I might have told Chloe I wouldn’t sleep at my house, but she didn’t say anything against visiting. Semantics are my friend. Semantics are what’s going to get me the hell out of this mess I created for myself to begin with.
I use my key to unlock the back door. The early morning rays of sunshine peek through the windows, guiding me through the kitchen. No sounds alert me that Chloe is awake. She usually sleeps in on the weekends, until at least 10 in the morning, but I want to be safe. The last thing I need is for her to get mad because she found me lurking again. She trusted me to leave her alone here, and I plan on following through as much as I can.
After a few minutes of silence, I take the risk. With shaky hands, I place a vase of wildflowers on the kitchen counter. I grab the accompanying note I wrote from my pocket and place it beside the bouquet. While my letter is more of an apologetic one, I still hope it carries the same feeling.
If everything goes according to plan, she will read the note and show up at the meet-up place I mentioned. I only need one chance to explain what happened and how much she means to me.
It takes a lot of self-control to step out of my home again. If Chloe doesn’t forgive me soon, I’ll be stuck making wishes to win her back.
I check the time on my phone for the third time in the last five minutes. Chloe is already half an hour late for our meeting, and I’ve already worked a path through the grass after all my pacing. I’d call her to check in, but I doubt that would go over well.
Did she actually stand me up?
Did you really believe she would show up in the first place?
I sigh to myself as I lean against the tree where I first found her climbing all those months ago. What do I do now? If this plan didn’t work, what will? What if Chloe doesn’t want to deal with me anymore, but doesn’t know how to tell me?
I stare up at the branches as if they hold the answers.
A twig snaps, and I turn toward the sound. “Chloe?”
No one replies.
“If you’re there, I want to start off with saying I’m sorry.”
Crickets chirp in reply.
Great. My disappointment grows as minutes pass by and Chloe doesn’t show herself. If she’s not here, then what is she up to?
Curiosity gets the best of me. The idea of returning back to my hotel room without at least checking in on her doesn’t sit right with me. My decision is made purely because of my need to ensure she is alive and well.
Right. You just miss her, you lying piece of shit.
I cling to the shadows, using them to disguise myself as I walk toward the back of the house. Each room of the house is dark except for the bright lights coming from the back.
I keep my distance, securing a good angle to see inside of the kitchen. Note to self: Teach Chloe the importance of not leaving all the blinds open. Any creeper could see what happens inside.
Chloe has her back to me. She opens the oven, and a cloud of smoke billows into her face. She uses an oven mitt to clear the air.
Fuck. I didn’t consider how she’s a safety risk to herself and the house. If she keeps this up, she’s going to burn everything down before I have a chance to move back in.
Chloe clutches onto the pan. I wince at the black lump of something inedible crumbling in the center. She walks toward the trash bin and presses the pedal with her foot. The charred food drops into the bin, right on top of the flower stems poking out from the top.
Something cold seeps through my chest, replacing any warmth at seeing Chloe in the first place.
She threw away my flowers? What the hell?
Did she even bother reading my note or did it meet the same fate as the flowers?
Wow. I can’t believe she threw them out.
Instead of accepting defeat by her dismissal of my gift, I use it to fuel me. I was a fool in the first place for thinking a vase of flowers and a note would get her to give me a chance. Flowers and sweet nothings aren’t the way to her heart, and I should’ve known better. She’s always been unexpected, and I went with the most basic idea.
I take today as the challenge it is. I’m not the type to back down from oppositional forces. If I was, I wouldn’t have ever won a World Championship in the first place. Hell, I wouldn’t have started racing again after my injury if I wasn’t a fighter. Clearly, I underestimated my opponent.
Round one may have gone to Chloe, but I plan on winning the whole damn thing.
What do I get a girl who doesn’t care much for presents? How do I express I love her and I’m sorry through actions rather than words?
I jolt from my bed as the idea hits me. Chloe loves eighties romances, and I’m here to deliver. It’s time to channel my inner John Hughes and get to work.