Chasing Romeo

by Sarah Ready

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my heart breaking. Because we both know that I’m going to do it. Even after last night, after everything we’ve been through, I’m still going to walk ahead and knock on Matt Smith’s door.

  Because that’s what a believer of soul mates, fate and true love does. I dig my nails into my palms.

  “Nothing to be sorry for,” Nick says, “I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true. That’s the thing about facts. They’re true even if you don’t believe them,” he says, quoting Matt Smith Number Six.

  I’m surprised he can joke about this.

  “We’re not meant to be,” I say. It’s a question, but it comes out as a statement.

  Nick rubs the center of his chest and silence hangs between us. I wait for his response although I’m not sure what I expect him to say.

  “Do you hate me?” I ask. Because right now I hate me. I’m scared of Nick. Terrified of him. Because what if I do love him back and what if…a thousand what ifs. Last night I felt closer to him than I’ve ever felt to anyone in my life. And being that vulnerable without certainty…

  Finally, he nods toward the front door of Matt’s house. “Come on. Fifty bucks says he’s shagging a goat in the living room.”

  “Weirdo,” I say. A warmth grows in my belly. I love him.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t be the freakiest thing I’ve seen this week.”

  I smile at him and he grins down at me. But behind his smile I see something else, the knowledge that it’s all over. We’re over.

  So what do we do?

  I take his hand and we walk up to the front door to meet Matt Smith.

  For the very last time.

  27

  Nick

  * * *

  Matt Smith Number Seven, aka The Real Deal

  * * *

  Matt Smith is six foot tall. He has blue eyes, shoulder-length blonde hair and a tan. He opens the door on the first knock. When he sees Chloe he breaks into a huge smile. He has the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen.

  “I know you,” he says. He points at Chloe and slowly shakes his head. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

  I watch Chloe soak up the splendor of Matt Smith Number Seven, aka the Real Deal. She melts as she takes in his charm, his good looks, and his smile. I swear there are hearts floating above her head and she’s about to break into song.

  “We went to summer camp together,” she says.

  “Pine Hill,” says Matt. He looks Chloe up and down, from her softly curling hair to her generous mouth. He’s making the connection. I see it when he stops on her lips.

  “Chloe Daniels,” he breathes.

  “You remember me?”

  “Of course,” Matt says. “Come in. Come in.” He holds open the brass door to his entryway. We step onto white marble floors. Low leather couches and modern chrome side tables decorate the living room. The furnishings are minimal so as not to detract from the floor-to-ceiling windows looking over the ocean.

  Matt leads us to the couches and offers us a seat.

  “I can’t believe after all these years. Here you are…Chloe Daniels.”

  I don’t like how he says her name. It’s as if he’s rediscovered his favorite candy from childhood and he’s about to settle in for a good long snack.

  “And you are, I’m sorry, I don’t remember you,” Matt says to me. He’s sizing me up and wondering if I’m competition.

  “He’s my b—”

  “Friend,” I say, not letting her finish. “Nick O’Shea.” I hold out my hand and lean across the glass coffee table. Matt shakes. He has a firm, respectable grip.

  “So, Chloe Daniels,” Matt says, “what are you doing in LA? The last time I saw you was behind the art shed at camp.”

  She blushes.

  If Chloe were to take out her sketch pad and draw this scene, she and Matt would be in a ray of sunshine and I’d be under that lone gray rain cloud. Hell.

  I stare out the window at the gray and navy water. The waves are a lot bigger than any I’ve seen on the east coast. Chloe and Matt keep talking. Minutes pass. She scoots closer to him. He’s enthralled with her and hangs on her every word. Out of the corner of my eye I see him reach out and carefully touch the corner of her hand.

  Pull away, I think. Pull away.

  She doesn’t.

  They keep talking. She leans toward him and gives him the smile that I’d started to think of as my own. The one she reserved just for me. They move closer so that their knees touch. He starts to laugh and she brushes the hair from her face. I turn back to the waves. They have so much turmoil, the crest, the froth, the angry dip.

  I turn back to Matt and Chloe. They are smiling at each other and completely at ease. I tune into their conversation.

  “I love illustrating. I get lost in my drawings for hours,” Chloe says.

  Matt nods and pats her hand. “I understand. I’ll paint from morning until night and forget to eat.”

  “Exactly,” says Chloe. “Me too.”

  Matt watches her mouth, then says, “it’s like I’ve known you forever. We click.”

  I stand up so quickly that they both stop talking and look over at me. By their expressions I think they’d forgotten I was in the room.

  “Sorry, leg cramp.” I rub at my thigh.

  “No worries. We were probably boring you. Unless, are you an artist too?” Matt asks.

  “I’m a P.I.” I say.

  “Nick was in the military,” Chloe says.

  I look at her, but she’s not looking at me.

  “Nice, man. Thanks for your service.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say. It comes out stiffer than I intended.

  Matt looks between Chloe and me, then comes to a decision. “I know this may be forward, but I feel like we connect,” he says.

  Chloe nods. I look away.

  Matt continues. “I’m throwing a party here for some friends the next few days. Would you be able to come? It’s casual. Grilling out, swimming in the pool, that kind of thing. I’d love to see more of you.”

  No.

  “We’d love to,” says Chloe.

  No.

  “Nick?” asks Matt.

  “Sounds good.”

  Thirty minutes later we know all about Matt. He started an app when he was in college where artists can sell their work. He made millions. Now he runs an artist in residence fellowship where struggling painters, sculptors, textile artists, et cetera can come and work on their art while he provides the housing, the food, and the supplies. He loves his family. He has two rescue dogs. He spends a month every summer helping build schools in third world countries. He’s also single and looking for the right person to come along. More than that, he’s a nice guy. As much as I want him not to be, so that Chloe and I could bust out of here, I can’t deny that Matt Smith is a genuinely good person.

  This is the guy that fate chose for Chloe. If I’d been fate I would’ve chosen him too. He’s not cynical, he’s not scarred by life, he’s one of those rare people that makes everyone happy just by being in the same room. It’s time to get my head out of my butt and stop feeling sorry for myself.

  After hearing about Vegas, Matt lets me use his phone. I call Reed and explain the situation. As my best friend, he agrees to spot me some cash until I can get back home. Matt drives us to Western Union where Reed wired enough money for Chloe and me to get back to New York. Then, Matt drops us at a nearby hotel. He makes Chloe promise that she’ll be there.

  The silence of the hotel room is especially loud after Chloe and Matt’s talking and laughing of the last few hours. We both look at the king bed covered in pristine white sheets. I think of how far away last night seems now that we’ve met the real Matt Smith.

  I cut into the silence. “He’s a good guy.”

  “He is.”

  “I guess your Aunt Erma was right.” The words taste like ashes.

  “She’
s always right.”

  There’s a lump in my throat and I don’t think I can speak past it. Instead, I reach out and touch her hand. A pulse inside me tries to grow, it wants to rage, but I push it back.

  “What if Erma’s not right? What if he’s not—”

  “Don’t.” She pulls her hand away.

  But that roaring rage that I pushed back comes to the surface and I can’t not. “What if he’s not the one?”

  “Weren’t you there? He’s perfect,” she says. There’s a bitter ache in her voice.

  “And I’m not,” I say.

  She wraps her arms around herself. “I don’t know what to do.”

  All I want to do is hold her.

  I pull her down to the bed and fold her in my arms. I rub her back and hold her close. “It’s not hard,” I say. “On the one hand, you have the perfect man. He’s rich, he’s an artist, he’s good looking and according to your aunt, he’s the other half of your soul.”

  She sniffs and shifts closer.

  “On the other hand, you’ve got a guy who’s not rich, who can’t draw to save his life, is only passable looking, and isn’t your fated destiny.” I hold her in my arms and breathe in the scent of her. “There’s nothing hard about it at all. See?”

  She wraps her arms around my chest. “You’re right,” she says.

  “I always am.”

  She rests in the cradle of my arms.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, “I’m not scared anymore.”

  It hits me then. She’s free. She’s completely free of the fear of the past and of the future. She doesn’t need me anymore. This is goodbye.

  I kiss the top of her head and let my lips linger. She sighs and sinks further into my side. As she falls asleep, she sighs, “I choose you.”

  At first, it feels like the best thing I’ve ever heard. I want to wake her up and worship her and make love to her. Then, I’d take her to the courthouse and marry her, and tie her to me so she could never leave. That’s when my elation crashes to the ground. I want to tie her to me because I’m the one who’s scared. Because I realize the truth.

  Erma is never wrong.

  Matt Smith is Chloe’s perfect match. I saw the guy, there was no denying it. Matt Smith can make her happy. Wondrously, ecstatically, contentedly happy.

  She’ll never forgive me if I marry her and don’t give her the chance to be with him. She’ll say the opposite. She’ll claim she wants me, but there will always be a niggle. Like a pebble in her shoe that she can never remove.

  I don’t want to be that pebble. Even more, I don’t want her to settle.

  I realize I’ve been a cynic and I’ve been selfish. But right now, those are two qualities that are going to serve me well. I’m cynical enough to realize we aren’t meant to be. I’m selfish enough to make this choice on my own. I’m leaving so that she can have the life she deserves. I’ve crossed this invisible threshold where I love her so much that I can’t do what I want and what feels good, I have to do what’s right.

  Leaving and letting her live the life she was destined for is what’s right. I guess I’m as deluded as the rest of the folks back home. I get it now.

  I’ll do whatever it takes, even if it means Chloe might end up hating me in the end. I can’t let her lose her chance at happiness. I can be the cynical jerk again to make that happen.

  I wait until she falls into a deep sleep then I climb out of the bed. I lay out on the nightstand enough money for the hotel, a car, a plane ticket, clothing, anything she might need. Then I write her a note.

  * * *

  Sparky, You were right. I’m not the one and I never have been. Go to the party and fall in love with your soul mate. You don’t need me anymore. I did my part. Nick.

  * * *

  Then, I leave.

  28

  Chloe

  * * *

  I wake up when I hear the door click shut. I sit up in bed and look around. Something feels wrong.

  “Nick?”

  No answer.

  Then I see a pile of money and a note on the night stand. What it says makes my stomach drop.

  I jump up from the bed, shove on my heels, grab the room key and rush out the door. I run down the long corridor until I get to the exit. It’s dusk. The night is gray and the streetlights click on as I run into the parking lot. I stand on my tiptoes and see if I can spot Nick. He can’t be far. I choose a direction and run past cars and SUVs. Nothing. I turn and run the other way. I have to find him.

  A man smokes in front of the hotel entrance, and a couple walks down the sidewalk. An old man lugs a suitcase out of his trunk. A family walks toward the lobby door with their bags. But I don’t see Nick anywhere.

  I run around to the other side of the hotel parking lot, but it’s deserted. Maybe I should run down the sidewalk? I stop and put my hands on my thighs and pull in long breaths. I’m not used to so much running. My heartbeat slows and I straighten up. How could he have left? How he could he?

  I doesn’t matter. I’ll go after him. He left enough money. I’ll buy a plane ticket and beat him to New York, since the idiot refuses to fly.

  Now that I have a course of action I head back toward the hotel lobby. I need to pack and book a flight. But the door opens before I reach it.

  Nick walks out and I stop. He doesn’t see me at first. He’s looking at the ground. His shoulders are slumped, his head bowed and his hands are in his pockets. If I were designing a card, the caption would say, I miss you, I need you, I love you.

  I watch him for a moment longer. The idiot. He looks miserable. Then something must alert him to my presence because his head jerks up. When he sees me his eyes go wide and fill with happiness. Pure and undiluted. But just as quickly he slams the emotion down and scowls at me. I’m on to him though, the scowl doesn’t fool me at all.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Chasing you,” I say.

  The side of his mouth lifts up, but then he pulls it flat again. “Why?” he asks.

  “Because you and I are meant to be. You’re right. Soul mates can be created.” I watch his reaction. I love his profile. You think, when you first look at him, that he’s all hard lines and cynicism, then when you see him from another angle you realize he’s really kind, funny, patient, caring, all that and more. I could draw him for the rest of my life and never capture all the facets that make him unique.

  He runs his hand down the back of his neck. “Chloe…I’m going back to New York.”

  “Then I’ll come with you.”

  He closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh. When he opens his eyes they’re hard and dark, with no shining colors inside.

  I swallow.

  Nick looks around the parking lot. A family comes out the lobby doors.

  “Come on,” he says.

  We walk back to the hotel room. When we get inside he turns to me.

  “I’m leaving. I don’t want you to come with me.”

  I shake my head. He has a stubborn look on his face. There’s a fear growing inside me, it’s rising up in my throat and trying to take over. The more I try to swallow it down, the bigger it gets. Is this the moment? I let him in and now he’s going to break my heart?

  “Please,” I say. “Please stay.”

  “An hour ago you told me that Matt’s perfect. Last night you said that when you meet your soul mate, you feel like you’ve known them forever and you just click. What did Matt say to you? He said that he felt like he’d known you forever and that the two of you clicked.”

  “What I said was stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

  “The hell it doesn’t.”

  “It doesn’t. I want you.”

  He takes a step back, like I’ve struck him. I step toward him. He takes another step back and I take another step forward. His legs hit the bed. He narrows his eyes on me and I push him down. He drops to the edge of the bed.

  “Chloe…” he says in a low voice.

  I yank the hair tie from my
ponytail. Nick watches as my curls fall around my shoulders. He doesn’t move away.

  “Give me your hands,” I say.

  He doesn’t. So, I take them and he lets me pull them together. Then, I wrap my hair tie around his wrists.

  “You’re a better sport when you’re tied up,” I say.

  His pupils dilate and the black nearly swallows the brown.

  I lean forward and I put my hands on his shoulders. Then I brush my mouth over his lips. He lets out a low sound and I push in harder, crushing my lips against his.

  “Admit it,” I say, “I’m coming with you.”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  I slant my mouth over his again and run my hands through his hair. When I pull away he has a fierce look in his eyes, one I recognize from the night we made love.

  “I’m coming with you,” I say.

  “Why?”

  I pull all my courage around me and remember that I’m not afraid anymore. “Because, I’m…I…”

  “Stop,” he says.

  He looks like he’s in pain. I never thought that telling someone I love them would make them look like they’ve been sucker punched. But I have to try. I am brave after all. I’m going to run back into that house, even though it’s still on fire and I’ve been burned before, because I’ve found my courage. I was brave all along.

  I brush his hair away from his forehead and look into his eyes.

  “I love you,” I say. “I love you so much.”

  He closes his eyes and his shoulders slump. I wait, and wait, and the longer I wait, the more it hurts. When he opens his eyes, they’re not blazing with fire, they’re cold. He slowly pulls his hands out of my hair tie and tosses it aside. He stands and moves away.

  “A week ago, no, two days ago,” he says, “you were ready to marry a stranger you’ve not seen in decades. You loved him. Now you love me? Sorry, Sparky. You don’t know what love is.” His face is hard and his voice is cold.