Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Claire gazed in awe at her very own creation nestled inside the molded plastic container. She’d made the apple pie herself—with her own two hands. The warm, cinnamon scent curled in the air like a ribbon of triumph. The lattice crust, though a little uneven, was golden brown. It was… beautiful.
Let’s just hope it doesn’t taste like the biscuits.
She shoved the memory aside. The biscuits had been a disaster. She’d rushed, and it had shown. But with the pie, she’d taken her time, followed the steps, listened to Mrs. Sandy. This one mattered. This was the pie she wanted to carry into Jocelyn’s house—not something store-bought or “assisted.” Especially not with Rachel there and her legendary peach pie and perfectly polished wholesomeness.
Claire wasn’t competing. Not really. But she also wasn’t backing down.
“I would’ve been glad to help you make the pie,” Mrs. Sandy said for the tenth time.
“I know you would,” Claire said, gently snapping the lid shut. “But it was important I do it myself.”
The truth was, she needed to know she could. Not just bake a pie, but try—fail even—and try again.
Mrs. Sandy gave her an approving smile, the kind that said I see you, and I’m proud . “We all have to learn sometime. If my mother hadn’t taught me, I couldn’t have taught you. Someday you’ll teach your own daughter.”
Claire blinked. The idea caught her off guard. Her daughter? A sliver of something warm and unexpected fluttered through her chest. She pushed the thought away—but gently.
“Ready to go?” Tony poked his head around the doorframe. That familiar voice, low and warm, made her stomach do its usual somersault.
Claire gave Mrs. Sandy a quick hug, cradling the pie in one arm. “Thanks again for everything. I know it would’ve been faster to just make it yourself.”
“That’s not the point.” Mrs. Sandy gave her a knowing pat. “You’re not just learning how to bake, Claire. You’re learning how to stay.”
Claire blinked again, but before she could respond, Tony swooped in to lift the pie from her arms.
“Let’s go, Pie Princess. We’re late,” he teased, his grin cocky.
“Coming, darling.” She winked at Mrs. Sandy and followed him to the door. “Men. Always in such a rush.”
“That’s because—” Tony held the door open, his voice like velvet “—women are always late.”
Outside, a warm breeze curled around them, catching the scent of his cologne. Claire slipped her arm through his. “You know I don’t like to be teased.”
“Oh, I think you do.” He chuckled low in his throat. “Especially by me.”
She couldn’t argue. Her heart was already racing.
Tony opened the Jeep door and handed her the pie after she slid in. Before he could even reach his side, she was already brimming with anticipation.
When he climbed in, she turned toward him and placed a hand on his cheek. One soft kiss deepened into something real, something raw. And when they finally pulled back, breathless, her fingers were still resting lightly against his face.
“Wow,” Tony whispered, raking a hand through his hair. “That was worth waiting for.”
Claire traced her fingertips down his arm, savoring the heat between them. “You don’t need an excuse to kiss me, Tony. As far as I’m concerned, anytime is the right time.”
He grinned, that irresistible dimple flashing. “Anytime?”
Claire paused. Would there ever be a time she didn’t want him to kiss her? No. But there would be a time—too soon—when he wouldn’t be there to kiss her.
She swallowed the ache behind that truth and smiled instead. “That’s right. Anytime works for me.”
* * *
“I’m out.” Tony laid his cards on the table and pushed back his chair.
As he stood, his gaze drifted across the room, instinctively seeking Claire. When the card game started, he’d been disappointed to find all the couples split up—Jocelyn’s idea, Adam had said. Her way of making sure everyone mingled.
Tony had done his part. The rules dictated that winners stayed while losers moved on. Since he’d lost more games than he’d won, he’d rotated through nearly every pairing.
Except Claire’s.
She and her partner, Tim, hadn’t moved once. Hand after hand, they’d stayed put—smiling, laughing, unbeatable. Tony’s eyes lingered on her. She looked radiant, her hair pinned up in a loose twist that framed her face in the soft light. Easily the most beautiful woman in the room.
She slapped down another card and laughed, the sound bubbling up from her chest. He couldn’t help but smile. It was that laugh. That light. Claire had changed. She found joy now in the simplest things. Just this morning she’d proudly shown him how she’d learned to make a bed with hospital corners. And before they left, she’d presented her homemade pie with a mixture of pride and nervous excitement.
Her apple pie now sat on a long table beside five others. Tony’s stomach twisted. Claire’s looked good—golden crust, warm spice—but it was the plainest of the bunch. A meringue towered next to it, and Rachel Tanner’s sour cream peach had already attracted compliments.
“Looks like you’re a loser, too.”
Rachel’s voice broke his thoughts. She stood beside him, perfectly put together in a crisp cream sweater and dark jeans, her tone casual.
“Loser?” he echoed.
“At cards,” she clarified, tipping her head toward the table. “Tim and Claire are a dream team. Haven’t budged all night.”
Tony nodded, not trusting himself to say more.
Rachel’s tone lightened, but there was an edge beneath it. “Tim’s the guy I came with, by the way.”
“Your date?” he asked.
“Not my date .” Her voice sharpened just slightly. “The guy I came with . There’s a difference.”
Tony smiled, letting it go. “If you say so.”
“They seem to hit it off.” Rachel’s eyes drifted toward the table, where Tim leaned in to say something to Claire that made her laugh again. “For two people who just met.”
“Claire’s very outgoing,” Tony said evenly.
“Could be a real asset—for a minister’s wife.”
The words were baited, but Tony didn’t bite. Rachel’s smile faltered as she studied him.
“You two are getting married, right?”
He thought of Claire’s pie, of her laugh, of the way she’d kissed him tonight without hesitation. The ache in his chest surprised him with its intensity.
“That’s the plan.”
A flicker of disappointment crossed Rachel’s face—so quick, most wouldn’t have noticed. But Tony did. And guilt pricked at him. He hadn’t meant to mislead her. Hadn’t even realized until now that he might have.
Funny thing was, back in seminary, when he’d imagined his future wife, she’d looked a lot like Rachel—sweet, wholesome, church-ready. But now… there was already someone else in his heart. Someone he hadn’t expected.
“You two look so serious.” Claire appeared beside him, her smile wide and effortless. “What’s going on?”
Tony slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Rachel and I were just talking about you. And the wedding.”
Claire’s eyes met his. There was warmth in her gaze. But something else, too—something more tender, more uncertain.
Rachel cleared her throat. “I love Claire’s engagement ring,” she said with practiced brightness. “Didn’t it belong to someone in your family?”
“It was my great-grandmother’s,” Tony said, his fingers brushing lightly over Claire’s shoulder. “She wore it for over seventy years.”
“That’s so romantic,” Rachel murmured. “I can’t imagine how special it must be to wear something with that history. To know one day you’ll pass it down to your own son or daughter.”
“If they want it,” Tony said softly.
“ Want it? ” Rachel laughed, almost incredulous. “Of course they’d want it. Who wouldn’t?”
Claire didn’t answer. But Tony felt the stillness in her beside him—the sudden quiet, the way her fingers brushed the ring on her hand.
And just for a second, he wondered if maybe she already understood the weight of that history. And if it scared her… or if she’d begun to hope it might be hers to carry.
* * *
Claire sighed and leaned back in the passenger seat, twisting the ring on her finger with her thumb. Her heart felt like it had expanded and contracted too many times tonight. For one brief moment earlier, she and Tony had connected—really connected—and she’d believed he wanted her just as deeply as she wanted him.
Not just the I-like-kissing-you kind of want. The forever kind. The kind that ended in vows and shared grocery lists and Sunday mornings with mismatched coffee mugs.
Then Rachel had opened her mouth and broken the spell.
What could Claire have said—what should she have said—with Rachel watching so closely? She’d said nothing. But now, in the hush of the car, silence echoed where something important had almost been spoken.
Had she imagined the shift between them? The sudden distance?
Only one thing gave her hope: Tony had gone back for a second slice of her pie, bypassing Rachel’s award-winning sour cream peach. That had to count for something.
The Jeep slowed in front of the bed-and-breakfast. Tony switched off the headlights, and neither of them moved to get out. The stillness pressed in around them.
Claire stared out the window, heart heavy. What if I’ve read him wrong? What if I’m just a passing chapter for him—a placeholder until the real story starts?
Then he broke the silence.
“Claire,” he said softly, “would you sit with me on the swing for a few minutes?”
She nodded, and they walked up the steps together. The porch boards creaked under their feet, a familiar lullaby of worn wood and shared nights.
Tony sat first. She settled beside him, and when his arm slipped around her shoulders, she leaned into the warmth of his chest. His heartbeat was steady, but his body felt taut—like something inside him was wound tight.
“Tony,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his shirt. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything.” He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”
Claire’s fingers toyed with a button on his shirt. “Want my suggestion?”
He stilled her hand gently. “Claire… kissing doesn’t fix everything.”
She blinked, surprised, then leaned back just enough to see his face. “I wasn’t going to kiss you.” A beat passed, and then she added with a wry smile, “Though it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had.”
He huffed a quiet laugh.
“I was going to say we could just sit here. Not talk. Not fix. Just… breathe.”
Tony’s expression softened. “That I can do.”
They sat in the silence, porch swing swaying slightly beneath them. Claire closed her eyes for a moment, trying to memorize the feel of his arm around her, the clean scent of his skin, the way the night air brushed against her cheek.
“I imagined something tonight,” she said after a while. Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “That you and I were something more than a temporary arrangement.”
Tony’s hand tightened ever so slightly on her shoulder.
“I know this wasn’t supposed to mean anything,” she continued, “but I think it started meaning something to me a while ago. That scares me a little.”
He didn’t speak right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. “It scares me, too.”
She looked up at him. “So what do we do?”
He tilted his head, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Well, I could kiss you. That’s a start.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I thought you said kissing doesn’t solve everything.”
“It doesn’t,” he said. “But maybe it reminds us why we want to try.”
She leaned in, closing the distance.
The kiss was soft, slow, threaded with unspoken things—hope and ache and something not quite ready to be named.
When they finally pulled apart, Claire rested her head against his chest again.
She didn’t say anything more. For now, simply being here with him was enough.
* * *
Claire sat cross-legged on the bed, the morning light filtering through the lace curtains and warming her bare toes. Her phone rested beside her, the Bible app still open.
She hadn’t meant to look it up. Not at first. But the verse that woman—what was her name again?—had given her at the wedding kept echoing in her mind. Something about fear. About strength.
She tapped the screen again and read it for the third time that morning:
“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” 2 Timothy 1:7
Claire let the words settle around her like a blanket. Not fear. Not doubt. But power . Love . A sound mind.
She exhaled, slow and shaky.
She had always prided herself on her sound mind—her practicality, her edge, her ability to read a room and keep herself above the mess. But lately? Lately her heart had been making decisions her head hadn’t signed off on.
Falling for Tony wasn’t part of her plan. Believing in something bigger than herself hadn’t been, either. But here she was, reading Scripture in her pajamas, feeling more grounded than she had in years.
Claire reached for her robe and stood. The house was quiet, the rest of the guests still sleeping. She moved to the window, looking out at the early morning sun casting soft light across the yard. Birds hopped across the lawn, cheerful and oblivious to the fact that someone inside was learning how to let go.
She wasn’t sure what would happen next—what Tony would decide, what she would decide. But for the first time, she felt like maybe… just maybe… she didn’t have to be afraid of the answer.
Claire touched the ring on her finger. Not fear.
Power. Love. A sound mind.
A small smile tugged at her lips. She could start there.