Admission of Love

by Niobia Bryant

  His body stiffened noticeably before he stood and turned to face her. “Sorry to disappoint you, but Deshawn had to go and pick up Alicia. She’s having car trouble again.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest when she realized it was him, and she knew it was him before he even spoke. No one, not even his identical twin, moved like Devon, with barely contained strength. So he hadn’t spent the night at Alicia’s, or else Deshawn wouldn’t have had to pick her up. She would have driven in with Devon.

  His eyes were intense as they watched her, and Chloe became nervous under the scrutiny. “I’ll just come back when Deshawn gets back. Tell him to call down to the house.”

  She turned to leave, ready to flee from his powerful presence, but his deep-timbred voice stopped her. “Is there something I can help you with, Chloe?”

  Nervously she turned but did not look at him, instead looking at an invisible spot on the floor. “Deshawn was going to give me a tour of the house.”

  “Checking for shoddy workmanship?” he asked dryly, reminding her of her sarcastic crack at him yesterday.

  Chloe jerked her head up to look at him, thinking that he was spoiling for a fight this time. She was surprised to see the hint of humor in his obsidian eyes. “Look, I’m sorry for that. I was in a bad mood yesterday.”

  He waved off her apology. “Forget it. I’ve had a few days of perpetual bad moods myself.” Devon took a deep breath as he watched her, finding it funny that she couldn’t look him in the eye for long. “Uhm, look, Chloe we need to talk.”

  She crossed her slender arms across her ample chest, the diamonds of her watch glistening in the sunlight. “About?” she asked, her voice trailing off.

  “Yesterday.”

  She squeezed herself with her arms. “I already apologized for jumping at you.”

  He shook his head. She wasn’t going to make this easy. “You know what I’m talking about, Chloe.”

  And of course, yes she did know exactly what he was talking about, but she remained silent and instead gathered the courage to look him in the face.

  Mistake ... big time.

  His eyes were intense and direct. She could not look away. He let his eyes lock with hers and felt surrounded by shades of hazel. He wanted to see those eyes blaze with desire. “Chloe, I should have apologized then for barging in on you. I thought the bathroom was empty or I wouldn’t have ever walked in on you like that.”

  His voice was deep and sincere. She hadn’t once believed he had barged in on her on purpose to cop a free look. Why would she? The man detested her. But she was moved by his apology and knew it was heartfelt.

  “It was an honest mistake, just an accident. I should’ve locked both doors and I’m sorry for that. It really was no big deal—”

  “No . . . big . . . deal,” he scoffed, his voice incredulous. “Thanks for the blow to my ego.”

  Her cheeks felt hot when she realized he thought she was referring to his male member. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes were round. “That’s not what I meant . . .”

  Devon threw his head back, laughing.

  Chloe liked the sound of it, rich and throaty. It was also the first time she could remember him laughing in her presence. Humor made his face even more open and handsome.

  “I know you didn’t mean it that way. I was just kidding, Chloe.”

  She raised one finely arched brow, “Don’t be so sure I didn’t mean it that way.”

  It was her turn to laugh when he abruptly stopped laughing to look at her. She held up both of her hands. “Just kidding.”

  “Look, I’ll show you around, at least until Shawn gets back. Just let me finish this up first.”

  He turned back to his squatting position and began hammering the nails he retrieved from his leather tool belt into the beam running along the interior of the closet.

  A vision of Devon naked and lean, squatting in the same position, with only his tool belt and construction boots on, flashed briefly in her mind. Laughter bubbled out, filling the empty room with reverberations of it.

  Devon stopped hammering and turned on his haunches to cast her a piercing stare. When she ducked her head, avoiding his eyes and covering her grin with her hand, his instincts told him that she was laughing at him.

  Did he have a hole in his pants, a foreign object hanging out of his nose? What the hell was so funny?

  Chloe chanced another look in his direction. With him still squatting, but now facing her, the vision changed to his male anatomy swinging between his thighs, his tool belt and boots still in place. Her lips sputtered with laughter again, resembling the tinkling of bells.

  Devon stood up, his hands on his narrow hips, causing Chloe to double over in laughter, tears filling her eyes. “Okay, Chloe, what’s so funny?” he demanded, his expression impatient.

  Chloe tried to swallow her laughter but failed to keep a straight face. “Nothing. I’m sorry Devon,” she sputtered, bursting into laughter again.

  “I fail to see anything humorous,” he drawled.

  She laughed so hard she snorted and her head began to pound. “If you saw . . . what I saw . . . you’d laugh too,” she said, as she tried to catch her breath.

  So she was laughing at him. “What did you see?”

  She took deep calming breaths through her mouth. “I just imagined you naked and hammering with nothing on but your tool belt and your big old construction boots!”

  Chloe howled with laughter when he looked down at himself and then back up at her. He didn’t find the notion of himself naked to be comical at all. He raised a brow at her, his handsome face serious. She sure hadn’t been laughing yesterday in the bathroom when her eyes had gotten wide as saucers at seeing his “endowments.”

  He started to tell her a few things, like:

  Why was she thinking of him naked anyway?

  or

  Why hadn't she laughed yesterday?

  or

  Would she like for him to show her just how serious the sight of him naked could get?

  But instead he gave her a stem look with his piercing black eyes. “Anyway, let’s start in the living room.”

  Devon walked past her out of the master suite, slipping his hammer into a leather rung on his tool belt. When he heard her cough back another round of laughter behind him, he actually smiled. Okay, the thought of someone naked in boots with a tool belt was hilarious.

  An unspoken truce developed between them.

  Chapter Eight

  A month had passed since Chloe first moved to the Carolinas. The September heat was nearly as sweltering as July’s, with the only relief to be found after the sun went down in the late afternoons. She had truly begun to think of the small town as home. It was a connection to her mother and the generations of Boltons before her. Frequently she could be seen driving by on the main road leading to Charleston in the new 2000 Lincoln Navigator SUV she bought after turning in the convertible sports car she had been renting.

  Always a hopeless shopaholic, Chloe truly took shopping to new heights. It had become her new pastime. But she still secretly yearned for the newest fashions from New York and Paris. Her weaved tresses were done with an infusion technique and Chloe doubted she could find anyone skilled enough with the process in the area. Plus, she missed Anika’s wry brand of humor. Okay, so there were some things to be found in New York that she couldn’t do without.

  She was cruising at seventy miles per hour down Highway 17 from Charleston when she thought of the upcoming Fashion Awards, to be held in New York. The televised event was just under two months away and she knew she had to attend. The only upside was that while she was in town she could get some serious shopping done, get pampered at the Estee Lauder spa, get her weave redone by Tahia at The Hair Solution, and spend some quality time with Anika.

  Smiling, she picked up the cellular phone from the console, quickly dialing Liv’s private business line with her right hand as she drove the SUV with her left hand easily.

  “Talk to me.”<
br />
  Chloe smiled at Liv’s usual greeting, but hated the harsh coarseness of her voice. “Hey there darling. Guess who?” Chloe said in an awful imitation of an exaggerated southern drawl.

  “Hello stranger. How are you?”

  Chloe could imagine her with a cigarette between her index and middle fingers. “I promised I would keep in touch and I haven’t spoken to you since I returned your call about the Fashion Awards.”

  Liv laughed. “Yes, and I’m glad that you called today. I wasn’t so sure you were still going to make an appearance.”

  "I really would prefer not to, Liv." Chloe paused as she swerved around a dead raccoon in the road. “But I have no choice.”

  Liv’s voice became animated. “Do you realize what a coup this will be? Why not win the award and announce that you’re returning to reclaim the top spot?”

  Chloe shook her head, nervously biting her bottom lip before she spoke. “No, Liv. I wasn’t happy being in the business anymore,”

  “You can’t hate me ... for trying.”

  Chloe knew that during that pause Liv was surely lighting up another cigarette. “I could never hate you, Olivia.”

  Another pause. “Regardless, you must know that this will be a big event for you. Chloe Bolton . . . one year later . . . how does she look now? . . . yadda yadda yadda. Just promise this old woman that you’ll come into town at least one week before the event.” Another pause. “The world’s gonna be looking at you. You’ll need the right outfit, hair and makeup.”

  Chloe knew she was right. For too long she had lived in front of the cameras to go only halfway with her appearance now. “I will be in town one week before then, Liv, I promise.”

  “Good. There’s one more thing, hon.”

  A big wad of bird crap landed on her hood. “What’s that?” she asked absentmindedly, knowing her paint could be ruined if she didn’t get the mess removed.

  “You’ll also need the perfect date. Let me set something up.”

  “Liv, you know I never liked publicity dates.” Her voice was firm.

  “Okay then, are you seeing someone. Has Calvin finally won your heart again? Maybe a big strapping southern buck with spurs?” Liv laughed.

  Again she bit her lip. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

  An image of Devon filled her mind, but Chloe shook the image away. Why had she thought of him? Well, he certainly was a strapping southern buck, minus the spurs.

  What would she do for an escort? Maybe she could just go alone. She would ask Anika, but sitting through an awards show was not her best friend’s type of thing, and besides she saw the awards show as the justification of parading men and women around as life-sized Ken and Barbie dolls. Maybe she should just let Liv set up one of her infamous celebrity publicity dates. It wasn’t like she had never done it before, she just didn’t like it. But it was just someone to pose with for pictures, and then the night was over and everyone went then- separate ways.

  “All right Liv, do it. But don’t get anyone over the top. If Dennis Rodman shows up at my door—”

  Liv was pleased. “I’ll get right on it and I’ll call you with details, hon.”

  Chloe felt like she resigned herself to a fate worse than death. “Okay Liv. Call me at the number I gave you.”

  She ended the call and replaced the phone on the console’s base. The Lincoln Navigator was headed down the main strip in Holtsville under her steering. This was the town’s downtown area and it was only the length of two metropolitan blocks. It really would take some getting used to.

  The downtown area was made up of one small bank, an even smaller post office, Cyrus’s two-pump gas station with a small store, a second-hand store, a moderately sized brick church, a police station, a video rental store and a small diner. It left a lot to be desired. A whole lot.

  She turned off the main road and drove the rest of the distance to the Jamisons’ in reflective silence. With every vehicle that passed her, the drivers waved or blinked their lights in greeting, and she did the same in kind. In New York, a driver was lucky to get a look of indifference as acknowledgment, if not an angry glare or an expression that said, What are you staring at?

  Chloe looked over to her left at the local day care center, where toddlers were loudly playing behind a fenced yard filled with swings, jungle gyms, merry-go-rounds and slides. She loved children, especially babies and toddlers. Their innocence captivated her and she allowed a sharp wave of regret to fill her that she had never slowed down in her career long enough to have children of her own. But then who would she have had them with?

  Many times during her relationship with Calvin they had discussed marriage and a family. In fact he had even proposed putting the wagon before the horse. Calvin had a way of waiting until her defenses were down, like while making love, to beg her to have his baby, to fulfill his dream of seeing her round with his child. First comes love, then Chloe with a baby carriage, next comes marriage? It’s no wonder the nursery rhyme didn’t go that way.

  Now, in hindsight, Chloe thought he probably didn’t want something as committing as a child, but only a chance to make love to her without a condom, something she had never allowed him to do during their entire relationship. When she thought of him in bed with another woman, she was glad she had not made that allowance for him. Maybe she’d seen the signs of his infidelity all along.

  A child with Calvin would have been the last thing she needed now, especially since she couldn’t stand the sight of the man. What type of environment would that have been for a child to grow in? Then again, maybe Calvin would have pulled a dip move like her own father, who had left the heavy weight of being both parents, single provider and single disciplinarian on her loving mother.

  Chloe didn’t think of her MIA father very often. How could she? She hardly knew much about him, and had never met the man. She could still remember the night, so many years ago, that she had asked her mother the question so many fatherless children do . . .

  ∞

  "Mama, why don’t I have a daddy?”

  Adell looked up from the crossword puzzle she was doing in the back of the TV Guide, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She looked down to where her eight-year-old daughter sat on the floor at her feet, reading. Chloe’s eyes were so large and hesitant in their clear hazel depths, as if it was a question she wanted to ask for a long time, but had just worked up the nerve to actually ask.

  Stalling for some time before she answered the question she had known would one day be asked, Adell slowly closed the TV Guide and removed her glasses.

  Chloe waited patiently, her eyes never wavering from her mother. She truly wanted to know where the faceless man who was her father was. Why didn’t he want to be a part of their family? Why didn’t he care that he missed her first words, her first steps and her first day of school? Did he know how pretty she was? Didn’t he want to do the things daddies did with their children, like Anika's dad? Didn’t he love her? Why didn’t he want her?

  Adell smiled lovingly at her child, just the faint hint of tears in her hazel eyes. “Come sit next to Mama, Chloe,” she said, her voice husky, barely above a whisper.

  And as she gathered Chloe’s thin frame to her ample side, she realized her mistake. She knew then that she should have told her daughter all the details about her father. But how could she make an eight-year-old, even one as bright as Chloe, understand about falling in love with a man and being filled with such pain when he leaves her and the baby he doesn’t want that she has to push all thoughts of him away? There was no way to explain that to a child.

  So instead of answering Chloe’s question directly, which would mean telling her the horrible truth. She tried to captivate the inquisitive child with stories of the man she yearned to know. Adell knew that her evasions could not last forever. But she wanted to spare her child the searing pain of rejection that she found difficult to deal with herself. Adell tried to never out-and-out lie to her child.

  “Chloe, w
hen I was eighteen I left from my home with my parents in Holtsville. As much as I loved it there, I knew there was no real work for me. So I accepted my Aunt Loreen’s offer to come stay with her, here in New York, until I got a job.”

  Chloe glanced up at her mother. She knew all this. She wanted to know about her father, but she dare not be disrespectful. When she focused back on the story she noticed she had missed some of it, but nothing concerning her question.

  "I was so proud of my first apartment, Chloe. Twenty-one and living alone for the first time in my life. The apartment building wasn’t much to speak of, but I put every spare cent I had into making my place look good, and it did. In fact I used to try to keep the front of the building and the hallways clean. Some of the other tenants looked at me like I was a fool.”

  She laughed then remembering, and Chloe smiled too. “Then about two or three months after I moved in, on a Saturday, I went downstairs to work on that little four-by-four dirt patch in front of the building. I wanted to plant some flowers." She sighed then and closed her eyes with a faint smile. “I was knee high in dirt, face smudged with a head rag on, when I hear this deep male voice say, ‘You’re too pretty to be in dirt that way.’ I turn around and it's my next door neighbor Terrence Gilford. Lord, he was fine. Tall and kind of a smooth caramel complexion, just like yours, with a slender build and big feet.”

  They both laughed at that and Chloe’s heart raced with excitement!

  “And he could dress. Well, I noticed him since the first day I moved in but I never thought he noticed me . . . until that day I was planting the garden.”

  Adell lowered her head until the side of her face touched the top of Chloe's plaited head. “And do you know what he did, Chloe?”

  Chloe shook her head no, anxiously awaiting her mother’s next words.