The Good Girl's Second Chance. Christine Rimmer
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it’s your shop. You’re the boss. No need to rush over there at the crack of dawn.”
“Come on, Mom. A successful business doesn’t run itself.” Not that Your Way Interior Design was all that successful. Yet.
“I hardly see you lately. We need to chat.”
Chatting with her mother was the last thing she needed. They hadn’t been getting along all that well since Chloe’s divorce. And it had only gotten worse after she returned to Justice Creek. Linda knew what was right for her only child and she never missed an opportunity to lecture Chloe on all she’d done wrong. And somehow, whenever they “chatted,” her mother always managed to bring up Ted and the perfect life Chloe had thrown away. “Mom, I’ll have to call you later. I need to get to work.”
“But, sweetheart, I want to—”
“Call you tonight, Mom.”
Her mother was still protesting as Chloe disconnected the call.
She drove to her showroom and unlocked the doors at nine, an hour before most of the businesses on Central Street opened. She had a good location and an attractive shop, with neutral walls and sleek, modern cabinetry and red and yellow accents to give it energy and interest. Her motto was Your Space, Your Way. She had attractive displays, and plenty of them, lots of table space for spreading out samples. And she was trained in every aspect of home design, from blueprints up.
Her website looked great and she stayed active on Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter and Tumblr. She kept a blog where she gave free tips on great ways to spiff up your living space. During the school year, she ran a workshop right there in her showroom for high school students interested in interior design. She contributed her expertise to local churches, helping them spruce up their Sunday school rooms and social halls. And she worked right along with the other shop owners in Justice Creek on various chamber of commerce projects.
Still, it took time to build a business. Chloe had found a real shark of a divorce lawyer who’d put the screws to Ted and got her a nice lump settlement, which Chloe had asked for. The onetime payout was less than monthly alimony would have been in total, but the last thing she wanted was to be getting regular checks from Ted. With the settlement, she’d been able to cut ties with him completely.
She’d tried to spend her money wisely. She loved her house, which she’d redone herself, and she was proud of her business. But the past couple of months, she had more to worry about than putting Ted behind her and whether or not there might someday be love in her future.
Chloe’s nest egg was shrinking. Your Way needed to start paying its way.
That day, as it turned out, was better than most. She had steady walk-in traffic. A new couple in town came in and hired her to do all the window treatments in the house they’d just bought. She scheduled three appointments to give estimates: two living room redesigns and a kitchen upgrade. When her assistant, Tai Stockard, a design student home from CU for the summer, came in at one, Chloe sent her to the Library Café for takeout paninis. It was turning into a profitable day and they might as well enjoy a nice lunch.
Chloe went home smiling—until she remembered she owed her mother a call.
“Come on over for dinner,” her mother coaxed. “I’ve got lamb chops and twice-baked potatoes just the way you love them. We’re leaving for Maui tomorrow.” Chloe’s mom and dad would be gone for two weeks, staying at a luxury resort where her mother could enjoy the spa and the lavish meals and her father could play golf. “I want to see you before we go.”
Chloe went to dinner at the house where she’d grown up. It wasn’t that bad. Linda managed not to say a single word about Ted. And it was good to see her dad. An orthodontist with a successful practice, Doug Winchester had a dry sense of humor and never tried to tell his only daughter how to live her life.
By nine, Chloe was back at home. She got ready for bed, settled under the covers with the latest bestseller and tried not to let her mind wander to the question of what Quinn Bravo might be doing that night.
* * *
Quinn heard the soft whisper of small feet across the tiled floor as he stared out the window at the single light shining from inside Chloe’s house. “Go back to bed, Annabanana,” he said softly without turning.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“The monsters are very noisy. And I’m not a banana. You know that, Daddy.”
“Yes, you are.” He turned and dropped to a crouch. “You’re my favorite banana.”
Dragging her ancient pink blanket and her one-eyed teddy bear, Annabelle marched right up to him and put one of her little hands on his shoulder. “No, I’m not. I’m a girl.”
He leaned closer and whispered, “Ah. Gotta remember that.”
“Pick me up, Daddy,” she instructed. “Get the flashlight.”
He wrapped his arms around her and stood. She giggled and hugged his neck, shoving her musty old teddy bear into the side of his face. He detoured to the kitchen, where he got the flashlight from a drawer. Then he returned to the living room and mounted the stairs.
She didn’t object as he carried her up to her room, set her down on the bed, flicked on the lamp and then pulled the covers up over her and the stuffed bear, smoothing the ancient blanket atop her butterfly-printed bedspread.
“Closet,” she said, when he bent to kiss her plump cheek.
He went to the closet, pushed the door open and shone the light around inside. “Nothing in here.”
“You have to tell them,” she said patiently. “You know that.”
He ran the light over her neatly hung-up dresses and the row of little shoes and said in his deepest, gruffest voice, “Monsters, get lost.” He rolled the door shut. “That should do it.”
But Annabelle didn’t agree. “Now under the bed.”
So he knelt by the bed and lifted up the frilly bed skirt and shone the light around underneath. “Holiday Barbie’s down here. With her dress over her head.”
The bed skirt on the other side rustled as small hands lifted it and Annabelle appeared, upside down. “Oops.” She snatched up the doll and let the bed skirt drop. “Okay, tell them.”
“Monsters, get lost.” He gave a long, threatening growl for good measure. On the bed, his daughter laughed, a delighted peal of sound that had him smiling to himself. “So, all right,” he said. “They’re gone.” And then he got up and sat on the bed and tucked her in again, bending close to press a kiss on her cheek and breathe in the little-girl smell of her. Toothpaste and baby shampoo, so familiar. So sweet. “Anything else?” he asked, suddenly worried about how she might answer, recalling Chloe’s wise advice of the night before. She wants to know it’s not her fault, whatever happened that you and her mother aren’t together and her mother isn’t in her life...
Annabelle shook her head. “That’s all.”
He felt equal parts guilt and relief. Guilt that he wasn’t as good a father as Annabelle deserved. Relief that he wouldn’t have to tackle the tough questions tonight, after all. “You know there are really no monsters in your room, right?”
She nodded slowly. “But I like it when you scare them away.”
He got up. “Sleep now, princess.”
She beamed at him. “Princess is good. Not banana.”
“Close your eyes...”
“I want a princess room. All the princesses. Snow White and Cinderella and Mulan and Elsa and Belle and Merida and—”
“Time for sleep. Close your eyes...” He heard Chloe’s rich alto again, as though she whispered in his ear. She wants to know that you love her. “I