Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Claire’s head jerked up at the knock on her bedroom door.
“Claire, it’s time to go.”
She smiled at the familiar baritone. “I’ll be ready in five minutes,” she called. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
She waited until she heard Tony walk away before turning her attention back to the phone.
“Daddy, I’m going to have to let you go.” She lowered her voice, even though no one else was in the room. “No, I don’t need any money. I told you, I’m doing fine.”
But Henry Waters was used to controlling a conversation, and he kept talking until Claire had no choice but to cut him off.
“Daddy, I’m going to hang up now. Yes, I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you, too. Bye.”
She hung up and sat for a moment, still amazed at how quickly her father had come around. Just three weeks ago, he’d all but told her not to come home. Now, he was back to calling her his darling daughter.
She wasn’t sure what had impressed him more—her continued relationship with Tony, or the fact that she had a job and was supporting herself. Of course, she’d had to fudge a little. “Director of catering” had a nicer ring than “maid,” and wasn’t entirely inaccurate. She did refill coffee and provide napkins. That had to count for something.
The clock in the hallway chimed, and Claire rose, casting one last look in the mirror before heading downstairs. She knew she should tell Tony about the phone call—about her father’s change of heart—but something inside her hesitated. If Tony thought she had a place to go, he might do the noble thing and send her on her way.
And right now? Claire wasn’t ready to go.
Tony was where she belonged—for now. And this town, this church... they needed him. She’d do what she could to make sure he stayed.
She found Tony at the dining room table, a tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She paused in the doorway, watching him silently. The morning light streamed through the window, catching the waves of his dark hair. He wore her favorite shirt—burgundy cotton that buttoned at the collar. So handsome. So grounded.
Her chest tightened. How was she ever going to let him go?
Get a hold of yourself . She shook the thought away, strode into the room, and kicked the leg of his chair.
“Hey, what’s that you’re drinking?” she teased, arms crossed, eyeing the half-empty mug in his hand.
“Mrs. Sandy’s generic.” He made a face. “I’m getting primed for the good stuff.”
Claire smiled. “The Grateful Bread’s Costa Rican blend?”
Tony returned the smile and pushed the mug aside. “I can almost smell it now.”
“What about the pecan streusel coffee cake?”
He grinned and pulled her into his lap, nuzzling her neck. “Hmm. Maybe I’m just hungry, but you smell delicious.”
“It’s the lotion you bought me.” A shiver traveled up her spine. Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “You’re the one who smells good.” Her lips brushed his. “Mmm. You taste good, too.”
His eyes darkened, arms tightening around her. Claire held her breath.
The kitchen door burst open. “Now April, I want you?—”
Mrs. Sandy froze. April bumped into her from behind. The landlady’s hand flew to her lips, her mouth forming a perfect O.
Tony jerked back. Claire hopped off his lap, cheeks flushed.
“I’m so sorry, Pastor,” Mrs. Sandy stammered, her face turning scarlet. “I didn’t know you and Claire were still here.”
“We got a late start this morning,” Tony said, flustered.
“Or an early one,” April added with a too-innocent smile. “Depends how you look at it.”
“April!” Mrs. Sandy shot her daughter a look before turning back. “You know, if you have a few minutes, this might be a good time to discuss your wedding reception. I assume you’ll want to?—”
“How ’bout we talk about that later?” Tony stood quickly and grabbed Claire’s hand. “The coffee cake always goes quickly.”
It was a good excuse. Everyone in town knew if you didn’t have a slice by ten-thirty, you were out of luck. But Claire knew the real reason Tony wanted out—Mrs. Sandy had been trying to corner them about wedding plans for a week now.
They walked in silence, hand in hand, the sidewalk dappled with early sunlight.
Claire’s smile lingered, but the moment they turned the corner and Tony’s car disappeared from view, her thoughts turned heavy. The woman in the mirror this morning had looked happy—carefree, even—but the clock was ticking. Eventually, this illusion of forever would end.
Still, she wasn’t ready to leave.
“Did I tell you I’m going to Bible study tonight?” she asked, aiming for offhand.
Tony stopped in his tracks. “What did you say?”
“I’m going to Bible study tonight.”
Shock flickered across his face. Claire took a small pleasure in it.
“You never told me you were even considering going. The last time we discussed it, you said?—”
“‘No way,’” she finished with a smirk. “I remember.”
“But why?”
Claire shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” She’d been thinking about it since Dottie invited her. But it wasn’t just about her friend. Something in Tony’s sermons had been stirring questions she wasn’t ready to answer but couldn’t ignore.
“Claire, I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” Tony squeezed her hand.
Her smile came easily, and they walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence. A strange sense of contentment stole over her, and she wondered if she would ever feel this happy again.
Their usual corner booth was open, and the waitress brought their regular order without asking. A few church members stopped by to chat, but it wasn’t until their second cup of coffee that they were finally alone.
“I heard you pacing last night,” Claire said, adding a packet of sugar to her mug. “Something bothering you?”
Tony set his cup down. “I was struggling with this week’s sermon. I’d sleep for a bit, then wake up with an idea and have to write it down before I forgot. It’s the strangest thing.”
“Not so strange,” Claire said. “That used to happen to me all the time when I worked in advertising.”
“How’s it coming now?”
“Better.” He smiled. “I think it might be one of my best.”
“Your sermons are all good,” she said, meaning it. “They make you think.”
He stared at her, something unreadable in his eyes. “Thank you, Claire.”
“I’m not saying it to be nice. It’s just true.”
“Heaven forbid you should say it to be nice.” He grinned, eyes twinkling.
“You’d better watch yourself, Tony Karelli.” She leaned forward, mock serious. “You know what your teasing does to me.”
“Makes you mad?”
“Something like that.” She batted her lashes and smiled. “Actually, it makes me want to kiss you.”
He tossed a couple of bills on the table and stood. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here. I want to hear more about this. Maybe I can even use it in a sermon.”
“You teasing me again?”
“I hope so.”
They walked through the park, taking the long way back. Claire didn’t see anyone she knew, and when Tony claimed he’d paid them all to stay away, she laughed and kissed him.
When they reached the bed-and-breakfast, Tony cupped the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ve got to run. I’m already late for a meeting.”
Claire watched him drive away, her heart lighter than it had been in years. She hummed a little love song as she stepped inside.
“My mom’s looking for you,” April said, her voice flat.
Claire’s good mood dimmed. “Did she say why?”
“I dunno. I didn’t ask. Not my business.”
“You must have some idea.”
April shrugged. “Probably about that wedding reception she’s catering Friday night. Her helper bailed this morning, and I think she’s looking for an extra pair of hands.”
Friday night. Claire’s stomach sank.
“Why can’t you help?” she asked, irritation creeping in. “Your hands look perfectly capable.”
“I’ve got tickets to Froggy Way in Des Moines.”
Even though she and Tony didn’t have concrete plans, Claire had assumed they’d spend the evening together. Time was running out.
“I’m sure there’s someone else.”
April snorted. “Do you think she’d be asking you if there were?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. What are you gonna do—make her beg?”
Claire’s throat tightened.
“You’re not the volunteering type,” April said. “You act like it’s such a big deal when you do anything around here.”
“So do you.”
“I’m her daughter,” April shot back. “You’re only here because of Tony. If you weren’t his fiancée, you’d be long gone.”
A lump formed in Claire’s stomach. “Did your mother say that?”
“She might not have,” April muttered. “But I can’t imagine any other reason she keeps you here.”
Claire stared, wounded. But part of her knew the girl had hit a nerve. It was true—she rarely volunteered. She did her job, but nothing more. Still, Mrs. Sandy had taken her in when she had nowhere else to go.
Could she walk away when the woman needed her?
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
“Claire, I didn’t expect you back so early,” Mrs. Sandy said.
“Tony had a meeting at the church.”
“April, go check on the laundry. I’d like to talk to Claire privately.”
“Sure,” April said, all sweetness now. She flashed Claire a smug look before disappearing.
“Is something wrong?” Claire asked.
Mrs. Sandy laughed and wrapped an arm around her. “Not at all. Did you and Tony have a nice morning?”
“We did.”
“Care for some tea?”
“No thanks.”
Claire followed Mrs. Sandy into the kitchen and took a seat at the table, still rattled by her run-in with April. A quiet tension stretched between them, and Claire wished the woman would just say what she needed to say and get it over with.
Instead, Mrs. Sandy moved with practiced ease—pouring herself a glass of sweet tea from the pitcher in the fridge, adding two ice cubes and a splash of lemon, then wiping down the counter. Her calm, deliberate motions only heightened Claire’s unease.
Claire cleared her throat. “Mrs. Sandy, if this is about Friday night?—”
“It’s not,” the woman said, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Or, not exactly.”
She slid into the seat across from Claire and stirred a cube of sugar into her glass. For a moment, she just studied her guest—the woman who had arrived bristling with entitlement and was now... something more. Maybe not quite settled, but softer. Still a little guarded. But trying.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Mrs. Sandy said. “I’ve got a business proposition.”
Claire blinked. “A what?”
“I know it’s unexpected.” Mrs. Sandy gave a small laugh. “But I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
Claire’s brows drew together. “Is this about the bed-and-breakfast?”
“No.” The landlady leaned forward, setting her glass aside. “It’s about something I do on the side. Catering. Small receptions, anniversary parties, that kind of thing.”
Claire was quiet for a beat, then tilted her head. “You cater?”
“I do. It started out as a way to make ends meet after my husband passed. But lately, it’s picked up. I’m getting more calls than I can handle on my own—especially with running the inn.”
Claire sat back, curious despite herself. “You’ve got your hands full already. Why not slow down?”
“Because I love it. I love helping people celebrate their moments. But I can’t keep doing it all alone. I’ve been praying about it,” Mrs. Sandy added, her voice softening. “Asking God to send someone. And I think He might have.”
Claire opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“I’m not asking for help, Claire,” the older woman continued gently. “I’m offering a partnership.”
Claire stared at her, stunned. “You’re offering me a partnership?”
Mrs. Sandy nodded. “You’ve got the eye for it. I’ve watched you. The way you arrange the breakfast trays. How you always catch the crooked centerpiece or spot when the napkins don’t match. You notice details most people overlook.”
Claire blinked, caught off guard. “That’s just… basic stuff.”
“Not to most people. And not just that.” Mrs. Sandy’s tone gentled. “You’ve got a natural sense of hospitality. You know how to put people at ease, how to read a room. And you’ve got taste. You don’t just care about how things look , Claire—you care how they feel .”
Claire gave a soft laugh. “You might want to mention that to April.”
“She already knows.” Mrs. Sandy smiled, then leaned in. “You’ve changed more than you realize since you first showed up here.”
Claire looked down at her hands—still a little rough from cleaning, nails unpainted, the diamond ring she still wore catching a sliver of light.
“I don’t know. I’m not exactly business partner material. I can’t cook?—”
“I don’t need you to. That’s my strength.” Mrs. Sandy’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve got the recipes, the experience, the kitchen. What I need is someone who can take the lead—meet with clients, plan the events, bring a little polish. You’d handle the front end. I’d handle the back.”
“You make it sound like I bring something to the table.” Claire’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“You do,” Mrs. Sandy said firmly. “You may not have figured out what your future looks like yet, but you’ve got gifts, Claire. You just haven’t had the right chance—or the right person—to see them.”
Silence settled between them.
Claire felt something shift, quietly but unmistakably. This wasn’t pity. It wasn’t charity. It was… belief. Real belief. And coming from someone who had every reason not to expect much from her, that belief felt like the biggest gift of all.
Mrs. Sandy reached for her tea and took a slow sip. “So,” she said, as if the air weren’t humming with possibility. “You think about it. No pressure. No expectations. We’ll see how it goes Friday.”
Claire nodded, her throat suddenly tight. “Okay.”
Then, with a flicker of her old sass, she added, “But fair warning—you’re going to regret this when I take over and start redesigning your entire brand.”
Mrs. Sandy chuckled. “Darlin’, I hope you do.”