Chapter 4

Henry

Leaving Chloe is painful and worrying. I don’t like the way that neighbor talks to her. It seemed like he was eavesdropping while I was over there. And what is up with that robe? It took everything in me not to carry Chloe over my shoulder out of the place. Not only is the inside hopeless_I’m pretty sure I saw a roach running across the floor_it seems downright unsafe with her nosey neighbor and that rickety-looking lock on her door.

The drive back to the hotel takes all my mental effort, because I really want to turn around. My instincts are usually spot on about things like this, but I am pretty sure it’s way too pushy and possibly rude to tell her she’s not safe there. I have to just swallow this one and pray for the best.

Chloe looks very well, though. If I let myself be honest, I may even admit she looks especially beautiful in her tight jeans and flowy white shirt. I’ve only ever seen her bundled up in wilderness-appropriate gear with her hair tied back in a sensible ponytail. Tonight she was wearing it down around her shoulders in big curls, and the light caught auburn highlights every time she turned her head. Even her hair is like sunshine.

***

The next morning, I drive to meet my attorney, Thandi, for breakfast. I haven’t seen her in person since Sarah’s funeral. My heart aches at the memory, and I swallow it down. When I arrive at the restaurant, she is already sitting down, no doubt billing me for the pleasure of her company.

“Henry Benson, as I live and breathe,” she says dramatically as she stands and shakes my hand.

“Here I am.” She knows about my distaste for L.A., because she’s been my family attorney since I was a little kid. She was just a junior associate when I met her, but I’d selected her to take over my entire estate after my dad passed. The vote of confidence from me earned her the promotion to partner, or so she told me.

She pats a two-inch-thick stack of documents as we sit down. “Got a lot to talk about.”

I groan and roll my eyes. “Don’t I pay you to take care of this for me?” I tease. “Coffee, please,” I say to the eager waiter. I hate fancy places like this, but I know Thandi won’t meet me anywhere that isn’t up to her exacting standards.

“First thing first. How the hell are you?” she questions me with a raise of her brow.

I shake my head. There’s no way I’m going into specifics. “I’m fine. How are the kids?” Getting people to talk about a subject that interests them is always a good deflection strategy.

She smiles and pulls out her phone to show me some pictures of her now-teenage children. “Great. They love your show, by the way.”

“It’s not my show,” I correct.

She laughs softly. “You sure have a lot of screen time for someone who doesn’t think they are a star.”

I roll my eyes. “If I knew this was going to become a thing, I wouldn’t have agreed to be filmed.”

“Too late for that. I hear you have some pretty big interviews lined up this week.”

“Do I?” I ask, genuinely curious, because I haven’t heard many details about it.

Thandi mimes zipping her lips. “Don’t want to freak you out. You’ll see for yourself. But just a word of warning. I’ve heard they are really excited about the hot single marine angle... that might mean curious reporters could dig into your past and find out things about Sarah, or your family.”

Swallowing hard, I rake a hand through my hair. “What have I done?” I ask rhetorically.

“In other good news that you’ll probably hate, the L.A. County Hospice Center is having their annual gala this week, and when they heard you were in town_”

I cut her off. “You mean when you told them I was in town?”

She nods. “Same thing. Anyway, they want to honor you for being their largest continued donor. It would mean a lot to these people if you could show up and let them pour gratitude on you.”

“What are you trying to do to me?” I sigh.

“Just let people love you already, you big grump,” Thandi teases. If she hadn’t known me since I was knee high to a grasshopper, I wouldn’t let her get away with so much.

“Fine. Can I bring someone?” I ask.

Her eyebrow arches. “You have someone to bring?”

“Can I?” I press the question.

Her eyes narrow. “Of course. And it might just be worth me getting a ticket to see who you bring.”

After the scowl I give her, she drops the issue and moves on while I sip away on my coffee. “Down to the real business at hand. Your trust has been earning more in interest than is currently allotted to charities, and usually I just lump it back into the principal, but I thought this year we might look at donating to another organization, since it’s a six-figure difference.”

“Good thinking. I approve,” I say quickly, hoping we can eat breakfast over any conversation except business. I can see the waiter bringing our order out now, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed eggs Benedict.

Thandi ignores me and continues, “There is a new research unit at UCLA that is studying amniotic fluid embolisms. I thought you might like to donate the money there.”

I look right into her big hazel eyes and glare daggers through her. She means so well by this plan, but hearing those three particular words feels like a thousand cuts of glass all over my body.

The waiter sets down our plates and disappears. My appetite is suddenly gone.

“Your mother actually told me about it.” Thandi looks into her lap as she says it. “She’s been donating there for a few years now. She wanted me to mention it.”

My heart pounds even harder in my chest then. I have the urge to excuse myself to go to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, but I lean on my military training in this moment and calm myself. “Fine.”

Grabbing my fork, I set to stuffing my face, despite my protesting stomach, just to avoid any more conversation on the topic.

***

After breakfast, I park in the studio lot and head inside for the first day of promotion shots and interviews. A team ushers me to a chair where despite my protests, they put makeup on my face and style my hair.

“Is this really necessary?” I complain.

“Most people like being a little pampered,” the man doing my makeup informs me.

“Not this guy,” a familiar voice quips, and I look up in the mirror to see Chloe standing behind us.

“You made it through the night,” I marvel.

She snorts a laugh and hands me a cup of coffee. “It’s a miracle. You ready for the craziness of today?”

I shake my head and take a sip of the liquid gold. There is no coffee in Port Providence, as Chloe knows. So this is a real treat, even if I already had one this morning. “Absolutely not. I will never forgive Nina for making us be a part of the show.”

“You have no one to blame but yourself, big guy. You were so magnanimous and charming, the producers had no choice but to share you with America, who now unsurprisingly loves you.”

Chloe places her hands on her hips and studies me. “Great work on his hair, Dillon,” she compliments the man styling me.

“Thanks, Chlo.” They kiss on the cheek, and she calls back to me. “See you out there.”

The team takes me to a dressing room next and gives me an outfit to wear, stifling a laugh when I ask what’s wrong with what I am wearing.

The outfit they have for me isn’t horrible, though. It’s similar to what I had on already, although the fabrics are lighter in color and lack any trace remnants of animal blood or fish guts, I assume.

I feel a little ridiculous, but I manage to swallow it down. I’ve done harder things than talk in front of a camera, by a long stretch.

Settling into a chair in front of a green screen, lights in my face, I wave to Chloe who is behind one of the cameras. She blushes and nods back.

Then a man in a sleek suit appears and shakes a few hands as he makes his way to me. He introduces himself as Renaldo Gomez and tells me he’s from GQ magazine. I suppose Thandi wasn’t kidding when she said I had interviews with some pretty big outlets.

“As the fans of the show know, you were a marine for eight years, thank you for your service.”

I nod, never sure what to say when people tell me that. You’re welcome seems too odd a response.

“The question so many people have been talking about online is how so many young, eligible bachelors are coping with living in a town with virtually no single women.”

My eyes dart briefly to Chloe, and she gives me a meager smile. How am I coping? Excellent, if I do say so myself. Avoiding women is one of the main reasons I live there. “There’s plenty to do to keep us busy,” I explain in a non-answer.

Renaldo smiles. “I know there are many women online offering to move to Port Providence to be with your group.” He pauses to laugh lightly. His comments feel so intrusive and abrasive, but I’m effectively trapped. “Are you opposed to meeting some of these lovely fans?”

My eyes dart around as I try to think of a way out of this conversation. Any topic would have been fine, but the topic of dating sets my teeth on edge. After losing Sarah, I knew I’d never be able to imagine dating again. Living in Port Providence has been a convenient way to avoid the whole topic. It makes dating an impossibility. This show has fucked everything up. Not that I am going to say as much on national television. It is none of their business.

Then my eyes land on Chloe’s beautiful smiling face, and without even thinking about it, I quickly form an idea and blurt out, “I don’t think my girlfriend would like that much.”

Renaldo’s jaw hinges open in shock. “Sorry, but I thought you were single. Who is this girlfriend of yours? A new transplant to Port Providence?”

I shake my head. They are going to press me for a name, I just know it. Preemptively, I’m going to give them one. “It’s Chloe Herrera, one of the camera crew from the show.”

This time Chloe’s jaw drops before she snaps it quickly shut as the crew’s eyes wander to her.

Renaldo gives an easy laugh. “That’s incredible. Am I to understand that more of your marine squadron have now found love with the show’s camerawomen?”

I nod. My claim is a total sham, and I hope Chloe will forgive me, but I just can’t take the pressure of having women thrown at me all week. All the painful memories of Sarah live right on my sleeve. I’m not sure I would be able to hold back tears if I was confronted about her. What a look that would be, crying on national television.

Finally, the interview shifts to my career as a marine and my thoughts on living in the wilderness, and then the interview is thankfully over.

Chloe waves me over, and we duck into a room filled with spare camera equipment. I’m prepared for her anger, but she surprises me with a smirk. “So, we’re dating now, huh?” Her hand presses to her hip.

“I’m so sorry, Chloe. I panicked.”

She seems to be humored by the whole idea, though, so I sigh a little breath of relief. “Just thought I might know that I have a handsome boyfriend is all. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled.”

“Handsome?” I question, raising a brow.

“You need more compliments, do you?” she jokes. “Thought you’d have had your fill after the way everyone today has made such a fuss about you. If you like that, you should see the fan sites where women spend hours dreaming up fantasies about what it’s like to be with you.”

My cheeks heat at the idea. It sounds repulsive to me. Being a sex symbol is not something I want to be. “That’s horrifying.”

She shakes her head and tilts it, studying me. “You are an enigma, Henry.”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“This little stunt is going to get me in a little trouble, though. I was supposed to declare any relationships to the cast. I need to get to HR right away and complete an official report form that says we’re dating.”

I scrub my hand over my face. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“Don’t worry, I’m going to pay you back for it,” she giggles manically.

“How so?” I brave the question.

She rubs her hands together. “If I get to have a fake boyfriend for a week, I’m going to enjoy it.”

Sudden butterflies appear in my stomach at her words. What the hell does that mean? “How so?” I ask, my voice cracking in the process, and long dormant thoughts start to thaw in my mind.

She smirks. “Maybe I’ll insist on a romantic date or something. I don’t know yet.”

“You are evil, woman.”

She leans up on her tippy toes and plants a kiss on my cheek. “That I am.”

As she walks from the room, I lift my fingers to my face where she kissed me. The skin still tingles. That is wholly unexpected.

I can’t help but think throughout the day what it would be like if Chloe really was my girlfriend. How odd would that be? Even though the idea makes me smile inside, it’s stupid.

I won’t let myself love again because love just means you get hurt at some point in all the worst ways. The best thing I can do right now is bury all of this deep down inside.

If anything, this ruse will be a funny joke we can laugh about when she comes back in the fall to film season two of the show. Nothing more.