Life had been good to Chloe. She was perfectly aware of being a cliché Southern Belle but felt this only accentuated her already irresistible qualities. Petite, with a cascade of golden hair that rippled like dawn on the Mississippi, tiny gravity-defying breasts, and a constant tan, she never wanted for dates or doting from her parents. Mama was proud that her daughter had inherited her own stunning beauty, and Daddy was sure his little angel would go on to be a strong and successful Southern lady.
Brett had struggled to keep his head above water, determined to live up to his family's standards even if that meant he had to work a lot harder than most kids in his family's income bracket—born to an industrious and driven businessman and a kind yet meek mother, he had made a Herculean effort to please his father and live up to his mother's unspoken but obvious wishes.
Naturally, once he began school, the embodiment of this dream happened to be Chloe. Both attended the same exclusive private school. Their parents ran in the same circles. Brett and Chloe became fast friends even during the later years of childhood when the sexes usually seemed to be repelled by one another.
She would come to his house to ride the horses his father acquired like prime real estate, each bred meticulously for optimum beauty and stamina. He would go to her house to walk in the peach orchard or hide beneath a vast grape arbor, the two of them pulling fruit off the trees and vines despite genteel admonishments from Chloe's mother, and then hiding behind some snowball vibernum to devour their forbidden treasure.
But as happens with all childhood friendships, theirs was tested. The constant efforts of Chloe's parents to breed a proper young lady combined with Brett's efforts to learn the skills of a businessman made maintaining their closeness difficult at best.
Chloe set out for all the right pursuits. Cheerleading, school government, and spending her free time reading beauty magazines or being courted by the star quarterback. Brett met a distraction by the name of Amy McFarlin, the mayor's impossibly beautiful red-haired daughter with endless curves and charm, neither of which he could resist.
The shifting social circles of St. Alfonse High soon meant Brett and Amy grew ever closer, while Chloe and Robert Martin—the most promising football player in the class—became serious. Floating on the turbulent tide of popularity was never easy, and everyone who belonged in that elite, sea-faring class knew that the head cheerleader—recently crowned homecoming queen—and the handsome lead footballer were destined for great things.
Brett would take his father's stallion—Caesar— riding past the verdant stretch of Chloe's lawn and fight off the reminiscences of afternoons as sweet as Concord grapes and as bright as fine white peaches. He cared for Amy, and when the moment was right, he wanted to show her just how much, by taking her to his favorite spot in the wood behind his house. But the thought of Chloe and Robert nagged at his guts. Irritated by this internal conflict during yet another ride which should have been peaceful, he gently nudged the horse's sides with his boot heels, and it started into a hard gallop.
It was May. Prom season and graduation weren't too far away. Chloe's mother planned a party to celebrate her daughter's admission to Vassar. They had shopped for three months to accumulate a wardrobe she could take to college with pride, and her custom prom gown was nearly complete.
Brett's father kept trumpeting on and on about his fine boy getting accepted to Harvard's School of Business, and his mother eagerly set about planning a soiree that would rival that of the lavish event for Chloe to be held the preceding afternoon.
Checking his watch, Brett realized he needed to head back home to shower and get ready to take Amy out. He planned for them to have dinner at her favorite French restaurant, and then go horseback riding as the sun set. This combined two of her favorite activities that they enjoyed often, especially now that the weather was favorable for both.
When he arrived at the house after tending to Caesar, his mother sat at their carved oak dining-room table, looking through the silver she had stored away.
"Hello, Brett." She smiled, her green eyes dazzling in the pale afternoon light. "Are you getting excited about your big day? Your father says that the two of you can get out to the Mercedes dealer next week to pick out the car you'll take to Massachusetts."
Brett saw the quick glint of proud tears dancing in her eyes before she blinked them away, getting to her feet to embrace her tall well-built son. "Oh Mom," he sighed, a boyish grin spreading across his face as his mother's arms wrapped around his waist, her face beaming up at him from just below his chest. "Give yourself a break from all this planning. Go watch a movie and eat some Häagen-Dazs for God's sake! I won't tell Daddy."
Giggling, she reached up to tap his chin gently.
"I don't work out so hard for nothing, sweetheart. A minute on the lips, forever on the hips they say, and I believe them. Now go get cleaned up. Amy called and said she'd expect you around seven. Oh, and I almost forgot. Chloe called while you were out."
This last sentence was relayed with just as much surprise as his mind had in comprehending it, and he paused en route to the broad staircase, a puzzled expression on his face.
"What did she want?"
"I don't know. She asked me if I'd have you call her as soon as possible."
Brett shrugged, taking the first two stairs in one long step. "All right. Thanks."
Upstairs in his bedroom suite, he grabbed his small silver cell phone and scrolled through the personal phone book until he got to C. Wallace. She gave him her newest phone number as a matter of course one day in class, but when he repeatedly tried to call her to invite her to his graduation party, he only got her voice-mail message.
With his door closed, he relaxed and kicked off his shoes. Propping his feet up on the antique wingback chair near his bed knowing full well that this would give the housekeeper a heart attack, he hit SEND and listened as her phone rang. In seconds, she picked up.
"Hello Brett," Chloe's voice, as cool and silvery as a Rocky Mountain stream, filled his ears, as familiar as his mother's embrace and yet so different and womanly as to give him pause.
"Hey, Chloe. Mom said you called while I was out riding."
"I know. I saw you ride past out my window." Something pensive in her voice caused him to drop his feet to the floor and sit up straight.
"Is everything all right? You sound upset."
