Chloe only shrugged. Wind this time of year didn’t faze her too much, because it was often breezy in San Francisco. “Do you think I can take you up on the offer to take me around town?”
“Absolutely. I’m available all weekend. Feel free topoundon my door whenever you’re ready.” His cocky tone and equivalent head tilt were like a match made in heaven.
Unable to hide the smile on her face, Chloe walked backward to her door. If it weren’t so cold and windy, would he have escorted her there? Kissed her good-night?
Ugh. Will you please give it a final rest, Chloe? This is real life. Not one of your sappy novels.
Yet in a sappy-novel way, they said goodbye…
“Chloe.”
“Dylan.”
Then slowly, closed their doors.
“Oh,my gosh! Thank goodness I was able to book you a flight back to San Francisco. It leaves in about three hours,” a frantic Libby yelped into the phone.
Chloe was beginning to think her editor slash once-good friend thrived on waking her up each morning. “What are you talking about?” She yawned, then groaned when she pried one eye open and realized it wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet, her plan to sleep in, now ruined.
“The storm, Chloe. Tropical Storm Amelia. It’s all over the news.”
Was it improbable to think this conversation was all a dream? That Libby wasn’t really on the other end of the phone, heaving, as if she were about to have a panic attack? “Storm?”
“Uh, yeah. S-T-O-R-M. Wind. Rain. You should really come out of the writer’s cave and watch CNN.”
Libby’s unwelcome sarcasm would have had Chloe rolling her eyes…if they weren’t still shut. “I’m not in the cave. I’m in bed. Sleeping. Like a normal human being. At least I was. And, for the record, there is no storm here.” The wind hissed by her window, clearly mocking that statement. “Um, hold on. Let me put on the news.”
Chloe reached for the remote on the bedside table, turned on the television, and switched the channel to CNN where the top story was:The surprise Tropical Storm Amelia to hit Florida late Saturday night or early Sunday morning. Jaw dropped, she stared at the television, the map showing the swirling path Amelia was on.
“Do you see it? It’s headed right for you, Chloe. You need to pack. Get on that plane back to San Francisco. I’ve emailed you the itinerary.”
Leave Fortune’s Bay? Dylan? “I can’t leave. I’ve got a novel to finish.”
“Won’t really matter if you’re washed away by the storm.”
Chloe sat up in the bed, listened to the reporter on the news. “It’s just a measly tropical storm, not a hurricane. I mean how bad can it be?” She turned on her knees, moved the curtain to take a peek out the window behind her bed, ignored the ominous cloud-filled sky, the palm trees frantically swaying in the wind like they too were warning her to run. “I’m not leaving.”
Libby let out a loud sigh. “This is not the time for you to be Stubborn Davenport, but suit yourself. Stay in touch to let me know you’re safe and sound. Bye, for now.”
Chloe tossed her cell phone on the pillow, laid down, arms folded. It would be her luck Tropical StormWhoeverwould show up now. No wonder the wind picked up last night. Was it even storm season? Of course not. It was two months too soon for a storm of this magnitude to come anywhere near Florida. At least according to what Chloe heard the news reporter say. She pondered taking Libby’s advice—board that plane back to San Francisco in a few hours. Play it safe. Then again, that’s exactly what no-risk-taking Chloe was bound to do. Staying put in Fortune’s Bay, would be an excellent way to prove to herself she was ready to take all the risks.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
