Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Where’s Tony?” Jocelyn scanned the crowd.
“Mingling.” Claire gestured loosely across the room and took another sip of her soda. What would Jocelyn say if Claire told her the truth—that she and Tony had barely exchanged five words all evening?
At first, she’d only suspected he was avoiding her. Now she was sure.
All because she’d made one honest comment about the ring. It’s not like he bought it for her. Given the flaws, she couldn’t imagine anyone paying money for it.
“Is that a diamond I see on your finger?” Jocelyn’s eyes sparkled almost as brightly as the stone. “Let me see.”
Claire hesitated, then lifted her hand. Jocelyn leaned in, studying the ring with the intense gaze of someone who knew value when she saw it. She said nothing for several long seconds.
“It’s beautiful,” she said finally. “So unique.”
Claire stiffened. She recognized the subtle note of pity. The tact Jocelyn showed only deepened her own regret.
“It’s a family heirloom,” Claire said at last. “It’s the sentiment that makes it… priceless.”
She barely choked out the words.
“Of course,” Jocelyn said gently. “Of course it does.”
They chatted a few minutes more before Jocelyn drifted off, leaving Claire alone with her thoughts.
“Having a good time?” Dottie tapped her shoulder.
Claire turned, surprised at the rush of relief. “Dottie. I’ve been looking for you.”
It wasn’t far from the truth. Dottie was one of the few people she wanted to see.
“Our sitter showed up an hour late.” Dottie rolled her eyes. “Just wait till you and Tony have kids. The sitter runs the show.”
Claire laughed despite herself. “It’s hard enough imagining getting married, let alone raising little people.”
“Oh, you just wait. It comes faster than you think.”
Dottie’s eyes dropped to Claire’s hand. “Is that the ring? Mrs. Sandy said it was beautiful—but this... it’s gorgeous.”
Claire blinked. She wasn’t expecting that.
Dottie’s face was pure admiration as she leaned in. “The setting is so intricate.”
“It belonged to Tony’s great-grandmother.”
“He told me.” Dottie smiled. “Said she wanted him to give it to the woman he loved.”
Claire looked up, startled. “He said that?”
“Don’t be mad.” Dottie flushed. “We were talking about what I call ‘gifts of the heart.’ I told him when John and I got married, all we could afford was this.” She held out her hand. A simple gold band circled her finger.
Claire opened her mouth automatically. “It’s lovely.”
Dottie laughed. “It’s not. But I love it because of what it means. You understand.”
And—surprisingly—Claire did. More than she would’ve expected.
Across the room, Mrs. Sandy clapped her hands. “Could I have everyone’s attention?”
Claire tried to melt back into the crowd, but suddenly she was being nudged forward, and before she knew it, she was standing next to Tony.
Mrs. Sandy wrapped an arm around her. “When I asked our new pastor what he wanted for tonight’s barbecue, he had one request—a birthday cake.”
Claire’s breath caught.
She glanced at Tony, but he didn’t look at her. His smile looked pasted on.
“Not just any cake,” Mrs. Sandy continued. “He wanted a birthday cake for his fiancée.”
Dottie emerged from the kitchen carrying a towering triple-layer chocolate cake aglow with candles. “Happy birthday, Claire!”
The room burst into song, the warm voices rising in a chorus of good cheer.
Claire stood frozen, her throat tightening. She’d convinced herself no one would remember—least of all Tony. Her father hadn’t even mentioned it yesterday on the phone.
Tears burned behind her eyes.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Tony said, his voice audible only to her.
To the crowd, his words sounded affectionate. Only Claire felt the chill beneath them.
“How did?—?”
“Isn’t it amazing?” Mrs. Sandy beamed. “You and Tony’s mother share the same birthday.”
Of course. That explained how. But not why .
Because he’s a good man, that small voice inside whispered. Better than you deserved today.
Mrs. Sandy handed her a plate. “Tony said to make sure you got the one with the rose.”
Claire looked down. On top of the cake sat one perfect red sugar rose—just like the one carved into the filigreed ring on her finger.
Her vision blurred.
She poked at the frosting with her fork, unable to speak.
And in that moment, she knew her father had been right all along.
Something had to change. And maybe—just maybe—it needed to start with her.
* * *
After the cake and candlelight faded, Claire slipped away early. The cheerful chatter that had warmed the room now echoed hollowly in her chest.
She’d expected her birthday to feel different—lighter, happier. Instead, guilt gnawed at her like a mouse in the walls. Sleep wouldn't come. Not until she’d made things right.
Claire rolled over and punched the pillow. How could she be this exhausted and still not sleep?
She breathed slowly, in and out, trying to will herself to dreamland. But when the clock struck two, she gave in. Shoving back the covers, she slipped out of bed and into her blue fluffy mules. She bypassed the silk kimono that matched her skimpy pajamas and grabbed the thick chenille robe instead. If she was going outside, she needed something warmer—and more respectable.
She crept to the foyer and eased open the front door, careful not to wake anyone.
The air was crisp, more suited to fall than late spring. Claire pulled the robe tighter and stepped out onto the porch. Overhead, a thousand stars glittered, and the moon looked like a round yellow globe suspended in midair. Despite the chill, she felt a strange sense of rightness—being here, now, breathing in the heartland night.
God’s in His heaven and all’s right with the world.
The phrase rose unbidden. She didn’t know where she’d heard it—definitely not from her father, and her mother... well, she barely remembered her. Still, it fit.
Claire stared at the sky. If God was in His heaven, could He really hear her? Would He even want to?
She hesitated. But what did it hurt to try?
Dear God, I’m sure you’re disappointed in me. I think just about everyone is—my father, Tony, Mrs. Sandy. Honestly? I’m disappointed in myself. But I want you to know I’m going to try. I want to be a better person.
Claire paused.
I didn’t treat Tony well, and I’m sorry. I hope you can somehow let him know that. I’d appreciate it. Thank you... uh, Amen.
She exhaled, resting her hands on the porch rail. She hadn’t known prayer could be so exhausting. Or satisfying.
“Claire.”
She turned, heart skipping. “Tony?”
“Over here,” he said softly. “On the swing.”
She squinted into the shadows and made out his shape.
“May I join you?”
Tony hesitated. He’d come out here to think. About the lies, the job, and Claire. Seeing her now—hair tousled, cheeks flushed, wrapped in a robe under the moonlight—only made everything more complicated.
“I’d like that,” he said finally.
Claire crossed the porch, the scent of her plum-scented lotion teasing his senses. He gestured to the empty spot beside him. “Have a seat.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” She shivered. “It’s chilly out here.”
Tony smiled slightly but kept his arm at his side. There were things they needed to say.
“Claire, we need to talk.”
Her posture stiffened. “About what?”
He shifted, uncomfortable. “For starters... the ring.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
“And I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.” He met her gaze. “I should’ve made it clear that it was just for appearances.”
“Not some ‘gift of the heart,’” she said, voice low.
“That’s right. Definitely not that.”
But instead of relief, her expression flickered with something that looked an awful lot like... disappointment.
“I acted badly,” Claire said, staring straight ahead. “I need to know—does what happened earlier change things? Do you still want to keep up the charade?”
Tony blinked, caught off guard. Was she planning to leave?
“I’d like to continue a while longer,” he said slowly. “If you still want to.”
Relief softened her features. “I thought you might be giving me the boot.”
“Give someone the boot on her birthday?” Tony chuckled. “What kind of guy would do that?”
“I don’t know. Any sane, rational guy. And technically, it’s after midnight.”
He studied her, noticing something different. Something... gentler.
“Well, I think I’m sane. Usually rational.” He slid his arm along the back of the swing, hand settling lightly on her shoulder. “And I don’t give up easily. Besides, we had a bet, remember?”
“A bet?”
“Four weeks. You and me. A new record.”
“You think we’ll make it?”
Tony looked at her a long moment. “We’re already down to three weeks and five days.”
She turned to face him. “So, you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
Claire hesitated. “Do you know what I want for my birthday?”
He shook his head. “I probably can’t afford it.”
She rested her hand on his arm. “I want to know that you really forgive me... and then I want to kiss and make up.”
Tony smiled. He might be able to give her that, after all.
She melted into his arms. Their kiss was soft, then deepened until his breath grew ragged.
She pressed her lips to the base of his throat.
“Claire.” His voice broke. He pulled back gently. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Stung, Claire flopped back in the swing, arms crossed. Her robe slipped open, revealing the delicate silk beneath. Tony’s eyes dropped to the creamy skin at her collarbone.
She yanked the robe shut and cinched the belt tight. “You’re right. It’s time to stop.”
“It’s not that I?—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “I understand.”
A car engine cut the quiet. They both turned as headlights blinked out. A figure stepped into the glow of the streetlamp.
“Who is that?” Claire whispered.
“Shh.” Tony gently tugged her into the shadows. “She’s coming this way.”
Claire huddled beside him as the figure turned up the walk.
“It’s April,” he whispered. “I thought she was sick.”
“She could’ve gotten up at dawn and cleaned those bathrooms,” Claire muttered.
April paused, turned—and stared.
“Claire? Is that you?”
Claire sighed. “We’re over here, April. Come join us.”
“We? Is Mom with you?”
Relief colored the girl’s voice.
Tony smirked. They weren’t the only ones sneaking around.
April crossed the porch like a practiced ninja, avoiding every creaky board. She stopped short when she spotted Tony.
“What are you two doing out here dressed like that?”
Tony looked her over. Tight top, short skirt—plenty of nerve for someone dressed for a nightclub.
Claire opened her mouth, but Tony reached for her hand and locked eyes with April.
“Funny you should ask,” he said smoothly. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
* * *
“I know everyone was disappointed not to see Claire in church this morning.”
Mrs. Sandy pulled out of the church parking lot and waved to a group of women before shifting her gaze to Tony. It was the fifth time she’d made a similar comment, and Tony resisted the urge to point that out. So far, he’d bitten his tongue—he knew she was only saying what everyone else was thinking.
They’d all expected Claire to be at his side. But it had been his decision not to wake her.
After April had gone inside last night, he and Claire had stayed on the porch swing, talking until nearly five. She’d been uncharacteristically open—about her father, her childhood, and the pressure that came with being Henry Waters’s only daughter. When she glossed over her mother’s absence and sidestepped his gentle questions, Tony knew he’d hit a nerve.
By the time they’d finally gone to their separate rooms, her headache had returned. And no matter what Mrs. Sandy—or the whole church congregation—might think, what Claire needed most was rest.
“Was April feeling any better this morning?” he asked.
Mrs. Sandy had been oddly quiet about her daughter’s absence from the service, offering only that she was still “under the weather.”
The light ahead turned red. Mrs. Sandy slowed to a stop and cast a quick glance his way, keeping both hands on the wheel like the careful driver she always was.
“I think staying in last night helped her,” she said at last. “Otherwise, I have no doubt she’d have been out running around half the night and wearing herself to a frazzle.”
“Would you have let her go out if she’d asked?”
Mrs. Sandy frowned as a teenager crossed against the light. “Why do you ask?”
Tony shrugged and forced a light chuckle. “Raising a teenager today isn’t easy. I was just curious.”
That seemed to satisfy her. She exhaled, and a rueful smile softened her face.
“I’d like to think I’d say no. But April’s always had a way of wrapping me around her little finger. So… I very well might have let her.”
So far, so good. Tony breathed an inward sigh of relief. He hadn’t known whether to bring up April’s little outing last night, but if Mrs. Sandy would have allowed it anyway… what was the point?
“Now, about Claire…”
Tony stifled a groan and leaned back in the seat.
The parsonage couldn’t be finished soon enough.