Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I clear my throat, but they don’t hear me.
I sigh and decide to just go for it.
“Hi, sorry, don’t mind me,” I say lightly, like I’m trying to cut past someone in a cramped supermarket aisle.
“Chloe!” Miles gasps.
Angie screams.
They break apart, and there is entirely too much naked flesh in this kitchen. I’ll never be able to look at that refrigerator the same way. Nor the colander Angie picks up to cover her chest.
“Sorry, guys.” I hold up my hands while my face contorts into a tight apologetic grimace. “Truly pretend I’m not here. I just need to grab my keys…”
I step into the kitchen, drop my now-unnecessary weapon, and let the swinging door swish closed behind me. My keys are exactly where I thought they would be on the counter, except now they’re partially concealed beneath delicate blue lace.
“Whoopsies, they’re right under your bra, Angie. Oh, that’s soft. Where’d you buy this set?”
Angie groans. “Chloe, I am so sorry.”
Miles turns around and steps forward, his penis just out there for the world to see. “Chloe—babe. This is not what… This is nothing. I don’t even have feelings for her.”
Angie shoves him hard in the back so that he stumbles forward. “What the hell, asshole. You were just going on and on about how much you love me like ten minutes ago.”
Love?
Wow.
My voice is only slightly wobbly as I reply, “That’s…great. I’m happy for you guys.”
I can think of a thousand other things I want to say, but I can’t conjure the mean, vile words. I’ve never been able to. I’m just not that person. All I’ve heard my entire life is, Oh Chloe, she’s so nice. Need someone to cover your shift? Go ask Chloe. Forgot to take out the trash? Chloe’s on it. Babysitter? House sitter? Pet sitter? She’s your girl. No lunch? No worries. Take half of Chloe’s.
While I’ve recognized my role as a consummate pushover, I haven’t lamented the trait until this moment. It would feel so satisfying to make a scene, to shout and curse and call them all the things they already know they are. Slut would roll off my tongue nicely all drawn out and slow, emphasis on the S, maybe even taking the artistic liberty of a deep Southern drawl while saying it. Only it doesn’t seem right to lay the blame solely at Angie’s feet. Maybe I should pluralize it to “you sluts”? I could double-barrel it with ‘you slut’ and ‘that whore’, but see…now I’m already past it.
So, I take the high road, grab my keys, turn on my heels, and shove over a nice big bag of flour on my way out of the kitchen. A cloud of white powder erupts into the air as if I fired it from a cannon. It coats every surface in sight. It’ll take them hours to clean it up. Enough time for me to grab my things from Miles’ apartment and find a hotel for the night. Enough time for me to come to terms with the fact that my life as I currently know it is over.
TWO
CHLOE
I’ve been wanting change for a while, but like so many other people in my shoes, it felt impossible to actually achieve it before now. I went straight from high school to culinary school, culinary school to assistant chocolatier at Fleur de Sel. I continued my patisserie training there for three years. After, I spent a year learning at Spiced Pear before landing a coveted position working for the Miles Wilson at Fig & Olive. It was my dream setup, or so I thought. My white uniform was embroidered especially for me: Chloe Ricci, Head Pastry Chef. I even had an employee working under me—Angie. Well, now I guess she’s working under Miles.
I’d laugh if I had the energy.
I’ve been job-hunting nonstop. There’s not a restauranteur in the city who hasn’t had the pleasure of receiving a slightly desperate phone call from me over the last few days. I’ve applied for the few prestigious positions currently open in the area, interviewed for some, even, but none have come to fruition. It’s a tricky thing working your way up in the restaurant world. I can’t backslide now. I don’t want to leave an establishment as illustrious as Fig & Olive only to lick my wounds in the back of the Whole Foods bakery department. Though to be clear, that store sure knows how to make a mean cake. That berry Chantilly? Di-vine.
So you see, I’m no snob. Good food is good food, but there’s money involved here. Culinary school was expensive. My parents couldn’t afford to help me out, and I only just finished paying off my loans. I have no nest egg to speak of, and now, there’s also the little fact that I have to find a new place to live. The night I found Miles spooning Angie in the kitchen (wink), I packed up all my things from his apartment and left. I haven’t gone back there or to the restaurant since. I haven’t returned his phone calls either. I texted him once, to give him my parents’ address so he could mail my last check. That’s it.