Fool for Love

by Beth Ciotta

  “How does she keep up with it?”

  “Devlin’s dad, Jerome Monroe, Daisy’s son, hired a professional cleaning service about ten years ago after Daisy refused to move in with them or into a smaller home.”

  “Is that how long she’s been a widow? Ten years?”

  “More or less.”

  Chloe remembered what it was like when her mom died. Heartbroken, Chloe’s dad had never remarried and, as far as she knew, he didn’t see anyone steady. If he had the occasional affair, she didn’t know. She couldn’t imagine. Or maybe she didn’t want to imagine. Who wanted to think about their parent having sex? All she knew was that he, too, lived alone in their big old house in Marlton. “Must be lonely.” Maybe that’s why it had taken Chloe so long to commit to a relationship. Subconsciously she couldn’t deal with loving someone for years only to lose him to death.

  Or a Parisian tart.

  “I never met Daisy’s husband, but I’ve heard he was domineering and stuffy. She doesn’t talk about him much, so, I’m not sure how much she misses him. As for being lonely, the Monroe clan is huge, lots of uncles and aunts, nieces, nephews, and grandchildren. Plus they’re related to the McCloud and Bentley crew. Plus Daisy has a lot of friends, although her closest buds starting dying off a few years ago.”

  Chloe’s friends hadn’t died off, but most of them had faded away. You can only turn down so many invitations before people stop calling. Crazy, she hadn’t met Daisy, yet she felt a weird bond. “That’s sad.”

  “Yeah, but nothing keeps Daisy Monroe down for long. She’s a real pip. Funny thing is, folks say she used to be conventional and reserved.”

  “Probably because of her husband,” Chloe said, thinking on how she’d curbed her enthusiasm because of Ryan’s influence.

  “Maybe,” Monica said. “She really came out of her shell about three years ago.”

  Chloe’s lip quirked. “At seventy-two.”

  Monica laughed. “Gotta watch out for those late bloomers.” She squeezed Chloe’s knee. “Ready?”

  “Sure. No. Give me a minute.”

  “I’ll give you several. Want me to drive around the block a few times?”

  Chloe shook her head. “Just need a sec.” She blew out a breath and swiped her clammy hands over the legs of her grey chinos. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I’ve held dozens of different jobs, worked with and for all kinds of personality types. “

  “I blame Dev. He made you self-conscious last night. I knew he was going to be a pain, but I didn’t count on him being a jackass. What was with the condescending attitude?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And you. I’ve never seen you so easily flustered. The old you would have won him over with bubbly charm.”

  Chloe flushed remembering how she’d morphed into an antisocial butterfly. Even after he’d left, she’d been unable to rally. More than anything, she’d been stunned that, even though he’d acted like a jerk, she was still attracted to the man. How pathetic was that?

  Too pathetic to even share with her best friend.

  “I know,” Chloe said, feeling hollow. “I think I lost the old me somewhere in the first year after I moved in with Ryan. He was molding me into a more sedate, stable, well, adult, I guess. Only that wasn’t really me, just his vision for me, and when I realized his potential … he dumped me.” She glanced at her friend, panic fluttering in her stomach. “I’m not sure I know who I am anymore.”

  Monica grasped her hand. “Maybe today’s not the best day to start a new job. Come home with me; stay another night or two. I’ll square it with Daisy without sharing details.”

  Chloe squeezed her friend’s hand and forced a smile. “No. I’m good. Really.” She’d heard Monica and Leo going at it late last night and again early this morning. They were head over heels in love and trying for a baby. Chloe couldn’t be happier for her friend, and at the same time it made her absolutely miserable. A reminder of what she didn’t have and wouldn’t have for a very long time, if ever. She pushed open her car door. “Let’s go.”

  A few seconds later, she was rolling her mega-sized suitcase along the sidewalk and up Daisy’s driveway. Monica led the way. Chloe inhaled the scent of freshly mown grass and admired the beautiful landscaped lawn. So different from the occasional tree and patch of grass in Manhattan. And instead of soulless skyscrapers, she was surrounded by majestic mountains. The sights and scents of nature reminded her of simpler times. The closer she got to the massive house, the calmer her nerves, and when the front door swung open she felt a bit of balance in her wobbly world.

  “You’re younger than I expected, Miss Madison.”

  “You’re hipper than I expected, Mrs. Monroe.” Chloe stared at the short, spry woman on the threshold. Betty White channeling Whoopi Goldberg. Daisy’s silver hair was a halo of short, frothy curls and her cat-eye glasses were tinted pink and accented with subtle bling. Her attire was equally funky—faded jeans, a bohemian peasant blouse, and a pair of metallic gold sneakers. Compared to her—dressed in straight-legged chinos, a light pink knit tunic, and grey ballet flats—Chloe felt like a preppy sorority sister.

  Daisy scrunched her penciled brows. “Is hip cool?”

  Chloe smiled. “Very.”

  The woman extended a wrinkled, age-spotted hand. “Call me Daisy.”

  “Chloe.”

  “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Monica said with a huge grin. “See you at the meeting tonight, Daisy.”

  “Did you get the call?” she asked. “Rocky’s oven’s busted. We’re meeting at Devlin’s.”

  “Got it,” Monica said with a sympathetic glance at Chloe.

  Chloe telegraphed a silent, No problem. She’d drive Daisy to the meeting, but she wasn’t going inside, no matter where it was being held. She wasn’t ready to meet an entire social club, especially a club devoted to baking cupcakes. Desserts equaled heartache and the urge to do bodily harm with assorted kitchen utensils. She imagined Rocky serving chocolate cupcakes and Monica having to tackle her to the floor as she lunged for a cast-iron baking pan and started swinging. Not a great first impression.

  Daisy ushered Chloe inside. “Park your suitcase anywhere, kitten. We’ll pick out your room when we get back.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Sugar Creek.”

  “But we’re in Sugar Creek.”

  “No, I mean the creek. I’m in the mood for a picnic.” She pointed to her left. “Kitchen’s that way. Make us some sandwiches and nab a bottle of wine. I’ll fetch my hat and purse.”

  She took off and Chloe sought out the kitchen, instantly charmed by the woman and her home. It might have looked intimidating from the outside, but the interior couldn’t have been more warm and welcoming. A mix of colonial and Victorian décor. Exquisitely perfect. Like something out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine. Chloe soaked in the antiques, the collectibles, the perfectly arranged clutter.

  She stopped cold on the threshold of the spacious kitchen. She could scarcely believe her eyes. State-of-the-art appliances and a gazillion culinary gadgets. A Cuisinart food processor, KitchenAid stand mixer, waffle baker, slow cooker, Breville Café Roma espresso maker. She checked her pulse, because she was pretty sure she’d died and gone to heaven.

  * * *

  Devlin was pretty sure he’d died and gone to hell. “What do you mean, a quarter of our employees put in applications at the supercenter?”

  “You can’t blame them, Dev.” Chris Bane, his assistant manager, dragged a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Walmart’s offering—”

  “I know what they’re offering.” A better health plan and a generous benefits package. J.T.’s was an independent store. Small potatoes compared to a national chain. “Dammit.”

  “There’s also a growing fear that the supercenter will put us out of business. Why shop here when—”

  “I’m working on that,” Devlin said. “Renovation and expansion should keep us in the game.”

&
nbsp; Chris angled his head. “Shame your dad’s opposed to change.”

  “Working on that, too. Do me a favor and temper the gossip on the floor. Tell them we’re in there swinging and have no intention of going down.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all I ask.” Devlin drank the last of his coffee and texted his sister: did u call dad?

  did u mk nice w/chloe?

  will do after wk

  now wd b better

  “Dammit.” on it

  * * *

  “Why are you driving so slow?”

  “I don’t want to risk a ticket.” Or a fender bender. Chloe was supremely uncomfortable in this four-wheeled boat. She had to sit on the same pillow Daisy usually sat on to see over the dashboard, and the gearshift wasn’t even in the right place. It was on the freaking steering column!

  Daisy leaned left and peered over the rims of her prescription Jackie O sunglasses. “You’re going ten miles under the speed limit.”

  “The slower I go, the less damage I’ll do if I hit a deer or squirrel or anything. Besides, this road is rutted with potholes.” Chloe flexed her hands on the steering wheel of Daisy’s 1964 Cadillac. 1964! Chloe still couldn’t believe it. This car had been made almost twenty years before she was born. Even so, it was in good working order and pristine condition. Sort of like Daisy. Chloe felt like she was transporting precious cargo in a priceless antique. Hello, pressure?

  They were at least twenty miles from town in the fricking middle of nowhere driving through the middle of the fricking woods. According to Chloe’s new boss, this one-lane dirt road was a shortcut to Sugar Creek—the river, not the town. Chloe didn’t want to damage the car, and she certainly didn’t want to damage Daisy. Either would prompt a visit from Devlin Monroe. Chloe hoped to avoid him for a week or two while she reconnected with her old self or discovered an enlightened new self, someone capable of handling an Alpha Manipulator.

  “No offense, kitten, but you drive like an old lady.” Daisy crossed her arms over her chest and grunted. “I would’ve been better off with Morgan Freeman.”

  It took a second, but then Chloe flashed on the award-winning movie they’d watched in one of her film classes. “I get it,” she managed without rolling her eyes. “Driving Miss Daisy.” Ha.

  “Didn’t you live in New York? On TV people who drive in big cities are fearless.”

  “That or insane.”

  “Overly cautious people cause more accidents, you know. Punch it, Scaredy-Cat. I’d like to have lunch before it’s time for dinner. I’m starving.”

  Chloe’s stomach grumbled in agreement. Last night, she’d lost her appetite after Devlin had crashed her party for two. This morning, she’d been too nervous about her new job to eat anything other than a piece of dry toast. She was starving, too. After raiding Daisy’s refrigerator, Chloe had quickly prepared roast-beef sandwiches and spiced up a fresh but bland batch of pre-made potato salad. The food was stashed in the picnic basket on the backseat along with a bottle of chardonnay and two bottles of water.

  Eager to reach their destination, Chloe accelerated, pushing the speedometer to 40 mph.

  “Regular daredevil,” Daisy said.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes and a picnic lunch later, the two women were sprawled on a thick blanket, staring up through the rustling treetops at the cloudless sky. It was a beautiful day. Unseasonably warm for mid-September, according to Daisy. Chloe toed off her flats and wiggled her toes. If she rolled up her chinos, she could walk along the shallow portions of Sugar Creek—which was more like a river. That would certainly cool her off and help to digest the food she’d wolfed down.

  She turned to ask Daisy if she’d like to take a walk and noticed she’d fallen asleep. Not surprising considering the heat and how much they’d eaten. Plus Daisy had polished off two plastic tumblers of wine.

  Knowing she had to drive them back in the monster Caddy, Chloe had stuck to water. Smiling to herself, she pushed up onto her elbows, absorbing the woodland surroundings and enjoying the silence. Daisy had talked all through lunch, asking Chloe about her life in NYC. She’d been especially keen to learn about Chloe’s social activities.

  Have you been to the top of the Empire State Building? Ever danced the night away in one of those famous discos? Taken a hansom cab ride through Central Park? Indulged in a speedboat ride on the Hudson River? At night?

  Chloe had done all of those things, except the nocturnal speed demon ride on the Hudson. Given her moderate swimming skills and a terrifying childhood incident, she’d never been fond of water sports. To which Daisy had said, If you live life ruled by your fears, you’re not really living.

  Chloe had never considered herself cautious. If she wanted something, she went for it. Mostly. Although, if she was honest, these past two years she’d been so focused on “growing up,” committing to a relationship and domestic tranquility, in addition to studying her butt off at the Culinary Arts Institute, she had, sort of, temporarily (she hoped) forgotten how to have fun.

  “So what’d you put in my potato salad?” Daisy asked. “Had more zing than usual.”

  Chloe started. “I thought you were napping.”

  “Naps are for babies and old people.” She sat up and stretched her arms over her head, yawned. “Thought I tasted dill.”

  “Fresh dill.”

  “And?”

  “Ground cumin and chopped red onions,” Chloe said. “Normally I would’ve added chipotle peppers, but you didn’t have any in the fridge and besides, it might have been too spicy for you.”

  “Never know unless you try. Next time add the peppers.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The older woman slid her sunglasses to the end of her nose and nailed Chloe with narrowed eyes. “If this, us, is going to work, you have to call me Daisy. I only hired you to get my grandchildren off my back. I’d prefer to do my own cooking and driving. I’m not an invalid, but I am…” She looked away as if embarrassed.

  “Lonely?” Chloe asked while snagging her water bottle.

  Daisy snorted. “With a big family like mine? Someone’s always popping over or inviting me to some or another shindig. I’ve got commitments and engagements coming out of my skinny patooty. What I yearn for is adventure. I want to make the most of what time I’ve got left. I want a fuck buddy.”

  Chloe choked on a mouthful of water.

  “Someone who’ll say ‘screw you’ to convention. Someone who’s not afraid to take chances and embrace opportunities. After talking to Monica, I just knew you were the one. Passionate. Fearless. Was I wrong?”

  Daisy was referring to the old Chloe Madison, pre-Ryan Levine. She felt a stab of regret, nostalgia, something. “I’m not sure I’d call myself fearless, but I’ve taken a lot of chances in my life. Followed my heart. My passions.”

  “Exciting.”

  “Risky.”

  “But exciting.”

  Again she felt conflicted between her old life and the life she’d created with Ryan. She hadn’t hated the person she’d become because of him, but she’d definitely felt restless. She’d waited her whole life for something to click, to feel like, This is who I am and what I’m meant to do. This is the life I was meant for.

  She was still waiting for that click.

  “About your FB reference.” It’s not like Chloe had never said the f word, but she couldn’t say it in the presence of, well, someone’s grandma. “It doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I’m not comfortable saying.”

  “Are you a prude, Chloe Madison?”

  “No. Just respectful.”

  Daisy sighed. “I’d hoped for fun.”

  “I can be fun.”

  “Prove it.”

  “How?”

  “Let’s go tubing.”

  “What?”

  “Inner tubing. Perfect day for it.”

  Chloe turned a wary eye to the rippling wat
er. “Isn’t that more of a summer sport?”

  “It’s not officially fall.”

  “But—”

  “Think outside of the seasonal box, kitten.” She sprang up and corked her wine bottle. “Bert Hawkins owns a year-round recreation shop ten minutes from here. We can rent a couple of tubes and float down the river. Oh, don’t look so panicked. Sugar Creek’s not that deep or wide and you said you can swim. Not that you’ll have to. Just keep your butt in the hole, dangle your legs over the side, and let the current do the work.”

  Chloe scrambled to her bare feet when Daisy tugged at the blanket. Her heart pounded as a dozen awful scenarios exploded in her brain. “I really don’t think … We just ate. You’re supposed to wait an hour—”

  “Old wives’ tale. And besides, we’re not going for a swim. We’re going for a float.” Picnic basket over one arm, the blanket over the other, Daisy hotfooted it toward the Caddy.

  Chloe pulled on her shoes and hurried to catch up. “You’ve been drinking,” she blurted.

  “What are you? My FB or my mother?”

  “I’m your companion and I’m concerned. What if you fall off?”

  “Then I’ll climb back on or grab hold and scissor kick my way to shore.”

  “Tube a lot, do you?”

  “Used to. When I was a kid.”

  Great. “Once we float downriver, how will we get back to the car?”

  “I’ll tell Bert to have someone pick us up.”

  Chloe felt like she was talking to a stone wall. Talk about stubborn. She took the basket and blanket from Daisy and placed them in the backseat. “We don’t have bathing suits.”

  “We’ll improvise.”

  Chloe racked her brain for another argument, something other than, I’m afraid you’ll fall in and drown. “Only if you wear a life jacket.”

  “Only kids and old people wear life jackets.” Daisy braced her hands on her bony hips and raised those penciled brows. “Scaredy-cat.”

  The taunt sizzled and burned. Did everyone have an opinion on her character? She was either too reckless or too cautious. Didn’t anyone think she was just right? Unreasonably ticked, Chloe wrenched open the heavy-ass driver’s door. “Get in and buckle up.”