Page 38 of Open Arms

16

Chloe

The kiss lingered.

Like the aftertaste of a rich wine, it clung to every corner of my consciousness. Mason’s lips had been firm yet tender, sparking a blaze I wasn’t prepared to handle. Each time I closed my eyes, I could feel the ghost of his touch, and I’d jerk awake, equal parts thrilled and terrified.

“Morning, Chlo,” Pete greeted me with that typical, lopsided grin as I walked into Sunshine Acres’ cozy office. His voice was like a splash of cold water, dousing the fires of my daydream.

“Hey, Pete.” I kept my tone light, neutral, focusing on flipping through the stack of invoices on the desk. Work always piled up when you least wanted it.

“Nice day out, huh?” He leaned against the desk, too close for comfort, but I knew he meant no harm. “Makes a guy think about heading down to the lake. Maybe have a picnic. You know, with someone special.”

I tensed, felt the weight of his gaze. “Sounds nice,” I ventured cautiously, hoping he’d miss the hint of disinterest I couldn’t mask.

“Thought maybe you’d wanna come with me this Saturday. I mean, if you’re free.” Pete’s voice held a hopeful note, one that tugged at whatever cord in me vibrated with pity.

“Actually,” I started, the words catching in my throat, “I’ve got plans already.”

“Sure, sure,” he said quickly, backing off with an ease that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Another time, then.”

“Another time,” I echoed, but we both knew it was just a polite deflection. I watched him walk away, his shoulders a little slumped, and turned back to the invoices with a sigh. Emotions were such messy things, tangling up inside me until I couldn’t tell where one ended and another began.

Mason. Pete. My past.

A mess, indeed.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, watching Pete retreat with that forced nonchalance. The air in the office seemed to thicken, heavy with the unspoken words hanging between us. I had to clear the air before it suffocated me.

“Pete,” I called out, and he paused, a half-turn that held a flicker of hope I knew I had to snuff out. It wasn’t fair to either of us.

He approached again, his smile tentative. “Yeah, Chloe?”

I took a deep breath, choosing my words like picking glass from a wound—careful, so careful not to cause more hurt. “I just want to be honest with you.”

His smile faltered, eyes searching mine for a hint of what was coming. “Honesty’s good,” he replied, though the cheer in his voice had dimmed.

“Look, you’re great, Pete. Really, you are.” My hands twisted together under the desk, unseen. “But I don’t think going out is such a good idea. Not now. Not . . . with how things are.” God, I was bad at this.

“Things?” His brow furrowed in confusion or maybe it was the beginning of understanding.

“Personal things. I’m just not ready to . . . or, I’m not interested in . . .”

“Ah.” The sound was small, resigned. And it hit me harder than any protest could have.

“I hope we can still be friends?” The question hung in the space between us, fragile as a soap bubble.

“Of course, Chlo.” The nickname felt like a punch to the gut, warm and familiar and now tinged with a sadness I had caused. “Friends.” He nodded, but it was like he was nodding to himself, convincing his own heart of the fact.

“Thanks for understanding.” The gratitude was genuine; relief and regret mingling in a bitter cocktail.

“Always,” he said, and this time when he walked away, there was no pretense of lightness. Just a man retreating.

I let out a shuddering breath, alone again with the invoices. Alone with the guilt gnawing at my insides. Pete wasn’t a bad guy, but I wasn’t interested. Honesty was kindest in the long run. Wasn’t it?

“Stupid, stupid feelings,” I muttered under my breath, pressing a hand to where my heart ached behind my ribcage. Mason’s face flashed in my mind, bringing a whole different kind of ache.

“Get it together,” I whispered to myself, forcing my focus back to numbers and dates—anything but the messy tangle of human emotions threatening to unravel me.

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