Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
CLAIRE
The Mountain Haven Inn smells like pine and wood smoke, and the woman behind the front desk looks at me like she knows every secret I've ever kept.
"You must be Claire." She smiles warmly, sliding a key across the worn wooden counter. "Max called ahead. Room twelve. Best view of the mountains."
I take the key, hyper aware of Max standing three feet behind me. He hasn't said a word since we left his apartment. Just walked beside me through the small town, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw tight like he was grinding his teeth to dust.
This isn't the reunion I imagined during the thirty hour drive from Virginia.
"Thank you," I tell the woman. Carol, according to her name tag. "I appreciate you fitting me in last minute."
"Honey, we always have room." Her eyes flick to Max, then back to me with obvious curiosity. "You staying long?"
"I'm not sure yet."
Max shifts behind me. I can feel his impatience like heat from a furnace.
"Let me know if you need anything," Carol says. "Breakfast is seven to ten. Coffee's always on."
I nod my thanks and turn toward the stairs, but Max is already moving past me.
"I'll walk you up."
It's not an offer. It's a statement. And something about his tone makes my spine stiffen.
The Claire who left Virginia three days ago would have accepted it quietly. Would have smiled and nodded and let someone else take charge because that's what she'd been trained to do. Be agreeable. Be accommodating. Be the good girl everyone expected.
That Claire is gone.
"I can find my own room, Max."
He stops on the first step. Turns. Those green eyes pin me in place, and for a moment I forget how to breathe.
He's not the man I remember.
The Max from my childhood was quick to laugh, always ready with a joke or a teasing comment. He'd swing me onto his shoulders without warning, tickle me until I screamed, sneak me extra dessert when my parents weren't looking.
This Max is harder. Sharper. His face has new lines carved into it, and his eyes carry shadows that weren't there before. He moves like he's constantly bracing for impact, like the world is a battlefield and he's never truly left it.
But underneath all that hardness, I can still see him. The man who sat with me in silence when everyone else tried to fill the void with empty words. The man who held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The man who disappeared without explanation and left a hole in my life I've never been able to fill.
"Claire." His voice is rough. Tired. "It's been a long day. Just let me make sure you're settled."
"Why?"
The question catches him off guard. I see it in the slight widening of his eyes, the tension that ripples through his shoulders.
"Because your father would want me to."
There it is. The ghost that's been standing between us since I walked into his shop.
"My father's been dead for ten years." I keep my voice steady even though my heart is racing. "Whatever you think you owe him, you don't owe it to me."
Something flickers across his face. Pain, maybe. Or guilt. Before I can identify it, he's shuttered it away behind that hard mask.
"Room twelve," he says flatly. "Top of the stairs, end of the hall."
Then he's gone, the front door swinging shut behind him, and I'm standing alone in the lobby with Carol pretending very hard not to have heard every word.
I climb the stairs on legs that feel like rubber.
Room twelve is small but clean, with a brass bed frame and a quilt that looks handmade. The window faces east, and even in the fading evening light I can see the mountains rising in the distance, their peaks dusted with early snow.
I drop my duffel bag on the bed and sink down beside it.
What am I doing here?
Three days ago, the answer seemed so clear. I'd found Max's letters in a shoebox at the back of my mother's closet, hidden beneath old photographs and my father's folded flag. The return address was smudged but legible. Grizzly Ridge, Montana. A place I'd never heard of, at the edge of the world.
A place to disappear.
That's what I needed. To disappear. To escape the suffocating weight of expectations and obligations and a life I never chose.
Derek's face flashes through my mind. That practiced smile he wore like a mask. The way he'd hold my hand in church while texting her with the other. The night I found them together in his office, her worship music still playing on his laptop like some sick joke.
I'd been so stupid. So desperate to believe that someone like him could actually love someone like me.
My stepfather's voice echoes in my head. "Every couple goes through trials, Claire. A godly woman forgives."
A godly woman. That's all I've ever been expected to be. Quiet. Obedient. Forgiving to a fault.
Well, I'm done being that woman.
I pull my phone from my pocket. Fourteen missed calls from Gerald. Eight from my mother. One voicemail from Derek that I delete without listening to.
Then I power off the phone and shove it to the bottom of my bag.
Tomorrow I'll figure out what comes next. Tonight, I just need to breathe.
A knock at my door makes me jump.
I cross the room on bare feet, half expecting to find Max on the other side with another lecture about how I shouldn't be here.
Instead, it's a woman about my age with honey blonde hair and a smile that could light up a room.
"Hi! I'm Sarah." She holds up a basket covered with a checkered cloth. "Miguel's wife. Well, technically we're still newlyweds, so I love saying that. Anyway, Carol mentioned you just got in, and I figured you might be hungry."
I blink at her, momentarily thrown by the warmth radiating off this stranger.
"I... thank you?"
"Can I come in? I promise I'm not a serial killer. Just aggressively friendly." She grins. "It's a small town thing. You'll get used to it."
Before I can respond, she's breezing past me into the room, setting the basket on the small table by the window.
"Maggie's meatloaf," she announces, pulling back the cloth to reveal containers of food. "Best in three counties. Also mashed potatoes, green beans, and a slice of apple pie that I may have stolen from my husband's plate when he wasn't looking."
My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I haven't eaten since a gas station granola bar somewhere in Wyoming.
Sarah's grin widens. "I'll take that as a thank you."
She settles into one of the chairs like she belongs there, and something about her easy confidence makes me want to trust her. It's been so long since I've had a friend. A real friend who wasn't connected to the church, to Derek, to the life I'm running from.
"How did you know I was here?" I ask, sinking into the chair across from her.
"Small town." She shrugs. "Carol texted Maggie, Maggie mentioned it to Wren, Wren told me. The whole communication chain took about twelve minutes."
"That's terrifying."
"That's Grizzly Ridge." She tilts her head, studying me with eyes that are sharper than her bubbly demeanor suggests. "So. You're the girl who showed up at Max's shop."
My cheeks heat. "Word travels fast."
"Like wildfire." Sarah leans forward, elbows on her knees. "Listen, I don't know you yet, but I know Max. Or at least, I know the man my husband considers family. He's been through hell, Claire. More than most people could survive."
"I know."
"Do you?" Her voice softens. "Because the man who walked you to this inn looked like he'd seen a ghost. And I'm guessing that ghost has something to do with you."
I look down at my hands. The silver rings on my fingers catch the lamplight.
"My father was his best friend," I say quietly. "He died when I was thirteen. Max was there. And then he wasn't."
Sarah is quiet for a long moment.
"He doesn't talk about his past," she finally says. "But Miguel says whatever happened overseas broke something in him. Something that's still healing."
"I didn't come here to hurt him."
"I believe you." She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "I'm just saying, be patient with him. Men like Max, they build walls so high they forget there's a world on the other side. Sometimes they need someone stubborn enough to climb over."
I think about the way he looked at me in his apartment. The heat in his eyes before he shuttered it away. The way his whole body went rigid when I stepped close, like he was fighting himself.
"I can be stubborn," I say.
Sarah laughs. "Good. You're going to need it." She stands, brushing off her jeans. "Eat. Sleep. And tomorrow, come to Sunday dinner at Logan and Erica's place. Everyone will be there. Including Max."
"He won't like that."
"Probably not." Her smile turns mischievous. "But he'll come anyway. He always does."
She's gone before I can protest, leaving me alone with enough food to feed three people and more questions than answers.
I eat until my stomach hurts. Then I curl up on top of the quilt, still fully dressed, and stare at the ceiling.
Max's face swims behind my closed eyes. Those intense green eyes. The hard line of his jaw. The way his voice dropped to gravel when he said my name.
He's not the man I remember.
But he might be the man I need.