay, perhaps thelovepart of her life was, considering it was pretty dismal. Sure, her one and only relationship was the epitome of long-term, lasting five years, which also happened to be the average lifespan of a porcupine. And like a porcupine’s quills, Chloe’s relationship with Walter—better known as The Ex—was quite prickly. When the two decided to split over a year ago, she wondered why she’d stayed with him so long. Yes, he was her first real…everything, but the two were so mismatched, other than the few intimate times shared, they had nothing at all in common.
“I hope you like hazelnut creamer. It’s all I have right now.” Dylan’s voice intercepted Chloe’s thoughts as she sat with her face still buried in her palm.
“Hazelnut is fine, thank you.” Face unburied, she watched as he placed two white mugs onto the oblong coffee table, pouring scant amounts of creamer into each coffee-filled cup. Accustomed to drinking at least five cups a day, she preferred her coffee color more on the lighter side, offsetting some of the caffeine. “May I have just a smidgen more creamer, please?”
He smiled, nodded, and poured just a little more into her cup, before he slouched into the oversized recliner positioned beside the couch. His place seemed larger than the one she was renting. But both were graced with a hip-like ambiance, as if they were personally designed by one of those HGTV renovators.
Sipping in silence, Chloe stole a glance of her FAB neighbor whose handsome face wore an expression making him appear approachable, yet cautious. She did her best at keeping her approach on the cautious side when she asked, “What made you move to Fortune’s Bay full-time? You mentioned moving here about six months ago.”
That was more like a deep dive than a cautious approach, Chloe.
Dylan swallowed a sip of coffee as he passed her a hardened glare. “Is this how you come up with a storyline for your novels? Interview people about their lives, then pick and choose the best pathetically romantic conflict to write about?”
Ouch, that was harsh.However, she could understand his point.
“I apologize. I tend to ask a lot of questions. It’s just something I do at times.” She always felt the need to defend her inquisitive nature, even though those inquiries were indeed what got her creative juices flowing. It was her method, after all. Slip into a town, get to know the residents. Ask questions about their lives. Craft an unforgettable love story.
Producing a wry grin, the man seated feet away from her said, “Relax. I’m only kidding…somethingIdo at times.”
She appreciated his sarcastic nature—a breath of fresh air from the stuffy male she spent far too many seconds, minutes, days…years with. Life with Walter, she figured, was almost like serving a prison sentence for a crime she didn’t commit.
Nursing her cup of coffee, Chloe found it difficult to hold back the smile dancing on her lips. “Well then, are you going to answer my question or not?”
A single raised eyebrow seemed to adequately define his playful side. “Only if you promise to keep what I share inside these four walls. I don’t want anything I tell you to end up in…you know…a romance novel.”
It was hard to tell if he was being coy, but Chloe thought it was safe to assume so. “Now you specifically told me this morning—and I quote—‘the beautiful thing about promises—some are meant to be broken.’”
He cackled, nodded, and tapped the tips of his fingers on his cup. “You’re sassy. I kinda like that.” Shifting forward in his seat, Dylan laid the cup on the coffee table, settled back in the recliner, and raked his fingers through his beach-colored hair. “Back in my hometown of Boston, I caught my fiancée and my business partner together. Her blouse unbuttoned. His hands cupping her butt. The two, very much in the throes of a passionate lip-locking session. I stood there, my whole body feeling like a cement block, as I watched them for a minute too long. I’ll never forget hearing her mumble the wordsyou drive me crazy, baby—the same words she would say to me. Once the two broke free, realizing I’d caught them, I walked up to my slack-mouthed business partner, punched him in the jaw, then looked my cheating ex up and down, while she fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, a pitiful look of guilt written all over her lipstick smudged face. Thoughts ofhow the hell could she do this to me, swarmed my brain. I tried hard to hold back the anger as I stood, balled-up fists at my sides. There were no words for her. None. Only a glare locked on her like a laser aimed at a good shot. I stared at her, in that way, for ten seconds before I decided to walk out.”
Chloe slowly swallowed the built-up shock in her throat as she listened to Dylan, watched him live the heinous moment in his head all over again.Poor guy.
Eyes squeezed shut, Dylan continued, “I called my lawyer, had that prick of a business partner buy me out, sold my condo, then moved here.”
Unsure of what to say, Chloe simplified it with a low, “I’m so sorry, Dylan.”
He shrugged, reached for his coffee, sipped, swallowed. “It is what it is. But the whole thing left a sour taste in my mouth for any and all so-called relationships. We, Cynthia and I, were together for three years. Newly engaged—months away from our big destination wedding in Hawaii. And Dick—ironic how that’s really his name, considering he turned out to be one—well, we’d been business partners at the studio for nearly ten years.”
The comment about Dick, his business partner, mustered up an internal snicker in Chloe. “The studio? Like, a music studio?”
There it was creeping up again. That inquisitive nature in her stirring up a need to know more.
Some viewed it as pure nosiness.
“Uh, no.” He rounded his shoulders. “Not music. Photos. Posed Photography Studio.”
Photos.
