"How's Florida, honey?" my mom asks through the phone, her voice reaching me as I sit in front of the charming little cafe, overlooking the pristine white sand dunes and the clear aqua-colored ocean.
"It's nice actually, you know. Nice to be out of New York," I comment, taking a sip of my coffee.
The truth was that New York felt completely suffocating for the last two months. Chloe's sudden breakup had shattered my heart, and for a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe that there might have been hope when she asked me to be her date for Sophie's wedding. And then when she told me for the second time she didn't love me, it became painfully clear that I needed to escape. I knew if I stayed I'd end up back in the same position, of me wanting her and her wanting nothing to do with me.
"How's the house holding up? I have the property management company come and check on it occasionally, but you know how they are. Always missing something," she inquires, referring to our family's beach house we've owned for the past four years. It's nestled along the coast of the Florida panhandle in a newer beach community called Anne Rose Beach.
"The house looks great, Mom. Just like the last time I visited," I reply, my gaze shifting from the mesmerizing ocean view back to my laptop, attempting to refocus on work.
"And you're still planning on arriving a few days before your sister's wedding, right?" She asks.
"Yes ma'am. I'll be there two days before the wedding," I respond.
"And Chloe... is she coming to the wedding too?" she asks, her tone expectant.
Shit, I still haven't told her that Chloe and I broke up.
I hesitate, searching for words to shield the truth. "I'm not sure, Mom," I stumble, desperately attempting to conjure up a convincing excuse. "She's been really busy lately, and she has things in New York..."
"You know, we're starting to think this girlfriend of yours is made up. Both of your sisters think so too," she says, her voice filled with doubt.
"Oh, she's definitely not made up, Mom," I assure her, momentarily breaking away from the computer screen. My hand runs through my hair as my gaze drifts towards the street.
At that precise moment, a flash of blonde hair catches my eye, quickly vanishing into the midst of a small crowd.
"You've been together for five months, and I haven't even spoken to her yet. And why isn't she with you in Florida?" she probes, causing me to close my eyes in search of the right words to explain the truth about our breakup.
"It's not that simple, Mom. She has her own life in New York," I respond, a touch of frustration seeping into my voice.
"Listen, Henry, we all know how difficult it was for you after the breakup with Savannah," she persists, unintentionally striking a nerve with the mention of Savannah's name.
Fuck
"Mom, this has absolutely nothing to do with Savannah," I interject, desperately trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.
Savannah, the girl who I dated throughout college, the one I thought I would spend the rest of my life with, the one who abruptly ended our relationship only to jump into a new one right away.
"I actually spoke to her mom just two days ago. She's not dating that boy anymore. Her mom mentioned that she regrets ever breaking up with you in the first place," she reveals, and just then I spot that unmistakable blonde hair once again. I could recognize it from a mile away.
"That's great, mom. But I'm not getting back together with Savannah. Look, I've got to go. I'll call you tomorrow though," I say abruptly, shutting my computer and hastily stuffing it into my bag.
"Okay, Henry, but I really think it's important for Chloe to come to the wedding," she interjects swiftly before I can wrap up the conversation.
"I'll talk to her mom, okay? I really have to go," I respond, even though I have no intentions of doing so.
"All right, honey, I'll talk to you later," She says as I shove the remaining things into my bag and then hang up.
I quickly glance up, hoping to catch another glimpse of her. I spotted her just as she turns the corner up the street. Without hesitation, I pull out some cash from my wallet and leave it on the table before darting across the street to catch up.
Her long blonde hair flows in the wind and her glowing fair skin has a sun-kissed tan. She's wearing one of those matching linen top and skirt sets. The skirt has a teasing slit up her right leg, making me wish I could slide my hand along its path, while her cropped top reveals a tantalizing glimpse of her toned midriff.
Fuck. She looks beautiful.
She steps into the small market named AR Feed & Supply, I quietly trail behind, entering just half a minute later. The store is small and cozy, with only five compact and well-stocked aisles. From the front, I catch sight of her, her back turned to me as she peruses the selection of wines along the back wall.
With a touch of nervousness, I step into the aisle, memories of Sophie's wedding flooding my mind. The pain still lingers, making me question why I even followed her into the store, to begin with.
This is definitely a bad idea.
But before I can retreat, overcome by the urge to escape, I find myself involuntarily blurting out her name, "Chloe."
Her reaction is immediate. Startled, she turns towards me, her eyes widening, and the once-present smile on her face quickly fades. Shock is etched across her features as she takes in my appearance from head to toe.
"What are you doing here, Calhoun?" Her words carry a dismissive tone as if I were unwelcome.
"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" I respond, irritation surfacing from her tone.
"Are you following me, Lewis?" Her question is laced with seriousness, her eyes searching mine for answers.
I can't help but burst into laughter. "You think I followed you all the way from New York?" I counter, unable to suppress my amusement. "Why are you here? In Florida, of all places," I ask, gesturing to our surroundings, my curiosity now piqued.
"Why am I here? My family owns half of this fucking development, Henry. My name is plastered on all the signs," she replies as if it should be obvious to me.
"Your name is Anne Rose?" I quip, momentarily puzzled.
"My middle name is Anne, dipshit," she retorts with a touch of exasperation. "My sister's middle name is Rose."
I gaze at her, the puzzle pieces falling into place. Chloe's father is in real estate and by that I mean he holds a vast empire of apartment buildings scattered across New York, renowned retail marketplaces along the entire east coast, and a collection of luxurious vacation destinations, just like the one we are standing in right now. It all makes sense now. Of course, her family would own this development.
She rolls her eyes and strides away, leaving me to process the information. Hastily, I increase my pace to catch up with her, as she heads towards the register. Following closely, I nearly collide with her as she abruptly halts. My chest gently brushes up against her shoulder sending a wave of sensation through me, while the scent of her coconut shampoo wafts into my face, momentarily diverting my attention.
"Why are you even here?" she questions, her voice laced with curiosity and a hint of irritation, as she places a bottle of wine on the counter, seemingly unaware of my physical presence.
"My family owns a house here," I reply, hoping to capture her attention. Finally, she looks at me, I continue, "I'm working here remotely for the summer."
"Oh my god," she whispers, her face contorting into a mix of anger and disbelief.
The cashier hands her the bag of wine, and without sparing me another glance, she snatches it, turns away, and struts out of the exit.
"Chloe," I call out, my voice laced with urgency, as I trail behind her, stepping out of the store. Instinctively, my hand reaches out to grab her arm, hoping to capture her attention.
She abruptly stops, turning towards me, her gaze fixated on my hand resting on her forearm. Sensing her discomfort, I quickly release my hold.
"Sorry," I mumble, quickly trying to rub the familiar tingle that her touch never fails to draw out off my hand with the other, trying to erase the lingering sensation.
"What?" She asks as she turns fully towards me. Her irritation is palpable in her voice. "What do you want?"
What do I want?
"I don't know. I just.. I saw you and I thought..." I stammer, my words trailing off as I struggle to gather my thoughts.
Her eyes narrow, and a touch of bitterness seeps into her voice. "What? That you could just say 'hi' to me after leaving mid-sex while you were still halfway inside of me?" she retorts, her words cutting through the air.
Embarrassment washes over me as I offer a small, apologetic smile to the three ladies who pass by us at that exact moment, who obviously overheard Chloe's remark.
I step closer, closing the gap between us, our faces mere inches apart, ensuring our conversation remains private. "That was after you made it abundantly clear it was only break-up sex," I whisper-yell at her, my voice filled with a mix of frustration and hurt.
A flicker of irritation crosses Chloe's face as she narrows at my gaze. "Fuck. You know what? Fine. I'll just pretend you're not even here," I retort, my irritation bubbling to the surface. "Because that's exactly what you want, right?"
"Fine by me," she responds, her tone laced with indifference.
"Fine," I retort sharply.
"Fine"
"Fine"
"Fine."
There's a moment of silence in between us as we stare at each other unmoved. She appears even more breathtaking than I remembered. Her blonde hair dances in the wind, illuminated by the sun, while her piercing blue eyes shine with clarity. And those freckles that scattered across her cheeks and her nose-
"Fuck," she mutters, breaking me out of my thoughts.
She clutches her bag of wine to her chest and without another word, she pivots on her heel, deliberately turning her back on me, and strides off in the opposite direction. I remain rooted to the spot, inhaling deeply to steady my racing thoughts and watch her retreating figure.
I start to walk home as I follow a few steps behind her down the main street and as we both veer down the narrow side street, the realization dawns upon me that we must be staying in the same area. Just as the thought takes hold, she whirls around, her exasperation etched on her face, confronting me head-on.
"You are following me, aren't you?" she accuses, her tone upset.
"No, I'm not! My house is in the same direction," I reply, gesturing towards the road. I let out a sigh when she doesn't seem convinced. "Do you want me to walk on the other side of the street?"
"Yes," she asserts.
"Fine."
"Fine."
Her eyes remain fixed on me as I jog across the other side of the street. We maintain this awkward arrangement for about another five minutes until I decelerate in front of my house, conveniently located across the street on her side. She slows her pace as well, wearing a perplexed expression on her face, wondering why I've suddenly come to a halt. With a bit of hesitation, she takes a few more steps ahead, and I seize the moment to swiftly cross the street, heading towards my front door.
As I fumble with my keys, I become aware of her gaze on me. She too has halted her steps and grabs her keys from her bag. With a hesitant step, she approaches the front door of the house adjacent to mine. She aligns her key with the lock, mirroring my own actions. Her eyes lock onto mine once more, and a profound realization dawns upon her: I am, in fact, her neighbor. Her eyes widen, and I can't help but smirk at the realization.
"Oh. My. God." she exclaims as she flings open her door and slams it shut behind her.