Chapter 47

"So," Philip said, as he bent forward at the hips and stretched toward the floor, "When does the naked pillow fight start?"

"What?" laughed Chloe, who emerged from the bathroom. Her hairbrush suspended in mid-tress, so that her oversized, wide-collar t-shirt hiked up some tantalizing inches.

He grinned up at her. "You heard me. Chocolate binges, manicures, and naked pillow fights. Isn't that what girls do at slumber parties?"

Shaking her head, she smiled and watched him, while he stretched toward the ceiling. In a small neat pile atop her desk were his clothes for the next day, alongside his wallet, a comb, a bottle of cologne, and some loose change. His duffel lay on the carpet below, already stuffed with his dirty clothes from today.

They'd spoken little, after they entered the house. As romantic as the notion was, they'd both decided that carrying Chloe upstairs would be silly and probably give him a hernia. So, she'd held out a hand behind her, and after he linked his fingers with hers, she led the way to her room. Once there, he unzipped his duffel, while she stepped out to fetch extra towels. By the time she returned, he'd stripped down to his boxers and headed to her private bathroom to wash up for bed. She hadn't known how she felt at first, when she stepped into the bathroom afterwards to change and brush her teeth and found his toothbrush next to hers. She'd touched the bright blue plastic of the new toothbrush, still damp. And felt giddy.

Now, here he stood, stretching out his muscles before bed. And tonight, it would be their bed. How positively amazing.

"What time are you meeting the boys tomorrow?" she asked conversationally, as she sat herself on the edge of the bed and continued to brush her hair.

He did the final overhead stretches for his triceps and shoulders. "Like at eight over at Shawn's." Absently giving his right shoulder a few more rolls, he came to sit beside her. He watched her bring that endless length of hair over her shoulder, so that she could brush the ends. "We're taking Jason's truck."

Brush paused once more, her eyes widened. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"Hey, what're you trying to say?" he chuckled, "Don't worry, beautiful. The truck is as good as new." He took the brush from her hand and tentatively began from the crown of her head. He watched the silky strands shimmer through the thick bristles. Fascinating. His free hand followed the trail behind. The hair seemed to grow softer with each pull of the brush. And with each pull came a fragrant puff of lavender. Intoxicating.

Her body shifted and eyes drifted closed, before she realized it. This was a new sensation, she thought, slightly lightheaded. Before she came to Salem, no one had really ever brushed her hair. Save for her adoptive mother.

"You're lucky to have good hair, Chloe," she'd said offhandedly, yanking none-too-gently on a tangle, "It's the only pretty thing about you."

Chloe sighed. Wow. She hadn't thought of that in a while. Her eyes opened once more to lock onto their reflections on the large mirror across her pretty lilac room. His eyes. He seemed so intent on his task. But his hands moved tenderly over her hair. Much like when his hands moved over her body. When he held her. When they made love.

Her heart warmed.

She realized then that distant memory was just that. Distant. In the past. And could no longer hurt her. Because she'd found people, who loved her. Her parents - her true parents, her friends, and Philip. Who saw the real Chloe and accepted. And thought she was beautiful, inside and out. And she believed.

She turned, interrupting the movement of his hands, so that she could cup his face and kiss him. "Thank you."

He gave a dimpled smile. "Anytime."

She took the brush from him to place it on the nightstand and rose to turn off the overhead light. Barefoot, she padded back to the bed. He'd already crawled under the sheets, which he'd turned down, waiting for her. She climbed in and slipped into his arms. Resting her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart.

He reached to click off the bedside lamp, sending the room into darkness. Then, he settled back in. All that could be seen was the shadow of their tree, swaying a bit in the night breeze.

"Good night, Philip."

He pulled her close and let his eyes flutter shut. Content. "Night, beautiful."

The phone rang.

"Hello?" yawned Belle, not really conscious.

"Hey, Perfect Girl."

She smiled, burying herself deeper into the covers. "Mmm, hi, Shawn."

Something twisted in his gut. "Uh, sorry to call you so late…" Clad only in his briefs, he trod over to his window and looked up at the star-speckled night sky. "I guess I just wanted to say… have a nice trip… Bring me back a palm tree or something."

She giggled. "Ok." She turned over to her other side and sighed into the phone. "I wish, you were coming with us. It'd be so much fun." Her eyes were still closed, but his voice made her smile.

"Yeah," he replied absently, his eyes fixed somewhat blankly at the moon. "Well, I'll get you a bushel of corn or something. I think that's all they got, where we're headed."

She laughed. "Have a good time, Shawn. I know you'll have fun in Indiana… Try not to talk to any strange girls along the way."

"Yeah." He saw a bright, ephemeral streak in the heavens. And made a wish.

Letting the phone rest on her ear, while her hand lay across her stomach, she finally relented. She could barely keep her eyes open. And she could hear him yawn, hugely. She smiled, "I guess we should go to sleep, huh?"

He yawned again. "What's the matter, Lockhart?" he managed semi-intelligibly, "Can't keep up?"

She gave an unladylike snort. "Ever give the competitive streak a rest, Superjock?"

He chuckled. "You ever stop snooping?"

"Hey!" she huffed with her last bit of energy, "I do not snoop, I'll have you know. I," she began between yawns, "Investigate."

"Investigate, eh?" His tone was all grin. "Well, I know some places-"

"Don't even go there," she interjected, barely containing her giggle. "You know, a dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste."

He grunted. "Oh, well. That's the only kind I got."

She laughed. "Ok. Ok. It's really getting late. And you've got five hours of driving tomorrow. We don't need you and your X-rated crop formations making headlines."

"Sounds like a plan," he quipped, his eyes now glued shut. "Ok… Night, Meems."

"Night, Jason." She barely had the energy to hang up the phone, before she conked out, faced down exactly where she was, on the living room sofa.

"Philip… Philip…"

Gradually, his vision cleared. Her eyes glowed an enchanting hue, as her hair rained all about him.

She smiled. "Philip," she whispered again. Then, her eyes drifted closed, her spine arched back, as he reached out to caress that silken skin. His hands glided up her thighs and stripped her of her thin sleep-shirt. She helped him kick off his boxers. Then, his lips sought hers, even as he pressed her back against the sheets, nestling himself against that supple, fragrant skin. Lavender. Sweet lavender. His mouth journeyed along her body, tasting, consuming. She moaned. The throaty timbre arousing him to no end.

Then, they rolled, so that she was above him, her thick scented hair slid across his skin. He felt her envelop him, within and without. An all-encompassing warmth, spiked with inundations of heat.

"I love you, Philip," she gasped, her voice echoing in his head.

The next morning Henderson quietly entered Master Philip's room. His bed was in pristine order. Which meant that the young Kiriakis had not returned home last night. The servant had suspected as much, when he'd seen Master Philip and Miss Chloe off. The boy had had a duffel bag with him.

Smiling a bit, Henderson shook his head. Young love. So pure. So passionate. It swept one up in a maelstrom of new emotions that all one could do was hold on and hope the fates would be kind. Yet sometimes… he thought with a sense of protectiveness and glee, as he set down on the boy's desk an envelope and then a thick packet next to it, the fates needed a nudge in the right direction.

It had taken a number of phone calls, requesting then slyly intimidating with the Kiriakis name. The family had been kept waiting long enough. The Kiriakis household was not expecting special favors in terms of admission. But a response in the affirmative or the negative was undoubtedly due. Decision deadlines approached, and it was irresponsible of the institutions to make this process more anxiety-ridden than it already was.

After much red tape, Henderson finally spoke to the deans themselves. It would seem, explained the deans, that the letters were sent weeks ago. Including those to a Philip Robert Kiriakis of Salem, Illinois. The only explanation for the inconsistency was the postal service. Naturally, the institution could not be held accountable for that.

Of course, agreed Henderson. However, a potential student, regardless of their last name, should not be penalized for something as trivial and tragic as lost mail. The Kiriakis family would be more than willing to have a private messenger pick up another copy of the documents to be delivered by hand to the family. The deans grudgingly agreed.

Thus, here was the word that they'd been waiting for. They would yet wait, until Master Philip returned tonight from his trip.

The servant righted on the wall a photo of 6-year-old Philip, aiming a dimpled grin at the camera. At Henderson. He was a good boy, thought the servant fondly, and he would grow to be a fine gentleman.

He took one last look at the arrivals from Dartmouth and Princeton and then quietly left the room.

Sunlight streamed through the lace curtains. Not quite ready to relinquish sleep yet, Philip turned over, eyes refusing to open. He smiled, when he sensed movement beside him. He reached over to pull her closer. And touched a wagging, furry tail. His eyes popped open, just as Merlin hopped onto his chest and bathed his face in love.

"Oh, God, get your tongue out of my mouth," he sputtered at the ensuing canine slobber and caught the puppy around his middle and pulled him away. "Merl, dude," he grouchily eyed the hyperactive bundle of fur, "I just don't like you like that."

Not the least offended, Merlin wagged his tail in greeting.

Philip dropped the pup gently onto the carpet and then rubbed his eyes. He looked down at the empty spot beside him. Hmmm… Now, where'd she go? He looked over at the bedside clock. 7:23AM. Damn. No time to track her down and lure her back to bed. He stretched and yawned. Whew. Must scrub teeth. Must shower. His stomach growled. Must eat.

Naked, he stumbled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He went straight for the shower. He needed to wake up. He stepped under the descending sprays and sighed. Gradually, the fog lifted from his brain and he took in his surroundings. Chloe's bathtub.

Now, where was the soap? She had to have some. She smelled too good not to. But he searched and searched to no avail. No bar of soap. She did have tons of pretty bottles though. So, he squinted through the water to read the labels. Hmmm. Body shampoo. What the heck was that? Didn't shampoo go in your hair? Not on your body? His lips quirked. Maybe it went on your body hair. Now, that thought could be entirely bizarre or a big turn-on, depending on how one chose to look at it.

But he spotted traditional shampoo and conditioner in other bottles. Oh, well, he thought, it would have to do. He picked up the bottle of body shampoo and squirted some pink goo into his hand. He sniffed it. Yep. Definitely Chloe. Now, how the heck did this stuff work? He started to spread the aromatic substance on his chest, when he noticed a white plastic sponge, hanging beside the bottles. After a brief hesitation, he took up the sponge and used it to work the body shampoo into a lather. Girls sure went to a lot of trouble to get clean, he thought. But he had to admit, as he took in the heady scents that instantly made him think of her skin, it was worth it.

After that educational shower, he stepped out of the tub and toweled off. After taking another glance at the time, he quickly brushed his teeth and shaved. Good thing Shawn's joint was ten minutes away. Five, if he sped without getting caught. He pulled on the clothes that he'd laid out the night before and was ready with twenty minutes to spare. Chloe still hadn't returned, so that meant he'd have to go looking for her. Therefore, after he tucked his wallet and comb in his back pockets and finished packing the rest of his stuff back into his duffel, he carefully ventured out of the room.

It was still unnerving. To be in forbidden Wesley territory. Philip was no fool. Protective parents were nothing to be trifled with. Present or no. Especially if one of them had access to sharp surgical tools. So, he tiptoed down the steps, following the quiet clatter and yips, emanating beyond the living room.

As he drew closer to the swinging door, he could hear her chatting with her beloved puppy. "Oh no. This, people food. That, puppy food." He heard her muffled laughter. "That look doesn't work for Philip and it won't work for you either." She broke off to hum. Something melodic. And happy.

With a growing warmth in his chest, he pushed open the kitchen door to find Chloe - in her silk robe and with her hair falling in riotous waves down her back - setting plates and silverware down on the table. She concentrated on folding the napkins into a pretty shape, just as she'd seen Nancy do a dozen times, when from behind his arms came around her. And he kissed her neck. "Morning, beautiful."

She leaned back against him. Thrilled, when she could smell her shampoo in his hair. "Good morning."

"What have we here?" He looked down at the two plates, decked with a simple but pretty arrangement of scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit. His arms tightened around her middle. She'd cooked for him. His eyes closed, humbled. How many times could he fall for her?

"I thought you might be hungry," she said softly, covering his arms with hers, "I-I'm kind of new at omnivorous cooking-"

He spun her around and gave her a hard kiss. Then, rested his forehead against hers. "Thanks, beautiful."

At 8:17, Philip's car screeched to a halt in the Brady driveway.

"Took you long enough," greeted Shawn dryly, who along with their buddy Jase had propped himself against the reconditioned truck. It seemed all three were slightly sleep-deprived this morning. But that was the great thing about youth. Lightning quick recovery time.

Especially when the sleep tradeoff had been more than worth it. With a small paper bag of homemade chocolate chip cookies in hand and an easy smile, guaranteed to be plastered to his face for the rest of the day, Philip slipped out of his car, armed it, and strolled over to his friends. "Morning, dudes."

Jason sniffed the air, as he approached. "You wearing perfume, K-Man?"

In reflex, Phil took a whiff of his shirt. And smelled lavender. He shrugged, even though he was grinning inside. "So, we going or what?"

Mimi woke to the sounds of happy barks and childish laughter. She looked about and saw her little brother chasing Floppy around the couch. "Conner," she croaked, "Could you guys do that somewhere else? You're making me dizzy."

The small boy only laughed and followed the puppy to the kitchen. His sister was never much of a morning person.

Mimi sat up, discovering she was covered under a blanket from her room. She yawned. Her mom probably, she deduced absently and fleetingly, as would any child used to parents doing such things. She rose, dragging the blanket on the floor behind, to climb the steps back to her room. She ran into her father in the hallway.

"Morning, pumpkin." He gave his daughter an affectionate peck on the cheek. "Sleeping in today, eh, my little starlet?"

"Morning, daddy," she mumbled, before she disappeared into her room and flopped belly first into her bed.

Thus, she slept on, as her mother excitedly called from downstairs, "Oh, Mimi! Come quick! Mimi? Mimi? You have a package from NYU!"

Chloe locked the front door behind her. Nancy and Craig wouldn't be home until later that evening. Nonetheless, she didn't want to be cooped up all day at home. She'd finished cleaning up the kitchen as best as she could, after Philip had left. Twenty minutes after he was supposed to have left, that is. She smiled, as she began a casual stroll toward the park. It was a pretty day, and she wanted to see the water and the graceful weeping willows.

She'd never forget the look on his face, when she'd given him that bag of cookies. She practiced for a good week to get down the technique. Poor Craig. She bet, if someone uttered the words chocolate chip or cookie, her poor stepfather would probably turn green. He'd been her resident taste-tester. Hopefully, Jason and Shawn were not traumatized enough to be afraid to try the new and improved girlfriend-made cookies. She knew that Shawn's stomach had not been right for a week, following that first hilarious episode.

In a serene mood, she wandered along the paved walkway. Two more weeks until the end of school. Time seemed like it was flying now. Salem High was on the brink of finals. School yearbook students scrambled about to finish the last details. Championship sports matches were scheduled back to back for next and the following week. The choir practiced everyday, since they would perform at graduation.

Then, of course, there was the night of the Last Blast. She had her dress all picked out. She had no idea what Philip was planning. It was a surprise, he'd said. As usual, thought Chloe with amusement.

Then, summer. Then, fall. And off she went to New York. To pursue her lifelong dream of a career in music. Philip still didn't know where he was going to school, but she assured him that if this unbelievable year had been any indication, then they could make it through anything.

That was the best benefit of love. Faith that anything was possible. As long as one stayed true to herself and the people she loved.

She sighed. Today was certainly unique, though. Almost all her friends were out of town. And Mimi was most likely recovering from last night. Even Craig and Nancy were away. So, she was on her own today. Not necessarily a bad thing. Just strange, after a year of having people constantly around her.

But she didn't feel alone. Nor frightened. Nor needy. Because she knew that they were coming back. That they would always be there for her. And that made all the difference in the world.

Taking in the fresh late morning air, she walked passed the basketball courts. She spotted a lone figure, shirtless, shooting hoops. She recognized the world-weary swagger, as he went to retrieve the ball. After a drawn-out moment of hesitation, she made her way to the edge of the basketball court.

He seemed engrossed in his own private thoughts, while he dribbled back to the foul line. He turned to face the basket again and shot. The ball swooshed down through the mesh and bounced onto the turf. He retrieved the ball again. This time he dribbled languidly toward the sidelines to his discarded shirt to wipe off the sweat. Then, he looked up and saw her.

"Hello, Brady."

After a moment, he nodded. "Chloe."

She sighed. "How have you been?"

He cocked a brow. "Peachy."

She sighed once more. He wasn't going to make this easy. He never did. "Look," she said point blank, the only way she and Brady could ever communicate, "I know you were only trying to help me that day at the pier…" When he said nothing, she added, "You know, after Andy died?"

He only raised his chin another notch. His demeanor cool and removed.

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry," she said, watching for some reaction. She knew only too well how it was to hold onto anger, while the hurt swirled inside. In many ways, Brady and her were alike. They both had unfortunate childhoods and both had turned to music to find solace. However, unlike Brady, Chloe had found something even better, more powerful than music. She found peace by letting go of the anger and pain and focusing on the positives. That might've sounded clichéd and bogus - certainly a year ago, she would've attested to that - but it was the truth. She didn't want to be angry or sad or bitter anymore. That path had never gotten her anywhere, except to more anger, sadness, and bitterness.

She didn't want to be another source of negativity for him. Neither did she want him to be that for her. "I shouldn't have said those things. I was hurting and I took it out on you. I'm really sorry, Brady."

Even as he sought to maintain that look of glazed boredom across his features, his jaw clenched, betraying him. "Sure, Chloe. Bygones, right?"

She sighed. Oh, well. She tried. The ball was in his court now. "Well, I'll leave you alone now. I hope we can be friends someday." She turned to leave, but froze when he laughed sardonically.

"Man, you still don't get it, do you?" he said with razor-edged clarity. "You know, for someone, who's supposed to be so smart…" When her brows furrowed in apparent confusion, even as her hackles instinctively rose, he threw up his hands. Unbelievable. "I don't want to be your freaking friend, ok, Chloe? Do you hear me? I don't want to be your friend."

Shocked at this new attack, she set her hands on her hips. "Fine!" she retorted. Never would she understand this guy. "Sorry for wasting my breath." And no way was she wasting anymore of it or what began as a wonderful day on him. Gripping her purse securely on her shoulder, she turned to walk off.

"Damn it, Chloe," he shouted, incensed. Fuck it, he thought. He had nothing to lose. "I'm in love with you."