RED: Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro?

CHLOE: Not yet.

RED: I hope you haven’t gone to New York without me.

 

She stared at that message for long, happy heartbeats, a thousand wonderful implications threading through her mind like a never-ending daisy chain. Perhaps they’d go to New York together. Because they were together. And they shared goals and future plans. And things.

CHLOE: I’d never go without you. I’m at a coffee shop waiting for Annie.

RED: What?

RED: ANNIE Annie?

RED: Actually, I don’t care which Annie it is. You’re waiting for someone? To have coffee? Not to throw the coffee at them, or anything, but to actually have coffee?

 

She snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth.

CHLOE: YES. Honestly, what on earth do you think of me?

RED: That you’re short-tempered and always interesting.

CHLOE: You are a very difficult man.

RED: That must make me perfect for you.

 

She was still smiling when Annie arrived.

“Chloe!” Annie plonked herself down in the seat across the table with a sound like a bubble bursting. “There you are!”

Chloe stared. There she was? She’d been here for the last thirty minutes, for Christ’s sake. “Yes,” she said dryly. “Here I am.”

“So sorry I’m late. I’ve had a Marmite disaster.”

“Oh. That sounds …”

“Vitamin rich? Very.” Annie’s golden curls were pinned almost flat to her head with what appeared to be a thousand black hair slides. She was wearing her enormous camo coat again, but she unzipped it to reveal a surprisingly ordinary outfit that consisted of jeans and a raspberry-colored jumper. “Coffee?” she asked brightly.

Since Chloe had been politely waiting before ordering, and ignoring the death glares of the lady behind the counter, for half an hour, she nodded eagerly before realizing what she was agreeing to. “Oh—no coffee for me, but I’ll get tea.”

“My treat!” Annie was up and off before Chloe could say another word. She was so … springy. Energetic. Possibly earnest, potentially a master of sarcasm. Chloe wasn’t sure which, but she suspected her own prickliness stemmed from an urgent desire to find out, and a worry that she never would. How long had it been since she’d made and kept a friend? So long she must have lost the ability, rather like a wasted muscle. She should’ve been doing social exercises alongside her physiotherapy all these years. She found her own distorted reflection in the shiny metal sugar cup at the center of the table and gave herself a stern look. “Pull yourself together,” she told the metallic Chloe with the aubergine-shaped head. “Think victorious thoughts. Triumphant thoughts. The thoughts of a woman who succeeds in all endeavors.”

“An excellent philosophy!” Annie said.

Oops. Chloe slapped on a smile and tried to look less like someone who encouraged their own reflection in the middle of cool coffee shops.

Annie set down a tray of hot drinks, took her seat again, and said, “So! Are you still cross with me about Perdita?”

“I—erm—oh, gosh, I wasn’t cross with you—”

“I know you were. I would be, too, if it were me. Perdy’s a doll.” Annie paused. “Well, as far as cats go. I don’t actually like them that much.”

Chloe stared. “You don’t?”

“Gosh, no. I’m more of a dog person. But the thing is, I have to look after them. It’s part of the deal.”

“The deal?”

Annie’s voice dropped. “With the goddess of the underworld.”

Oh dear.

Annie’s voice dropped further as she went on, “My mother.”

Ah. That was quite a bit less bonkers.

“You made some sort of deal with your mother that involves looking after cats?”

“Eleven cats. Thankfully, most are outdoors. I have to keep them all safe and tend to their needs with my own fair hand as much as is possible.”

Chloe stared, aghast. “And what on earth do you get out of the bargain?”

“I get to live in my mother’s house while she sails the world on a piddling little boat with her third husband, Lee. Now, I know what you’re thinking—only three husbands? But my mother was quite young when she had me, so she’s not as mature as you’d assume. Hopefully, by the time she hits her sixties she’ll have found a rhythm and will be on her fifth husband at least.”

“I’m sure,” Chloe agreed. “There is nothing wrong with being a late bloomer.”

“Certainly not. I myself, however, am a lost cause,” Annie said. “Thirty-four years old and not a single husband, divorced, deceased, or otherwise disposed of.”

“Me neither. I blame the modern age for an outrageous gap in my education. Schools simply aren’t providing their girls with the skills needed to acquire and eliminate spouses.”

“Hear, hear. So, since you, like myself, suffer from a lack of life insurance checks and/or alimony, what is it you do to keep yourself in chocolate biscuits and such?”

“I’m a web designer,” Chloe said. “I ought to give you my card. It’s not as good as yours.”

“Flatterer.” But Annie looked pleased. She had a Julia Roberts sort of mouth, so it was impossible to miss the smile she tried to hide.

Chloe found herself smiling wider in return. “And what do you do?” Because really, she’d been dying to know, and she still hadn’t allowed herself to look.

“I’m a lingerie designer,” Annie said.

“Goodness. That’s …”

“Your bra doesn’t fit, by the way.”

Chloe blinked and looked down at her own chest. “It—?”

“Sorry. Auntie always tells me not to say things like that. But you seem the type who likes to know what’s what.”

“I am. How can you tell it doesn’t fit?”

“Oh, please don’t worry, you look lovely. But I can tell.”

Chloe nodded. “So I don’t look as if I have one giant, central boob or anything?”

“Certainly not,” Annie said immediately. “Not at all.”

“Oh, good. Well, I suppose I need to go bra shopping, then.” An idea struck her, the sort she’d usually dismiss out of hand. The sort she’d be too afraid to say out loud, in case she was struck down and embarrassed. But Chloe was being brave, these days, so she pulled herself together and blurted it out: “Perhaps, at some point, you’d, er, be interested in advising me on …”

“I’ll come with you,” Annie said immediately. “Shopping. We’ll make a day of it.”

Chloe beamed. That had been easy. That had been beyond easy. “Wonderful. Yes. Let’s.”

 

Spending the day without Chloe had felt kind of like shaving off his hair. Or maybe Red’s appointment with Dr. Maddox was to blame for that. After two sessions in relatively quick succession, he wasn’t exactly enjoying therapy, but he was enjoying how much more he understood his own head. And, kind of like Chloe ticking shit off her list, he felt better every time he went.

He could say the same about the phone call he’d had with Vik, even though it had been about as easy as therapy. Telling his best friend he was ready to move on, to leap back into the real world independently and leave this safety net behind? That was one thing. Admitting to his boss that he’d been literally sleeping with a tenant? Not quite the same moment of brotherly love. But at least Vik hadn’t driven over to kick him in the nuts. That would’ve made Red’s plans for the weekend a hell of a lot more difficult to accomplish.