A Love That’s True (Fiancee for the Summer #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Can’t you tell him to shut up?”

Claire Waters resisted the urge to cover her ears with her hands. She’d never been overly fond of children, and the red-faced baby in front of her—shrieking like someone had stolen his rattle and his will to live—only confirmed her good sense.

“If only it could be that easy.” Taylor Lanagan laughed and shoved an identical version of the howling child into Claire’s arms. “Here, you take this one.”

Claire stared at the dark-haired infant as if he were a live grenade. She’d stopped by to get Tony’s address, and now suddenly she’d been drafted as Mary Poppins? Absolutely not.

Her eyes scanned the room for an appropriate place to dispose of the bundle. She gingerly peeled his chubby fingers from the front of her silver-blue linen shirt, wincing at the wrinkles left behind. The little boy sucked on his pacifier and stared at her with wide, unblinking green eyes fringed with lashes that belonged in a mascara ad.

If she ever had a baby—and that was a very big if —she’d order one like this: silent, low-maintenance, and preferably stain-resistant.

Not like his brother, the tiny banshee still screaming despite being cradled in his mother’s arms.

“Claire, I’m sorry. Robbie’s usually not this fussy. I think he’s cutting teeth.”

Claire swallowed the urge to snap back that teething wasn’t an excuse for public torture. No doubt Taylor would just smile sympathetically and start quoting parenting books. The woman seemed genuinely enamored with her twin sons. As was her husband, Nick—the man Claire had once imagined walking down the aisle with. Both of them were baby crazy. And despite her father’s constant disappointment, never had Claire been so glad things with Nick hadn’t worked out.

Tony was more her speed. A fun-loving guy who enjoyed spending money almost as much as she did.

“The address?” Claire prompted.

“I just got a letter from him. Now where did I put it?” Taylor pulled open a drawer and began rifling through a stack of envelopes, bouncing Robbie on her hip like a weary circus performer trying to keep all the plates spinning. “Did I tell you he moved to Iowa?”

“Yes.” Claire gritted her teeth, holding her temper on a short leash. She wouldn’t lose it—not when Taylor was her only link to Tony Karelli. “But knowing the state doesn’t do me much good.”

“No, this isn’t it,” Taylor muttered, tossing one envelope aside and grabbing another.

Claire’s patience thinned by the second. My God, how long did it take to find a single address?

“Found it,” Taylor said finally.

Claire could barely hear her over Robbie’s ear-piercing wails, but she caught the triumphant look on Taylor’s face and the envelope she waved like a prize. Excitement sparked in Claire’s chest.

Her mind sped ahead, already planning her strategy and her wardrobe. Perhaps if she wore one of the new eye-catching outfits she’d picked up last weekend… Or offered to double whatever Tony was making at his job… Or maybe just hinted at a little skin—his eyes had always gleamed at that.

Yes, this was going to work out just fine.

Once her father was pacified, Tony could crawl back to Hicksville, Iowa, or wherever he was hiding these days, and she could return to doing what she did best—spending her father’s money and enjoying herself.

“Claire.” The panic in Taylor’s voice sliced through the air. “Ryan is spitting up!”

Too late.

Something hot and sour-smelling splattered across Claire’s chest. She gasped, her stomach lurching. The infant’s lips curled into a gummy grin, remnants of what looked like mashed bananas clinging to his face.

Taylor set Robbie in the playpen and rushed to take Ryan from Claire’s rigid arms. She moved with the instinct of someone who knew just how close Claire was to committing baby-related manslaughter.

“I’m so sorry, Claire.” Taylor grabbed a cloth diaper from a neat stack on the desk. “You know how babies can be.”

Claire snatched the pristine square and dabbed at her now-ruined blouse. Yes, she knew how babies could be—and that was exactly why she didn’t have one.

“Of course.” She forced a smile, her jaw tight. “Could I have that address? I really need to get going.”

Taylor scribbled on a notepad and handed over the scrap of paper. “Did I tell you what he’s doing now? You’ll never believe it?—”

Claire began backing toward the door, address in hand like it was the last bottle of champagne on New Year’s Eve. There was no reason to linger. Not one.

“He’d just finished?—”

The Flight of the Bumblebee ringtone blared from Taylor’s phone, halting her sentence—and setting both babies off again like sirens.

Claire nearly jumped out of her skin. Was this a house or a testing facility for noise-cancellation headphones?

“I’d love to chat, but I’ve got to go,” she said, jerking the door open in one swift motion.

Taylor opened her mouth, but Claire didn’t give her the chance.

With a jaunty wave, she slammed the door shut behind her and exhaled.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

Tony Karelli heaved a breath of relief, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans. It had been tight, but he’d managed to cram all his essentials into the attic apartment he was renting until the parsonage was ready. He’d been up since dawn, running on purpose alone. But now that everything was unpacked and put away, all he had left was a hollow ache in his stomach and the grumble of protest echoing through his gut.

A hot meal sounded like heaven.

And what better way to reward a morning of hard work than by accepting his new landlady’s offer of lunch? When he’d signed the lease for Darlene Sandy’s studio apartment, she’d let him know that lunch was served daily from eleven to one in the downstairs dining room. Last night, she’d reminded him again, her voice syrupy with suggestion—it would be nice if he joined her.

He’d seen the interest in her eyes when he rolled in late. The mild disappointment when he pleaded exhaustion. She had questions.

He didn’t mind. In fact, he looked forward to answering them. He’d chosen this small town for the very reasons many of his classmates avoided them. His father had bounced from military post to political office, and Tony had never really settled anywhere. But now, at twenty-eight, he was done drifting.

He didn’t want to just preach from the pulpit—he wanted to belong. He wanted to know his congregation by name, not by pew number.

The seminary had prepared him to lead. But this —building a life in a place like Millville—this was the dream.

He stepped into the hallway, the apartment door clicking shut behind him. The lock clicked into place, a small detail that still made him smile. Mrs. Sandy had been almost apologetic about it. Too many out-of-towners coming and going, she’d said.

It was funny. Back in D.C., you locked your doors and set the alarm without a second thought. But here, locking up felt like an oddity. One more sign he’d made the right choice.

As he descended the two flights, the scent of freshly baked bread drifted upward, warm and inviting. His pace quickened. He paused at the first landing to glance at his watch—ten minutes until one. He’d cut it close.

By the time his feet hit the hardwood floor of the foyer, the scent had intensified, mingling with something savory that made his stomach growl in anticipation. But when he caught sight of the empty dining room, his steps slowed.

The room was sunlit and beautiful, rainbows of color scattered by the leaded glass window. And empty.

Disappointment sank in. A day late and a dollar short.

Story of his life.

Not anymore, he reminded himself.

The kitchen door swung open with a bang, and Tony turned. A plump woman with tight curls and a face as friendly as an open door breezed in, stopping short when she saw him.

“Pastor Karelli! I didn’t know you were here.”

“I just came down for lunch,” Tony said, gesturing toward the deserted table with a sheepish smile. “Looks like I missed the boat.”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Sandy waved a hand. “April—that’s my daughter—and I were just about to eat in the kitchen. Come join us. We’d love the company.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“How can you intrude?” she laughed. “We’re all living under one roof. That makes you family now. C’mon, the soup’s getting cold.”

The tension that had been sitting between his shoulder blades all morning began to ease. He followed her down the hallway and into a kitchen filled with the aroma of home cooking and quiet comfort.

At the table sat a striking blonde with long lashes and perfectly applied makeup. She straightened the moment she saw him.

“Pastor Karelli, this is my daughter April.”

Tony blinked. “I thought you said your daughter was in high school?”

April’s face lit with pleasure. Her laugh rolled out, low and sultry, not even pretending to be innocent. She wrapped her fingers around his and didn’t let go.

“I may not look seventeen, but you don’t look like a pastor either.”

“We all have our cross to bear,” he said dryly, extricating his hand and taking the seat across from her.

Mrs. Sandy chuckled and ladled steaming soup into his bowl. “April, don’t forget to make those beds before you head to work.”

April didn’t respond. Her attention remained locked on Tony. “I could call in sick. Show you around town.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but Mrs. Sandy didn’t give him the chance. Her gaze sharpened like a paring knife. “You begged me for that job. I agreed, even though it left me short-handed. You’re going.”

April’s pretty mouth twisted in a pout. In that instant, the makeup slipped, and he glimpsed the teenager beneath it all.

“I’m not hungry after all.” Her chair scraped back, sharp and deliberate. She smiled at Tony with practiced sweetness. “Maybe another time.”

“Sure,” he said evenly.

Mrs. Sandy filled her own bowl and shook her head with a sigh. “Teenagers.”

Tony said nothing, slicing into a thick slab of oat bread and letting the silence settle.

“Were you like that when you were her age? Always in a rush? Out with your friends?”

The question caught him off guard. The memories surfaced—braces, thick glasses, the awkward weight of being too smart and not cool enough to hide it.

If it hadn’t been for Taylor…

He pushed the thought aside. She had a family now. A life of her own.

“Pastor?”

He blinked. She was still waiting. “Not really,” he said quietly.

Mrs. Sandy arched a skeptical brow but didn’t press. “Did you and your fiancée meet in high school or college?”

He almost laughed—but then paused. Fiancée?

He took a sip of cola to buy time. “When I was in high school, I had friends who were girls, but nothing serious.”

She nodded approvingly. “That’s what I try to tell April. There’s time.”

He nodded, reaching for another slice of bread.

“So how long have you and your fiancée known each other?”

He choked on the bread.

Reaching for his drink again, he cleared his throat. “Mrs. Sandy,” he began, choosing his words with care, “I think there’s been a mix-up?—”

The phone rang.

She answered quickly. “Yes, he’s here.” She covered the receiver and whispered, “It’s Harold Clarke.”

Tony’s stomach dropped. Harold was the elder who’d made the final call between the two finalists. The man who could end this before it ever began.

“No, his fiancée isn’t here yet.” Her smile returned, directed straight at Tony. Panic tightened his chest.

“I’m not sure if she’ll be here before the wedding or not. We haven’t gotten that far.”

She hung up and turned back to him, cheerful as ever. “Now, where were we?”

Tony deflected. “Is Mr. Clarke stopping by?”

“He said he’d try. Wants to be one of the first to welcome you to Millville. He’s a busy man—three teenagers and the bank to run.”

She poured herself some coffee and offered him the pot.

He shook his head.

“I probably shouldn’t say this,” she went on, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “but Harold is all about family. The fact that you were engaged—that really helped. The other guy seemed fine, but single? Harold had reservations.”

Tony managed a smile, but his pulse was racing. They thought he was someone else. Thought he was engaged. He’d given up his apartment, his savings, everything. Would they fire him when they found out?

He needed to talk to Harold. Explain. He could do this job—he wanted it.

“I remember what we were talking about,” Mrs. Sandy said with a twinkle in her eye. “Your fiancée. Andrea, right?”

Tony froze, his brain scrambling for a response. Before he could speak, the doorbell rang.

Mrs. Sandy stood, smoothing her apron before tossing it over the back of the chair. She fluffed her curls with practiced fingers and bustled toward the front.

Tony stood too, each step toward the foyer feeling heavier than the last. He tried to remind himself he hadn’t done anything wrong. He was honest. He’d come here to serve. Surely, that had to count for something.

He slowed as he rounded the corner. It sounded like Mrs. Sandy was greeting a woman. The voice was low, sultry… familiar in a way that made his spine stiffen.

“Yes, he’s here. We’re just finishing lunch. We’d love for you to join us.”

The door swung wider, and Tony stepped into the foyer.

He froze, heart hammering in his chest. Claire Waters. The last woman he ever expected to see—especially here, in Millville, on the doorstep of the life he was trying to build.

For a second, he thought he might be hallucinating. But no, that curve of her smile, the defiant tilt of her chin, the flash of something unreadable in her dark eyes—it was unmistakably her. And if experience had taught him anything, it was that Claire never showed up without a reason.