Chapter 30
Claire stirred, sinking into plush sheets like clouds wrapped in silk.
Wade’s T-shirt brushed against her skin, oversized and carrying his intoxicating warmth.
Her eyes still closed, a smile tugged at her lips.
Last night sifted through her mind like the perfect dream.
Reaching out, her hands sought warmth and met taut, prickly-haired muscles.
She opened her eyelids. Wade lay propped on his elbow, shirtless with the blanket slung low across his hips, one hand supporting his chin as he studied her. His taut muscles and the shadow of morning stubble along his sharp jaw sent heat racing through her.
Last night’s memories—his whispered promises, their shared laughter—flooded back, leaving her both exhilarated and exposed.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” His voice emerged rich with amusement, low and teasing.
Her heart hammered as she bit back a grin. “Nothing I’d admit out loud.” The words tumbled out before she could think better of them, and her gaze darted to the window to avoid his probing stare.
Light filtered through the heavy silk drapes—rich and elegant, of course—softening the room in a golden glow. She couldn’t see the nightstand behind him, but she didn’t need to.
“What time is it?”
“Not too late to start our day.” His fingertips brushed the curve of her cheek, and her eyes betrayed her, locking onto his. He traced a stray spiral and tucked it back with a tenderness that left her breathless.
“You’ve got that look.” His husky whisper raked over her.
She shivered. “What look?”
“The one that makes me think I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Her chest tightened at the way his gaze held hers, raw and unguarded. “It’s the other way around.” Was she reading too much into this? “How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to realize I like watching you sleep.”
“Creep.” She jabbed at his bare chest, the wiry hair tickling her skin. But her hand lingered when she noticed a faint burn scar beneath the hair. Hmm. She’d never been this close or even bold enough to really look at him like this, not even during all those summers they’d gone swimming together.
Her finger traced along the scar, and his pulse quickened beneath her fingertips.
“What happened here?”
“Boiling water. I was eight.”
She swallowed down emotion as she recalled his mentions of negligent foster parents. “Is this when you got out of that home?”
“No.” Something heavy shadowed his wistful expression before he looked at the window.
“My foster parents came up with some excuse. I don’t even remember what.
But where else was I supposed to go? Then one day, my foster dad had me up on the roof, passing tools.
” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. “I fell.”
Her hand stilled on his chest. Her heart squeezed as she imagined the scene.
“Hit the ladder on the way down. Concussion. Broke my arm and a rib.” A tremor carried in his voice. “I don’t know how I made it. After the hospital, they sent me back to a group home. For two grueling years, I waited to be placed.”
Her stomach twisted. “Is that when you met Regina?”
“Yeah.” His gaze was distant. “I was a mess—angry, fighting everyone, convinced no one wanted me. Regina was my counselor. Somehow, she saw through the walls I’d built. I don’t know why I got lucky, why she and her husband decided to adopt me out of all the kids she worked with.”
“God’s always had your back.” She spoke through the tightness in her throat, her hand still resting over his racing heart as if she could shield him from every painful moment he’d endured.
He exhaled, long and shaky. “Caseworkers do their best, but sometimes the system fails. My first two placements could’ve been avoided if someone had cared enough to look closer.” His voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on Lauren, but those homes…”
Silence stretched between them.
Claire scooted closer and wrapped an arm around him. No words could fix what had happened, but she was here now. “Why would anyone agree to parent a child if they wouldn’t see it through?”
“Hard to know.” He breathed out. “I don’t want Bella to go through that.”
His earlier panic clicked into place—the way his face paled when Bella tumbled into the bath or when she’d mentioned keeping a close eye on her at the changing table. “She won’t.”
“I don’t want her to ever feel…”
“Not while we’re her guardians.” Was he afraid the Weavers would take her?
They stayed in silence, his heartbeat matching the rhythm of hers. He curled his arm around her, and she did the same. Minutes slipped by, the quiet settling in like a comforting blanket.
Then he kissed the top of her head and inhaled deeply. “I usually do a live stream for church when I’m here. Starts in an hour.”
She tilted her head, meeting his gaze. “Not surprised you’d rather stream your home church than go to a new one here.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’ve been uprooted through too many changes, so you like staying connected to home. You like what’s familiar.”
“Says the woman married to her childhood crush, still best friends with her childhood friend, and attending the church her parents took her to as a kid.”
Despite his teasing, it was true.
His hand slid to the small of her back. “But that’s why you’re my wife. We’re so much alike.”
Her gaze dropped to her hand on his shoulder, the ring glinting on her finger. “The ring you gave me last night—it’s stunning. But the first one—it’s special.”
“Keep them both.” His eyes searched hers, making her toes curl. “Someday, you can give one to Bella.”
Her heart swelled. The gesture, so full of love, left her breathless. She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
He grinned and shifted back onto the pillow. “After church, how do you feel about exploring Hollywood?”
Her lips tugged up, and she sat up, stretching. “Guess I better get in the shower.”
“I’ll go after you. Then we can have breakfast.”
“Let’s shower together.” The words tumbled out. Her cheeks flamed, and she slapped a hand over her face. “It’ll save time—”
“I like how practical you are, Mrs. Stone.” His voice was rough-edged, lighthearted. He grasped her wrist and tugged her hand away from her hot face. His eyes smoldered, his voice a low rumble. “Let’s just say I’ve been fantasizing about showering with you ever since I helped you into that bath.”
The desire in his eyes mirrored the longing in her chest. He lifted her hand, his lips grazing each fingertip with slow, sweet tenderness. Every touch stole her breath and unraveled her composure.
As they slipped out of bed, the thought of sharing such a simple yet intimate moment with her husband sent her pulse racing.
Though the plan was to save time, he seemed in no rush, his hands moving slowly as he scrubbed her back.
“I was too nerve-racked to do this properly when you were sick.” He peppered her neck with featherlight kisses, and even in the steam, she shivered.
He washed her hair with the same tenderness, and in turn, she did the same for him. Stolen kisses punctuated their laughter, their breathlessness mingling with the cascade of water, creating their own symphony.
They barely finished and connected to the virtual service in time, but breakfast could wait. She tried to focus during worship, avoiding the distraction of Wade sitting beside her, his hand laced with hers. But sharing the experience as a couple fulfilled her.
The pastor spoke about time being a precious gift, perishable and irreplaceable. The message lingered as they discussed it over breakfast on the terrace, the ocean stretching before them.
“Ever since Albert’s death, I’ve kind of drifted. I need to start over and prioritize God.” She speared a ripe strawberry.
“I can say the same… even before Albert,” Wade admitted. His damp hair caught the morning sunlight. “I tend to overschedule, but I’ve been convicted lately about saying no when my calendar’s already full.”
“Maybe we can help each other with that.”
“Maybe.” He stretched his arms over his head, yawning. “I’d also like us to carve out some time for the marriage counseling my pastor suggested before he married us.”
“We should commit to that.” She indulged in fresh fruit, buttery croissants, and fluffy omelets. “Mmm. I’d say your chef outdid herself. This breakfast spread’s worthy of a five-star hotel. I doubt I’ll eat again for the rest of the day.”
“Save some room for a cupcake.” He winked, then pushed back his chair, and held out a hand. “Ready for a Hollywood adventure?”
His boyish grin disarmed her, leaving her eager for what lay ahead. “Absolutely.”
Although she’d packed clothes from home, the snow in Pleasant View led her to bring heavier items than necessary. Fortunately, his designer had prepared for her arrival, filling a closet with new outfits, shoes, and handbags suited for every occasion.
Their first stop was the Walk of Fame. Strolling hand in hand, they paused to admire the iconic stars embedded in the sidewalk. He pointed out names, some of which she recognized instantly—Sylvester Stallone, Jimmy Stewart, and Gregory Peck—while others he explained how they shaped his craft.
“Ah, Harrison Ford.” He gestured to the name. “When I was starting out, I must’ve watched Indiana Jones a hundred times. His charisma on screen… it’s electric.”
She laughed, memories surfacing. “Your hand smothered my face to block me from seeing the snakes.” Albert’s voice echoed in her mind, chastising Wade for encouraging her to watch the movie. “And now, someone, somewhere, is probably watching your movies the same way.”
“You really think so?” He cast her a sideways glance, the bustling crowd blurring around them.
“You’ve got that same electric presence.” At least on her.
They stopped at historic Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, its grandeur a contrast to the sleek Dolby Theatre where they’d attended the premiere. Wade guided her to the forecourt, showing her the handprints and footprints of legendary actors.
“This is surreal.” She ran her fingers over Marilyn Monroe’s handprint.
“The first actor who believed in me did so after my first movie flopped. I’d gone from one rejection to the next, and the only offers I got were for roles that would’ve compromised my faith.
” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The best advice I ever got was to venture into scriptwriting and producing. Once my movies started doing well, the big-budget offers came in. Not dwelling on rejections pushed me further.”
Claire leaned into him. “You’ve always had a gift for writing. Think of the high school play that launched your career.”
“I think the essays I helped you with gave me good practice.” He looped an arm around her waist and jostled her. “Ever confess to your literature teacher that you got lots of help?”
“When he retires, I intend to.” She snickered. “Too bad I didn’t branch out into writing like you did, even though I learned from the best.”
He kissed the top of her head. “You’re married to a writer now. That makes you one by association.”
Before lunch, they called Eric and Joy to check in on Bella.
Eric snickered. “She’s decided she hates baby food.”
“Is she okay?” Wade’s brows drew together.
“Oh yeah.” Joy hefted Bella into view on the screen. The little girl wiggled, clearly eager to return to the lively ruckus behind her. “She ate mashed avocado and potatoes.” Joy’s voice rose over Bella’s babbling and squirming. “I’d better get this girl back to her entertainment.”
Wade frowned. “How can she eat without teeth?”
“Actually, Joy ran her finger over Bella’s gums and felt something sharp.”
“She has teeth?” Claire and Wade asked simultaneously. They’d both read in the book that babies typically got their first teeth between four and seven months. The delay had been concerning.
“Like Joy told you”—Eric jostled the phone as he walked—“every child develops at their own pace, and hers is perfectly normal.”
They exchanged relieved laughs. Seeing Bella happy soothed any lingering concerns.
Lunch was at a restaurant Wade frequented for years. Claire, not hungry yet, settled for a smoothie. She recognized familiar faces from TV and movies, the experience surreal. Yet, his easy confidence as he introduced her made it all more normal.
Come afternoon, he surprised her with a private tour of a renowned film studio. The sprawling lot was empty, as his team had the day off, but his stories brought the space to life. They walked through elaborate sets and sound stages, each space defining his typical day.
“This is where the magic happens.” He gestured to a massive green screen dominating one stage.
She turned in a slow circle. “I can see why you’re so passionate about it.”
“It’s even better seeing the passion from your eyes.”
Their final stop was the Griffith Observatory.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, they hiked up the hill, the city below transforming into a glittering sea of lights.
Sitting on a bench, they took in the sprawling view and discussed the homes their Realtor had suggested, their dreams for Bella, and his thoughts about shifting his focus to production and screenwriting.
“I can write and direct from anywhere. But acting will limit my time with you and Bella.”
“I don’t want you changing your life all at once.” Claire could adapt too—Bella was still little, and they could move to LA if that’s what he wanted. But did he? “Do you have any regrets about us?”
“I did at first.” His gaze lingered on the shimmering city lights. “Not because I didn’t love you, but because I was scared. Now? I just wonder why I didn’t pursue you sooner.”
Touched to the deepest parts of her heart, she grasped his hand. “Now is better than the past. God’s timing is perfect. We can embrace the time we have today.” She quoted from the sermon. “We can’t reclaim the time we lost.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t have been ready for a wife and a kid back then.” When his lips captured hers, his tender kiss held a quiet promise.
“I’m sure I wasn’t ready either,” she admitted when the kiss ended.
“You always talked about having a special wedding and a family.”
She shrugged. “Every girl who watches Barbie has to dream.”
“I’m glad we can dream together.” Genuine tenderness carried in his voice.
His presence and love cocooned her. As did knowing he’d be coming back with her for the week ahead—for the hearing, the bead show, and, most importantly, more time together.