Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I found the perfect woman for you.”
“Another woman?” Tony screwed a new light bulb into the chandelier and smiled at her. The dimple in his cheek flashed, and her heart melted. “No, thanks. One is more than I can handle.”
“Don’t you even want to know who she is?”
“Nope.” He climbed down the ladder and folded it with practiced ease, leaning it against the wall. “Not interested.”
“She’s pretty.” Claire crossed her arms, casually—too casually. If you like blondes.
“In case you haven’t heard—” his voice dropped low, coaxing her a step closer “—I already have a fiancée. And she’s beautiful.”
“But she won’t be around forever,” Claire said quietly. “What are you going to do when she’s gone?”
“I don’t know.” His smile faded. For a second, something flickered across his face—uncertainty, maybe even regret. “I don’t want to even think about that now.”
Ask me to stay.
The words thudded in Claire’s chest like a heartbeat, so loud, so real she was momentarily afraid she’d spoken them aloud.
“Last night at Bible study, Rachel Tanner said she had the hots for you.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”
“She did,” Claire said, trying to make it sound like a joke, though her voice wavered. “Rachel thinks you’re cute.”
“The woman has good taste.” He grinned, but there was an edge to it.
“So you like her?”
“Claire, give me a break. I just met her yesterday. I don’t even know her.” His tone was sharper now, and more tired than annoyed. “What’s the point to all this?”
“I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” he said softly.
“I’m talking about when I’m gone.” She met his gaze and held it, breath tight in her throat. Just say the word. That’s all he had to do. One word, and she’d stay.
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze—affectionate, but final—and turned to grab the ladder.
“Like I said,” he murmured, “let’s not even think about that now.”
But it was all Claire could think about. That, and how fast time was slipping away.
* * *
Claire sat cross-legged on the bed, the light from her bedside lamp casting a soft glow over the room. The day’s conversations played on repeat in her mind, looping back again and again to one moment.
"Let’s not even think about that now."
She tilted her head against the headboard and stared up at the ceiling. The words shouldn’t have stung. But they had. More than she wanted to admit.
He hadn’t asked her to stay.
Maybe he never would.
And wasn’t that for the best? That had been the agreement from the beginning. No strings. No real future. Just a temporary arrangement to help him secure his place here in Millville.
But somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred. She wasn’t sure exactly when it happened—maybe the night of her birthday, or the afternoon he brought her that lotion, or even during one of those quiet coffee shop mornings when his smile made the world feel steady and good. Whenever it was, it had happened. And now, pretending otherwise felt impossible.
Claire pulled the afghan tighter around her shoulders. Below the window, a breeze rustled the branches of the big oak tree outside, and she closed her eyes, breathing in the comforting creaks and groans of the old house.
She wasn’t the same woman who’d arrived here with nothing but a suitcase and an attitude. She’d learned how to make biscuits—even if they could still double as paperweights. She’d gone to Bible study. She’d asked a woman like Mrs. Sandy to teach her how to cook. She’d even started to believe that maybe—just maybe—she was more than her last name, more than her wardrobe, more than the mess she’d left behind.
Tony had once told her she was beautiful.
But tonight, Claire realized she wanted something more than that.
She wanted to be chosen.
For real. Not as a pretend fiancée. Not as a convenient solution. But as the woman someone couldn’t imagine letting go of.
She wiped a tear that had slipped down her cheek before it could fall.
Maybe tomorrow she’d ask God what came next.
And maybe, just maybe, she’d be brave enough to listen for the answer.
* * *
The Johnson-Kinisaw wedding was halfway over, and Claire couldn’t have said what had even happened. She sat in the back pew of the church, the vows and music a blur as her thoughts swirled.
She still didn’t know where Tony stood. But she had decided one thing: Rachel Tanner might like Tony, but he wasn’t interested in her.
That doesn’t mean he won’t be once you’re gone.
The thought landed like a stone in her stomach. Despite her teasing about setting him up with Rachel, Claire couldn’t bear to imagine the two of them together.
She blinked back unexpected tears and took a slow, steadying breath. She’d known from the start that this was temporary. Hadn’t they even joked about making it last a month? But back then, she hadn’t expected to fall in love.
The realization was quiet and devastating. She’d fallen for him without even realizing it—without wanting to.
Tony’s voice filled the church, steady and warm, delivering a message about Christian love and lasting commitment. The ache in Claire’s chest tightened another notch. His words, meant for the bride and groom, sliced straight through her.
Her gaze dropped to her hands. The antique ring caught the overhead light, scattering tiny reflections across her lap. How could she ever have thought it was ugly? How long before Tony gave it to someone else—a woman who would wear it for a lifetime, not just a month?
A lump rose in her throat. She forced her attention back to the altar just as the bride and groom lit the unity candle. A symbol of forever. Of permanence. Of everything Claire didn’t have.
Attending the wedding had been a mistake. She should have stayed downstairs and helped Mrs. Sandy, despite the woman’s insistence that everything was under control.
They’d spent the afternoon setting up the buffet, lining platters in the fridge, warming trays in the oven. Everything was ready. Now there was nothing left to do but wait.
“Such a lovely couple,” the older woman beside her said, not bothering to lower her voice. “They’ll have beautiful children.”
Claire managed a polite smile. “They’re both very attractive.”
That was all the encouragement the woman needed to launch into a detailed account of family history. She was the groom’s great-aunt and had come all the way from Chicago. Claire tried not to squirm. She’d made the mistake of replying. Now she had to sit and take her punishment.
The older woman talked about how the couple had been high school sweethearts, how their love had survived years apart during college, how it was destined to last forever.
“They’ll be together for the rest of their lives.” The woman’s tone was dreamy, wistful.
Claire’s throat tightened. Her own parents had once promised forever—and hadn’t lasted. And she had a laundry list of friends with rings, vows, and fast-tracked divorces.
The words slipped out before she could catch them. “Right now, they believe they’ll love each other forever. But life doesn’t always cooperate.”
The older woman blinked behind silver-framed glasses.
Claire’s face flushed. “I’m sorry. It’s a wedding. We shouldn’t be talking about divorce.”
“No need to apologize.” The woman’s voice was calm. “None of us knows what life holds. But I believe if two people are committed to each other—and their marriage—they don’t have anything to fear.”
Claire nodded, not trusting herself to say more. Her gaze wandered, searching for an escape route from the pews. If she could duck out before the ushers started lining people up...
“My dear.” The woman reached out, gently catching Claire’s arm. Her grip was warm, steady. “When you get a chance, look up Second Timothy, chapter one, verse seven. I think it might help you understand what I’m talking about.”
Claire nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She doubted she’d look it up. And yet... something in the woman’s voice lingered.
She slipped out the side door into the quiet hall, exhaling deeply. Mrs. Sandy would be waiting. And for once, Claire couldn’t wait to get to work. When you were working, you didn’t have time to think. Or to ache. Or to wish for something you couldn’t have.
* * *
Claire moved through the empty hallway and into the church kitchen. The comforting scents of roasted chicken and warm rolls greeted her, but she barely registered them. She needed a moment. Just a moment to breathe.
Mrs. Sandy wasn’t there yet. Good.
Claire reached into her bag for her phone, intending to distract herself, maybe scroll through something mindless. Instead, her fingers hesitated—then moved with a purpose she didn’t entirely understand. She opened the Bible app Tony had told her she’d find helpful.
Second Timothy, chapter one… verse seven.
She found it easily.
“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”
The words stilled her.
She read them again. And again. The meaning unspooled slowly, like a thread pulled free from a tight weave.
She wasn’t sure what she expected—something soft and poetic, maybe. But this… this verse felt direct. Steadying. It didn’t promise ease. It didn’t guarantee happily ever after. But it did tell her something she hadn’t dared believe in a long time.
She didn’t have to be afraid.
Not of what came next. Not of what people thought. Not even of loving someone who might not love her back in quite the same way.
Power. Love. A sound mind.
Could she really choose that? Let go of fear and cling to something deeper?
She didn’t have all the answers. But for the first time in a long while, she felt as though she didn’t need them.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, then tapped the little bookmark icon.
Just as she slipped the phone back into her bag, Mrs. Sandy bustled into the kitchen.
“There you are,” the woman said. “The reception’s about to begin. You ready?”
Claire stood straighter. “I am now.”
* * *
Claire adjusted the collar of her borrowed catering tunic for the tenth time and sighed. It was black, boxy, and about two sizes too big—but at least she’d managed to avoid the apron. Barely.
“I don’t know what you’re fidgeting for,” Mrs. Sandy said as she breezed past, balancing a tray of petite quiches with one hand. “You look perfectly presentable.”
“Thanks,” Claire muttered. “That’s what every woman dreams of hearing.”
“You’ll survive. These folks didn’t come to see your outfit. They came for food—and from the looks of those empty platters, we’re doing something right.”
Claire glanced at the crowd filling the elegantly lit community center. The wedding reception was in full swing. Candles flickered on white-clothed tables, the band played soft jazz, and laughter bubbled in every corner.
A few weeks ago, Claire wouldn’t have pictured herself here. Serving canapés. Refilling lemonade. Smiling at strangers like it came naturally.
But it had become surprisingly...satisfying.
She spotted Tony across the room, deep in conversation with the groom’s grandfather. Even in a crowd, he stood out—dark-haired, warm-eyed, wearing the sport coat she loved best on him. When he caught her eye and gave her that slow smile, her pulse fluttered.
“You gonna keep staring or take this tray out like I asked?” Mrs. Sandy nudged her with a platter of mini eclairs.
Claire took the tray and moved through the guests, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She paused near a group of older women, then made her way to the drinks table to check the iced tea levels.
You’re doing it, she told herself. You’re part of something. Not pretending. Not playing a role. Just… being.
She caught a whiff of cinnamon and citrus as she passed the dessert table and smiled faintly. Her apple tarts had already been devoured. There hadn’t been any ribbons handed out, but more than one guest had asked who made it. That had felt like a win.
Claire returned to the kitchen to grab a fresh pitcher of punch just as Mrs. Sandy rounded the corner.
“I’m impressed,” the older woman said. “You’ve been a real asset tonight. Honestly, Claire—you have a natural instinct for this.”
Claire flushed, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks. I didn’t know I had it in me.”
Mrs. Sandy studied her, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “You’re not the only one discovering that.”
Claire looked down at the pitcher in her hands, then back up. “Tonight was… good. Busy, a little chaotic, but good.”
“Still thinking about the partnership?”
Claire hesitated. The question didn’t sting this time. It sat there gently, offering possibility rather than pressure.
“I’m thinking about a lot of things,” she said. “But yeah… it’s on the list.”
Before Mrs. Sandy could reply, Tony appeared in the doorway, tie loosened, a gleam in his eyes that made Claire’s knees a little unsteady.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said with a slight bow. “I believe I owe this one a dance.”
Mrs. Sandy gave her a nudge. “Go on. I’ve got the cleanup started.”
Claire set down the pitcher and stepped toward him. “You sure you want to dance with the hired help?”
He pulled her into a slow spin. “You’re not the help, Claire.”
“No?” She let herself smile, her hand settling against his chest.
“No,” he said, gaze steady. “You’re the heart.”
Claire’s breath caught. He didn’t mean the food or the planning—he meant her. Not just for tonight, but maybe for something more. Something real.
* * *
The house was quiet when they walked in, the hush of late night wrapping around them like a blanket. Claire slipped off her shoes in the foyer, cradling them in one hand as Tony set the keys on the entry table. Neither spoke right away. They didn’t need to.
Outside, the moon hung low, casting a soft silver light through the windowpanes. Claire turned toward the parlor, drawn by the memory of their earlier moment on the dance floor—the gentle sway, the warmth of Tony’s hand at her waist, the quiet hush that had fallen between them as the music wrapped them in something that felt achingly close to forever.
She stood at the window, her fingers lightly brushing the curtains, and felt him step in beside her.
“You were incredible tonight,” Tony said softly.
Claire smiled but didn’t turn around. “I didn’t drop any trays and I didn’t start a food fight. I’d call that a win.”
“I wasn’t talking about the catering.” His voice was low and sure. “You made people feel welcome. You made that whole room feel like… home.”
Claire finally looked at him. The light caught the angles of his face, softened them. “You give me too much credit.”
“No,” he said, gaze steady. “You’re the heart.”
The words settled over her again, this time without the flurry of activity and music to blur them. She felt them fully now—warm, unexpected, and unshakably sincere.
Claire swallowed, emotion rising. “Tony…”
“I meant it,” he said. “You think you’ve been playing a part, but what I saw tonight—that was you. All of you.”
Claire blinked, her fingers tightening around her shoes. “I’m scared,” she whispered. “That if I let myself believe this is real—us—I’ll end up alone again. Disappointed. Hurt.”
He reached for her hand and didn’t let go. “I can’t promise I’ll never mess up. But I can promise I won’t walk away.”
Claire’s chest rose with a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She nodded slowly, and when he tugged her gently into his arms, she went without hesitation.
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees. Inside, beneath the soft hush of the parlor lights, they simply stood together—two people caught between what had been and what just might be.