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My eyes nearly bug out of my head. I’ve lost the battle of trying to keep my eyes off her.
When I look over, she’s the color of a tomato.
“I only meant, it can be difficult,” she amends hurriedly. “Probably not for you, though. You’ve likely had dozens of amazing girlfriends.” Her jaw goes slack and her eyes widen as she looks over at me as if she might have just put her foot in her mouth. “Or boyfriends.”
“Girlfriends,” I confirm.
She nods and rushes to continue burying herself deeper into this hole. I could help her, of course, by diverting us to some other topic of conversation, but she’s just too damn cute when she gets like this. I like her flustered. It’s innocent and sweet.
“Have you had a hard time? I mean, outside of Miles.”
She frowns. “Did I tell you his name?”
“Sorry, I looked him up. Couldn’t resist.”
She blanches. “Oh god, that’s embarrassing. I hope you don’t think less of me.”
“Not at all. We’re all fools for love sometimes.”
She puffs out an exasperated scoff. “It was not love. Lust, maybe, for like a week. Then mostly it was just awe of his talent in the kitchen. There aren’t many chefs like him.”
Hearing her speak so highly of him raises my hackles.
“Good chef?” I shrug. “Big deal. He’s a shitty person from the sound of it.”
She looks over at me like I’m the first person to ever refer to him this way. She’s a little amazed, maybe even a bit scared by it, which really pisses me off.
“There are people like Miles in every industry. I can’t tell you how many guys play ball well and therefore get away with murder off the field. They usually get what’s coming in the end, though. Coaches end their contracts early because they’re too hard to work with. Wives divorce them and take them to the cleaners. It’ll be the same for Miles, you watch.”
She looks momentarily alarmed. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”
Of course she doesn’t. He took advantage of her, seduced her, cheated on her, but she still cares about his well-being. If that doesn’t spell out exactly the kind of person Chloe is, I don’t know what does.
“Look!” Harper shouts from behind us. “I found some construction paper too! We can cut it up and make big lemons for our signs!” she says excitedly.
I glance back at Chloe, and she offers a little smile of thanks.
“While you two work on that, I’ll head to the store—but I’m happy to pick up a shift out here when I get back, don’t you worry,” she says, tousling Harper’s hair as she walks by.
“Okay, but hurry back, Clo-Clo!” Harper says.
“Will do, Hay-Hay!”
Harper beams at me. “You like our nicknames? We came up with them while you were working out. We’ve got a secret handshake too. I’ll teach you after we make the signs.”
Just then, a dark gray Mercedes slows to a stop and pulls into our driveway. I recognize the driver right away.
“Ooh! A customer!”
No.
Unfortunately, this guy’s not a customer.
THIRTEEN
CHLOE
When I arrive back at Luke’s house, the lemonade stand is gone. Harper’s nowhere in sight, and there’s a gray Mercedes parked in the driveway, the one I saw as I was leaving for Bridgehampton Market. The driver waved at me as we passed one another in the driveway. I assumed it was finally someone wanting lemonade, but when I head inside with an armful of grocery bags and hear two male voices, I realize I was wrong.
I almost announce myself in some way, like “Hey! I’m back!” but then it’s probably better to blend into the background like I’m just a fly on the wall.
I turn the corner from the mudroom and walk into the kitchen. Luke is sitting at the breakfast table with a guy who looks to be close to his age, clean-cut, suited up, and handsome in a suave way. Where Luke is broad shoulders and a day’s worth of stubble, this guy is meticulously groomed and smooth. Both men notice me walk in with the groceries, and they immediately push to stand so they can offer help. Luke’s friend reaches me first.
“Let me get those for you.”
“Oh.” I laugh, slightly uncomfortable and unsure of what I’m supposed to do in this situation. He’s a guest of Luke’s and I’m an employee. I’m not supposed to accept help, but it’s too late. He hefts the bags over to the counter and sets them down neatly.
“Are there any more in the car?” he asks.
“No. No. This is all. Thank you.”
He shoots me a charismatic, practiced smile. “No problem. I’m David, by the way.” He extends his hand for me to shake.
“Chloe.”
While he still has my hand firmly in his, he glances over his shoulder toward Luke, whose brows are furrowed as he looks at us.
