24. Clara
Chapter 24
Clara
W e flounce into a sleek restaurant, me hanging on Walker’s arm like a strangling vine, my cheek pressed to his bicep. Instead of a coat, I found a super sweet wool capelet that will totally be a part of my real-life wardrobe when we get home. The wind tunneling between the buildings cuts through the thin sleeves of my blouse, leaving my arms chilly, but the rest of me is warm. Pair this thing with a sweater? It will be amazing.
Glancing around the restaurant, I spy a wood-burning fireplace and subdivided cozy spaces with only a few tables in each section. Walker made the reservations while I stewed on the couch, but this place? I’m not sure either muse or I would feel comfortable here. My stomach grumbles over the scent wafting from the kitchen. Being outclassed never smelled so good .
“Hey, what’s going on in there?” Walker asks, tapping my forehead, having already told the hostess we’re here.
I shake my head. “Just a bunch of hamsters running their little hearts out,” I joke, trying not to tap my leg.
“Wait. Goddamn it,” he growls, glancing away from me.
“What?” I ask, suddenly worried that the mob pegged us as dangerous and is coming in, guns blazing. Does this make sense? Nope. Does my amped-up adrenal system care? Not one bit.
I peer out the door, my fingers digging into Walker’s arm as he drags me back out into the cold. “What is it?” I ask, still scanning the sidewalk.
“You still don’t have a fake, do you?”
I pull my eyes from a suspicious-looking Taurus. “Wait, what?”
He braces my shoulders. “You’re not twenty-one, right? I didn’t miss your birthday?”
“No, my birthday’s in June. You’re worried because I don’t have a fake ID? Was I supposed to have one?”
Walker closes his eyes, suddenly tense. “You can’t drink this weekend.”
“No. Is it that important?”
Walker sighs, pulling me in for a hug. I wrap my arms around him, totally confused. Why is me not drinking making him so upset? I’ll take the hug, gladly, but it’s a hug made of tense muscles and regret.
He glances at the restaurant, then presses a hand on my shoulder. “Wait here.”
I watch, flabbergasted, as he dashes back into the restaurant, leaving me hovering on the sidewalk by myself. A few people rush past, focused on their own life, as I stick my hands in my capelet’s pockets, waiting for whatever Walker is doing to be done.
Is this what his muse would do? Probably not. But right now, I’m just Clara, out in the cold, once again thrown onto my heels while I try to keep up with Walker’s mood swings.
I’m leaning against the building, pretending like I normally chill on sidewalks in unknown metropolitan areas, when Walker bursts out. “I’m over here,” I call, as he scans the sidewalk looking for me.
“Good. We have about fifteen minutes.”
With that enlightening explanation, Walker snatches up my hand and drags me down the street, his phone out as he navigates somewhere.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I ask.
He stops in the middle of the street, and a car lays on the horn. “Shit,” he says, tugging me across to the other side, still not looking at me. “Basically, I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry for what, exactly?” I ask, eager to clear the air between us, to get back to where we were.
He drags me along, still staring at his phone. “I knew you needed a fake, and for some shitty reason, I never made it for you. I started it, I just…didn’t finish.”
It’s my turn to stop him. “Is the fake ID mission critical or something?”
“No. I just didn’t do it. It’s literally what I do, and I dropped the ball.”
I watch the cars inching down the street next to us, trying to figure out how to react. This is the apology I’m getting? And it’s not even an apology—he’s just pissed at himself—this has nothing to do with me. I’m just an, I don’t know, accessory to his own problems.
Pulling my hand out of his, I wish I were anywhere else besides standing on a sidewalk in downtown Chicago with Walker. “Fine. I’ll just go back to the hotel or something, if getting drunk is this important.”
“Damn it, Clara, that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
I glare at him. “I know you’re mad at yourself over some stupid mistake you made. But it has nothing to do with me. And then you drag me away from food, because, what? You have a hankering for a gin and tonic? Walker, I don’t get what’s going on here. Have we stopped talking about boring shit, too? Are we avoiding all kinds of communication now?”
“You tell him, girl,” a woman yells as she passes.
Walker tsks at her back. “No. I bribed the restaurant to give us meals to go. We have to be back in fifteen minutes to pick them up. There’s a liquor store another block down. I thought we’d pick up drinks for the weekend.”
“I don’t have to drink.”
“I know. I just, I wanted you to have the option.”
“Oh.”
We stare at each other, neither of us willing to back down.
Are we just moving on? No apologies? No fixes? So far, not a damn thing that’s come out of Walker’s mouth has felt all the way true. He’s not trying to protect me. And as much as I have no desire to be contained, I’m not even sure he’s trying to take decisions from me. There’s something else, something bigger, deeper, messier at play.
But without him telling me? We’re just playing emotional whack-a-mole. Yay for psychological arcade games .
I look at this man, this beautiful, talented, kind, caring man, and I just can’t see how to get back to that night in my bed, that moment where everything coalesced, where I finally felt free to hope for something more, something better.
I swear, I see the same desire reflected in his gaze.
But how?
I’m not apologizing. Not for that night.
But now? Did I overreact?
“I didn’t mean to get mad, Walker. Next time, could you, I don’t know, tell me what’s going on?”
He watches a car inch past us. “I’ll try.”
Good God. Not another half-assed “try.”
“Okay,” I say, refraining from letting my disbelief color my tone.
I must have succeeded, because he offers me a smile, tugging me up beside him, wrapping his arm around my waist. And it feels so good. Why is this so easy, but everything else is so hard?
An hour later, Walker and I have claimed the hotel’s rooftop courtyard for ourselves, feasting while overlooking the lake. We stole spare blankets from the room, and we’re both bundled up, giggling over a bottle of wine and some pork shoulder.
“So,” he asks, “what’s your favorite place you’ve ever visited?”
I shake my head, the alcohol already buzzing in my veins. “You first.”
He sips the wine, his cheeks rosy. “Hmm. I think New York has been my favorite so far, but I can’t wait until I visit Europe. The museums there, Clara! I can practically smell them! Mmm…they smell like dreams and beauty. But until that halcyon day? New York is the winner.”
I laugh, high on good food, good wine, and finally, finally good company. “So it’s all the art, all the time with you?”
“Nah. There’s also delicious food, transcendent music, and gross smells. New York has it all. And I’m sure the rest of the world has tons of interesting stuff, and I can’t wait to see it, to experience it. There’s just so much out there, Clara, and I want it all.”
Feeling wine-bold, I snatch his glass from his hand, taking a slow drink from his cup. “I’m sure you’ll get everything you want, Walker.”
He watches my mouth as I lick a drip of wine from my lip. “I sure hope so,” he says.
We both take another bite of the pork, the meat falling off the bone, the knives we brought up totally unnecessary. Walker swallows, gazing out at the lake. I glance over my shoulder, the expanse of water slightly overwhelming.
“How about you?” he asks.
I stare at my plate. “Honestly? I’ve been to Iowa a few times to visit my mom’s parents. When I toured colleges, I got to see bits of Wisconsin, Indiana, and Missouri. Otherwise I haven’t been to many places. My favorite of that small list, though, is Lutsen, up on Lake Superior. I went a few times with Bryce’s family, and it’s a magical place. ”
Walker’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth. “This is your first time in Chicago?”
I shrug. “This is the biggest city I’ve ever been to.”
Walker sets the fork back down. He strides around the table, dragging my chair to the same side as his, the view of the skyline on our left, the lake in front of us. He moves my plate and glass over too, tucking me back into my scavenged blanket, draping his arm over my shoulders. “If that’s the case, we have a secondary mission.”
I look up at him through my eyelashes, pouting. “And what is this secondary mission?”
“We are going to give you the full city experience.”
“And what exactly is the full city experience?”
Walker pulls me closer, his lips hovering right in front of mine. “It’s going to require public transit, way too much walking, and at least one night out dancing.”
My heart races at the mention of dancing. “You’re going to take me clubbing, Walker?”
“I am. Because you’re going to love it.”
And he’s right. I will.
“Tonight?” I ask.
Walker’s gaze locks on my lips. “Hmm. Maybe tomorrow.”
I shift a hairsbreadth closer, wanting this, hoping maybe if we could just remember how good we are together, we could be together. “Why wait?”
Our faces are so close, if either of us twitched, we’d be kissing. “I need time to get a couple of things in line, then we’re going to take this place by storm.”
I lick my lips, just to see, and Walker’s breath hitches, watching me. “In that case, what should we do tonight? ”
Walker strokes up my arms, the sleeves of my blouse bunching and rolling under his hands. “I think we need to rest up from that long drive we had today.”
“I am exhausted,” I say, my hands running over his chest, undoing the first few buttons of his coat. “Maybe we should just call it a night after this. Curl up, fall asleep, start fresh tomorrow.”
His lips feather against mine, the hint of a kiss. “Hmm. That is an option. What about a nice warm bath? We’d both sleep much better after a bath.”
I press my lips against his, the contact soft, cautious. “I love a good bath. They’re very relaxing.”
His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and he swallows, before taking my face in his hands, his thumbs running over the crest of my cheekbones, the edges of my lips. Studying me.
I want him. I shouldn’t, but I do. We haven’t fixed anything, and it’s already been two weeks. I may not be furious anymore, but I am hurt. Did what we have mean so little to him?
I mean, I said I wanted to keep things casual, but nothing about that night felt meaningless. Not to me. And the way he looked at me afterward? It wasn’t a fling for him, either. Only he demanded we stay fuck buddies, nothing more. Can I keep it casual? Is that really what he wants? Should I ask?
His mouth meets mine, thoughts scattering as he pulls my bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth sharp as he nips at it. I’m hot, tingling, and practically ready with that singular move. I don’t care. Not tonight. Tonight, we’re fixing things this way.
Skipping the forgive and going straight to the forget. Sure. Let’s do it.