Page 74 of Eye Candy

But the worst was yet to come.

I still had to tell Chase.

CHASE

“What doyou mean you’re leaving?”

She was standing in the kitchen wearing the sweater she’d pulled on to take her phone call. It was, of course, mine, because she never put on something of hers when she could wear something of mine. The hem stopped at the tops of her luscious thighs.

I was in the kitchen making a cup of tea, using the stove to heat the water and wishing I’d bought electric kettles for all my places that morning she left my apartment in Chelsea. On our first day here in this apartment, Caroline had pulled a box of tea out of her handbag. I don’t know when she’d bought it—at some point during our trip shopping for eyeglasses. Tea was as important to her as long-distance vision was to me.

“It’s time for me to move home, Chase.”

“I don’t understand.”

She sighed and the sound was bone weary. “I made the deal with Gerard because I needed money. I told you that.”

“Yes. For Café Levitate.”

It was much more than a sandwich shop, I knew now. It was where she’d learned to walk, where she’d had her first kiss. The art her mom—mum—had picked out hungon its walls.

“Now my dad needs a knee replacement,” she said.

I pushed the cup of tea across the counter to her, trying to stay calm. “And the operation is expensive?”

“Not exactly. New Zealand’s medical system isn’t like America’s. Dad’s treatment is covered by the public system. He’s scheduled in, both for the op and recovery. That part is all OK. It’s keeping the café going while Dad’s out of action and that’s the problem.” She took a polite sip of tea. “Mike has three jobs, one of which he hates with a burning passion, and there’s not really anyone else who can help. Neighbors and friends will for a while, but they have their own stuff, their own schedules. No one wants to open a café at the first crow of Mike’s rooster. That’s five a.m., in case you were wondering.”

“This doesn’t sound like your scene,” I said carefully.

“It’s not.”

I felt almost giddy with relief. When she told me that she had to go home, my blood had chilled. I thought she was going to say she was finished with me, or she missed home too much, or that something had gone terribly wrong. This? Needing money, needing to hire more café workers? This was an easy fix.

“Caroline,” I said soothingly, “I can easily resolve this for you. I’ll arrange for someone to cover the café and help your family.” I was so pleased about how easy it all was, I spoke without thinking. “It’s just money, it doesn’t matter—” I broke off when she scoffed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that?—”

“Oh, no, you did.”

She was right. I did. But the bitterness in her tone surprised me. Why on Earth would she be annoyed that I was able to fix this, and was offering to?

“Well, to me, it is just money,” I reasoned. “I have it and you need it, so what exactly is your issue? I thought what had happened here, with us”—I indicated in the direction of the bedroom, where our sheets were still mussed—“would have changed something for you.”

Eyes blazing, she snapped, “I’ve spent most of my careerexplaining that I do not fuck for cash. There is absolutely nothing wrong with fucking for cash, but there’s a lot wrong with people assuming that must be what I do. Especially you.”

Hurt pierced my chest. I hadn’t meant that at all. Surely she knew me better than to think that’s what I meant.

I’d fallen for Caroline. I wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear those words yet and having them rebuffed would have devastated me, but the fact remained. I’d do anything for her, give her anything, move anywhere. When a Sanford fell for someone, we fell hard. I could admit that I was like my brother and my dad in that regard—although I was going to stick, unlike them. I had staying power.

It riled me that Caroline was acting like I was some fling, like I was trying to buy her, when instead I was trying to give myself to her.

A tiny, wounded corner of my mind wondered if I had misread things between us.

I pushed it away.

“That’s not what I meant,” I said stiffly. “You’re being defensive. I just meant I thought things had changed between us. I assumed you’d come back to New York with me. Don’t worry about money, or about Gerry. I can fix all that.” She made a noise of protest, and I held up a hand. “I have heaps of money. Fucking hell, the last thing I care about is money. This is a non-issue. I can fly you back to New Zealand to be with your dad, but you don’t have to move back there for good. It’s clear you don’t like living in Woodville, so come back to me when you can. And move into my apartment, you don’t need to share silly bunk beds in a street level place.”

“No, Chase. You don’t get it. I’ve been away from New Zealand for ten years. I’ve worked so many amazing venues, done so many amazing shows in that time, but I still make below minimum wage. I scrimp, and I get the most out of the least, but I can’t keep pretending my family doesn’t need me. And”—her voice wavered—“I miss them. I don’t visit home often enoughbecause I can’t bear the questions about how my career’s going. I want to be able to tell my dad about landing an amazing residency and performing gigs that would make him proud. And I want to send money back in amounts that make a difference. When it was clear things in New York weren’t working out, I should have gone home. But I didn’t. Because I’m selfish. I kept chasing my dreams at the expense of everyone else. I can’t keep deluding myself. I failed. It’s time to call it and go home.”

“You’re not selfish, Floss. You’re human.” I reached for her hands, but she moved them away. “And stubborn.” I straightened. “Will you just stay? And let me help you? You took money from Gerry, why won’t you take money from me?” The urgency of trying to get her to understand made me crude as I added, “I’m very rich!”

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