Page 36 of Pining for You

“No! We’ve only been dating two months.” I shook my head in frustration. “I know that makes me sound like a hypocrite, but…”

“But given your history, you’re afraid. That’s perfectly understandable.” Marilyn reached over and rested her hand on mine, her skin surprisingly cool given today’s heat. “The part that is not understandable, is why you are here talking to me, an old lady, instead of chasing down your man and asking him?”

“Because…” My mouth flapped like a hooked fish out of water as I struggled to come up with a reasonable answer. But couldn’t.

“Chloe, dear, what I’ve learned from over fifty years of marriage to my Bob was men can’t anticipate your questions. Your fears. You have to tell them. Ask them outright. Don’t make them guess what you’re thinking, the same as you don’t like when they expect you to know what they’re thinking. If you have an issue with him asking for a loan, or why he got turned down for one, ask the poor man. Not me. Not your friends. Ask Brad.”

“I know, but…” Then I’d have to tell him about my debts and he might dump me.

“What could he say that would make you know you couldn’t continue seeing him? Get that settled in your head, but don’t anticipate the worst. I’ve known Brad since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, known his family even longer. They’re sensible folk.” She pursed her lips and stared across the lake for a long minute, then added, “Most of ’em anyway. Brad’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’s got a good job—he’s reliable, and he’s helpful to people who need help. Ask him about the loan. Listen to him. Then make up your mind about what you believe, and how you feel. What you can live with.”

“I know I need to ask him to his face. I get it, but…I’m forty-three years old and I can’t afford to be in debt the rest of life. I can’t go back to my parents and say I’ve failed in yet another relationship.” Not to them, not to myself.

“But you’re scared. Because you think everyone is your ex. Chloe—” Finger closed, tightened around my hand with surprising strength, she continued, “We’re all scared of something. Losing Bob? I’m still terrified at the thought of being alone. I get scared at the weird noises I hear at night or facing a repair that Bob used to do that I never bothered learning how to do myself. It scares me to know I’m growing old and feeble alone. I always thought Bob would be there. Don’t give up the chance to find a Bob of your own. They’re out there. I’m not saying Bradley’s the one for you, that he’s your Bob, but don’t write him off because you’re afraid to ask him for the truth.”

“But what if he asks for my truth and learns about Tony? About how the police hauled me into the station and questioned me. How people I thought were my friends automatically believed I was in on Tony’s schemes. That I helped him. What if he thinks like that?” I couldn’t bear it.

“Then he’s not your Bob, is he? I understand why you wouldn’t tell him when you first started dating him, but I think you need to have a heart-to-heart before either of you invests too much. If you love him, or think there is the possibility of something long-term, don’t throw it away because of fear. That’s not the Chloe Pogue I know. That’s not how your parents and your grandparents taught you. Now, get out that phone of yours and call him. Ask to meet him somewhere.” She waved a hand over her patio. “Here if you’d like. I can go inside and stay out of your way.” Her lips pulled up into a grin that reached into her eyes. “Or stay out here and referee if you want. But be warned, I’m impartial and if you start acting like a fool, I’ll call you out as much as I will him.”

Oh jeez Louise, there was no way I wanted a witness, even someone as lovely as Marilyn. “I’m supposed to meet him at Perry Beach in—” I checked my watch and swallowed my curse. “Ten minutes ago.”

Marilyn’s lips pursed. “Text him and tell him you’re on your way. Then get a wiggle on and get over there and hope he hasn’t left already.”

BRAD

I paced along the shoreline, the gravel crunching beneath my feet, then clattering when I’d reach the end of Perry Beach and turn around to begin yet another length.

The beach part of Perry Beach was a misnomer. To me, beach implies sand that spreads out along the length of the shore and stretches out into the lake. Perry Beach was a length of smooth gravel and sharp rock. Great for fishermen but not great for swimmers, though us locals used it when the main beaches filled with tourists in the summer. Unfortunately, several years ago, a research team from the local university had announced Perry Beach was under threat by a new-to-the-area algae called starry stonewort, which could clog up boat engines, catch fishing hooks, and formed thick underwater mats that impeded swimming. Which meant tonight, like most days since the announcement, I was the sole visitor.

As I slowed to turn for yet another length of beach, I checked my watch for the fifteenth time. Chloe was ten minutes late, thirty seconds later than the last time I’d checked. Was I being stood up? Or was she ghosting me? No, if she wanted to ghost me, she wouldn’t have asked me to meet her here. Two trips along the short, rocky beach later, my phone pinged. When I pulled my phone from its holster, I bobbled it, nearly sending it flying into the lake. I breathed out a sigh of relief when I caught it and checked the screen.

Chloe

Running late. Be right there. Don’t leave before I get there.

Thank God. She was coming.

Ten minutes later, and twenty minutes late, Chloe’s truck pulled into the parking lot. I hurried to open her door. “Thanks for texting. I was getting worried about you.”

She glanced away, but took my hand as I helped her out of her truck. “Thanks for waiting, and you didn’t need to worry.”

“Of course I was going to worry about you.” Shit, did that make me seem too needy? Clingy? Or worse, controlling?

Halfway to the shoreline, Chloe unthreaded her hand from mine and faced me. “Soooo, we need to talk.”

Crap. She was dumping me. “Okay.”

“At the party the other night, I overheard a conversation you had with Josh.”

I’d had a lot of conversations with Josh and a lot of other people that night. None of which should concern Chloe. “Which particular part did you overhear?”

“I know it’s not any of my business, and you don’t owe me an explanation, but my ex left me with a lot of debt so I got…concerned when I heard about you not getting a loan from the bank.”

Shit. Heat burned in my face, betraying my embarrassment, one of the many blessings of my Celtic background and red beard. “I’m sorry to hear about your ex.”

Why hadn’t she felt she could tell me about him?

Before I could say anything more, she continued, “The thing is, I like you.”

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