17. Clara
CLARA
“Knock, knock!”
I startle, momentarily stiffening despite the sweet voice that calls through the house.
When I hear the patter of Billie’s feet over the hardwood, I quickly replace the cap on my liquid eyeliner and hurry out of the bathroom, making it to the entry in time to see my daughter opening the screen and stepping out onto the porch like she doesn’t know full-well that’s against the rules.
Nerves roll through me, and I don’t know why. Cole assured me Mrs. Shaw was possibly the nicest woman this side of the Mississippi—apparently she was like a mother to him growing up—but it’s still nerve-racking leaving my kids with someone I’ve never met before.
Tugging at the hem of my tank top, I plaster on my best smile and continue to the front door.
“I’m five,” Billie says, holding her hand up in emphasis.
“You are five?” Mrs. Shaw guffaws. “Oh my lord, I-I thought you was at least nine.”
Billie practically preens, and I take that as my cue to step outside.
“Mrs. Shaw?” I smile, opening the screen door.
The lady turns to me, her smile warm and kind. “Well now, only Preston Cooper at First State Savings and Loans calls me that.” She tuts, placing her hand on her hip. “I’m Mama Joy.”
“Mama Joy,” Billie says, sounding the words out.
I pull Billie closer to me, holding her small shoulders. “Thank you so much for doing this,” I begin, offering Mama Joy a relieved smile.
She waves a dismissive hand. “It’s my pleasure, baby.” Glancing down at Billie, she waggles her eyebrows and pats the giant tote bag hanging from her shoulder as she says, “We’re gonna have a lotta fun.”
“Is it a magic bag?” Billie’s eyes light up. “Like Mary Popcorn?”
“Poppins, Bil,” I correct with a laugh.
“Like Mary Poppins?” Billie repeats.
“Well now, you’ll just have to wait n’ see.” Mama joy flashes her a conspiratorial wink, smirking at me.
“Please, come in,” I say, opening the door and walking inside, looking toward the bedrooms and calling out for Tommy.
“A little birdie told me you went home with Cole Dawson last night.”
I turn to see Kendra smirking at me, one of her dark eyebrows climbing high in obvious suspicion.
My eyes flair. “I-I…” I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut before gaping at her. “Huh?”
She giggles. “Cole Dawson.”
I feel my cheeks flame with the kind of heat that singes through to my bones.
I’m not embarrassed. I’m thirty-three years old for chrissake.
But the more people know about me in this place, the more it means I might be overstaying my welcome.
I can’t risk making a name for myself. That’ll only lead to the kind of trouble I’m already running from.
“Girl, relax,” Kendra chides, bumping her hip with mine. “He’s fine as hell and… Well, I’ve heard the stories.” She looks down, her smirk telling.
Interest sufficiently piqued, my brows knit together as a flicker of concern spikes in my chest. “What… stories?”
She flashes me a wide-eyed glance. “The… he… his…” Suddenly a huge, beaming smile claims her face, but instead of finishing her sentence, she cranes her neck and looks over my shoulder, waving a hand and shouting out. “Maci!”
“This better be good, y’all.” Maci huffs as she comes up behind me, a flustered look on her pretty face. “Gramps over there must be on his death bed or somethin’ ’cuz he’s tippin’ big.”
I glance over to her section, to the man who would have to be at least eighty, grinning at the ladies on stage like a kid eyeing a dessert buffet.
“I think he’s in oil.” Maci’s eyebrows dance suggestively.
“Clara doesn’t know,” Kendra says with a smirk, looking at me.
“Don’t know what?” Maci gruffs, about as confused as I am.
“About… Cole.” Kendra offers her a knowing look.
It takes all of about three seconds before Maci’s eyes nearly bug out of her skull, a slow grin curling her lips as she looks from me to Kendra and back again. She nudges me with her bony elbow. “Oh, girl, you’re in for a treat.”
I deadpan. “For the record I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Let’s just say… he’s—” Kendra glances up toward the beams in the ceiling in thought before meeting my eyes again. “Bedazzled.”
I make a face. “Bedazzled?”
Maci snorts a laugh, tongue in cheek. “Oh, yeah.”
I officially have no idea what they’re talking about, nor do I think I want to know if their traded glances and devious grins have anything to do with it.
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “Cole and I are just… friends.” I shrug.
It’s a half-lie. Because we are friends, but I’d be lying my ass off if I said I hadn’t thought about our moment last night on the porch steps.
I’m not sure if I was imagining things or not—it was late, and I was dog tired after all—but he was looking at my lips like he was wondering what they taste like.
If he’d leaned in to kiss me, I can’t say I’d have pushed him away.
I dig my teeth into my bottom lip at the memory silently chastising myself because hell, he is far too young for me to be thinking these things.
“Well,” Maci begins with a shrug, “act surprised.”
I watch her head back to her section before turning back to Kendra and rolling my eyes again. “We’re literally just friends,” I say again.
Kendra’s eyes zero in on something behind me, another smirk tugging her lips as she turns back to face the bar with a muttered, “Friends, my ass…”
Confused, I go to question her but before I can, I’m startled by a hand on my waist. Spinning around so fast, I almost topple off my ridiculous heels when I come face to face with the man himself.
Cole stands there, smirking down at me, dressed almost identical to last night in his jeans, and shirt adorned with patches of sponsors, hat dipped low on his head.
“What… What are you doing here?” I ask, my brows tugging together in confusion and a little sheepishness because his sudden presence sure isn’t going to help quell Maci and Kendra’s suspicions.
He shrugs a broad shoulder, turning to face the bar. “Thought I’d stop by and have a drink.”
“You’re here… alone?” I quirk a brow, not seeing any of the familiar faces from last night.
“Yep,” is all he says.
I hear Kendra snicker behind me, glancing back to see her walking off with her tray loaded full of drinks to deliver to her section. Turning back to Cole, I swallow hard, suddenly awkward for some reason.
“How was your ride?”
“First place.”
I can’t help but smile. “Well, then, let me buy you a drink. Kevin?” I call out to the bartender.
“What’s up, Clara?” Kevin appears.
“Get this man a can of your finest Blue Ribbon.” I slap Cole on his shoulder. His firm, hard shoulder.
Cole chuckles, tipping his hat at Kevin.
“Comin’ right up.” Kevin winks.
“What time you finishin’?” Cole asks me.
I pile the order Kevin just finished making onto my tray. “About an hour.”
Cole nods, rubbing a hand over his chin as he looks down at me from the corner of his eyes. “I’ll wait out back for ya.”
I can’t help but balk. “Cole, you… You really don’t have to.”
Kevin returns with Cole’s beer, interrupting the moment, and Cole shoves a cash note into the tip jar, jutting his chin at the bartender in silent thanks.
Turning to me, he steps closer, so close that I’m momentarily stilted, staring up at him and noticing the way his blue eyes seem to darken a touch.
It’s not threatening, not in a bad way at least. It’s almost like it’s suddenly hard to breathe, as if he steals all the air, the din of the club fading to a low thrum around us.
“I know I don’t have to, Clara,” he says lowly, dipping his head down so I can hear him clear, my skin pebbling at the way his warm breath fans against the shell of my ear. “But I ain’t leavin’ without ya.”
Cole steps around me, his hard body brushing against mine almost as if on purpose, causing his scent to wrap around me, rendering me all but useless. It feels like I’m rooted to the floor, barely able to breathe let alone move.
When I do finally come to, I watch him retreat to a table in the back of the club, out of the way, hidden in the shadows.
And as he takes a seat, his piercing blue eyes cut through the darkness, finding mine as he tips his head back and takes a swig from his beer.
And I don’t know what the hell that was, but I feel it all the way through my body, and… whatever it is, I don’t hate it.