Chapter 22
Claire
My mother is floating with happiness the next day as I work next to her in the kitchen. Ryder and my father are out front managing the morning coffee drinkers.
My mother hip-butts me and whispers, “Did you have a condom accident?” She giggles. Giggles! My mother.
I jerk my gaze to her, eyes wide. My hands are covered in flour. “What?”
She shrugs. “It happens. They break or fall off or have a tear or a hole. Then you panic, thinking you might be pregnant. Is that why he wants to marry you this Friday?” She’s not displeased in the least. She’s smiling conspiratorially.
I swallow and shake my head, turning my attention back to the dough I’m working. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Mom.”
She chuckles again. “Come on. I’m your mother. Tell me. You can’t possibly know that you’re pregnant. It’s too soon, but Ryder is so…” Does my mother look dreamy? Jesus. “He’s so…intense… I figure he thinks if you’re pregnant, no one can say it was a shotgun wedding if you’re married before you even know. He’s protecting your reputation, isn’t he? Or just trying to get ahead of the small-town rumors.”
I yank my head toward her again and hiss, “Mom. I’m not pregnant. We haven’t had sex.”
Her eyes go wide.
Shit. I really didn’t want to tell her that. It’s private. And why does everyone keep talking about me getting pregnant? First Ryder, now my mom. It’s madness that I’ve agreed to marry him. I should not be thinking about making babies. And yet, my bossy, overbearing boyfriend…fiancé…has planted his idea in my head, and now I keep thinking about what it would be like.
She covers her mouth before slowly lowering her hand.
I shift my attention back to the dough again. I don’t even know how long I’ve been kneading it. It’s probably ruined. I can’t look at her.
“I’m gonna swoon,” she murmurs. A long, ridiculous, dreamy sigh escapes her mouth.
The fact that Ryder is withholding sex does not make me feel dreamy. It makes me frustrated. This ridiculous idea that he wants to wait until we’re married is archaic. I don’t even know why he’s so insistent. I don’t think he went into this relationship thinking he would make me wait like this. I think he dreamed it up, probably yesterday.
I also can’t believe I agreed to this farce. He manipulated me with his fingers and his palm, spanking me until my head was foggy and then rubbing my pussy to an intense orgasm with only a hint of penetration.
I was still dazed and sated when he pressured me to marry him yet again. Who could say no?
I’m not sorry, but a lot is going on in my head today. He didn’t even let me tell my parents. As soon as we entered the kitchen a few hours ago, he pulled my back against his chest, faced my parents, and said, “Claire has agreed to marry me.”
My parents simply beamed and congratulated us. There were several rounds of hugs. Some tears.
It’s happening so fast. Am I certifiable? I know Ryder is, but now I’m going along with this. Doubts leak in, and as if on cue, Ryder waltzes through the door at the front and steps into the kitchen.
He’s grinning. He takes off his apron, hangs it on a hook, and comes around to kiss me on the temple, his hands running up and down my biceps from behind. “I’m leaving for a few hours. I want you to stay here, okay?”
I turn my head to frown at him. “Where are you going?”
He lifts my left arm at the elbow. My hand is covered in flour. “To get a ring.”
My stomach flips over. A ring… That’s so…real. I’m too stunned to respond.
He chuckles as he kisses my neck. “No one is going to believe us if I don’t put a ring on it. I’ll be back later.” He cups my face, turns me to look at him, and gives me a stern, narrow-eyed look. “Don’t leave the bakery for any reason.”
“Okay,” I mutter.
He kisses me on the lips and leaves before I can fully absorb the tornado that just breezed through the kitchen. The tornado that is now my life.
My father sticks his head in the door and looks at me pointedly. “You’re not going anywhere until he gets back, right?”
I roll my eyes. “No, Dad. I don’t even have a car. I assume he took mine.”
“Good.” He nods his approval and ducks back into the shop.
My mother is grinning and humming. Not just random humming. The tune is “Going to the Chapel”.
I want to tell her to stop. I should feel far more stressed about this than I do. I’m a bit panicked, but not to the level I would expect.
Married? This Friday? Me?
When the door to the bakery swings open several hours later, I’m the only one working out front. It’s the afternoon. We don’t get much business at this time of day.
I look up to find Reagan Clegg coming in. She owns an adventure company in town. She’s four years older than me, so I didn’t know her well in school. As usual, she looks amazing. She’s fit and slender. Her hair is in a long blond braid down her back. She has on cute hiking clothes like she always does.
“Hey, Claire.” She gives me a little wave as she approaches and then sets her forearms on the glass display case between us. “Is it true?”
I flinch slightly, wondering how anyone knows I’m getting married. We’ve told no one. The only people who know are my parents and Tiago. We haven’t mentioned it a single time since the shop opened, so no one can pick up on it and start a rumor mill, especially Arnie and Blue.
“Is what true?” I ask, my heart racing.
“That you hooked up with one of Old Man Wilde’s grandsons. I couldn’t make it to the town meeting last night, but I’ve heard the rumors.” She’s grinning.
“Oh, yes.” If that’s all she knows, whew.
“That’s great. Good for you. I heard he’s hot.”
I’ve only known Reagan to be kind, so I don’t think she means anything nefarious. I think she’s expressing genuine happiness for me.
She giggles. “I’m sorry I missed the meeting. I heard his brother was there and that he’s hot, too. Granted, I suppose everyone in this town who is single and about our age would think any unattached man who doesn’t need a walker could be described as hot.”
I smile. “Tiago. I guess he’s also not hard on the eyes.” He’s nothing like Ryder, so I can’t really judge him. He has long dark hair, and he’s often wearing paint-splattered clothes. I’m never sure whether he’s in the process of painting when I see him or if all his clothes are permanently spotted with paint.
As if we’ve conjured Tiago up out of thin air, when the door opens again, I look up to find him walking into the bakery. He hasn’t come here before, so I’m slightly surprised to see him.
Reagan turns sideways to see who is entering, and I hear a slight hitch in her breath. Apparently, she agrees with the general consensus around town.
Tiago smiles as he approaches. “Hey, Claire.” He glances at Reagan next, and there’s a long, silent pause. Is he checking her out?
Reagan suddenly lifts her elbows off the counter and holds out a hand. “You must be Tiago. Reagan Clegg.”
Tiago gives her a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you.” When he releases her, he nods toward me. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll let you two finish.”
“You’re not interrupting,” Reagan insists. “I just came in to pick up a box of pastries for tomorrow morning’s hiking group.”
It’s almost closing. Reagan often comes in at this time to get what she needs for the next day. Even though we open pretty early, she feels too rushed in the mornings to stop by on her way to work.
Tiago nods. “Hiking group?”
“I run an adventure company. I can set up all kinds of outdoor experiences. Business hasn’t been as good with the decline of the economy lately, but I still stay afloat. First thing tomorrow, I have a group of friends who want to do a three-hour hike. I like to have pastries for them before we get started.”
“Ah. That’s nice of you,” Tiago responds while I fill a box with goodies.
I know she wants a variety of whatever I have left. We give her a huge discount, too, since, technically, these will be day-old when she serves them. Plus, it’s the end of the day here; we can’t sell these as fresh for much longer anyway.
“How do I reach you to book something?” Tiago asks.
Reagan’s face lights up as she reaches into her back pocket. A second later, she hands him a card.
Tiago tucks it in his jeans pocket. “Thanks. I love hiking, backpacking, climbing… Do you do private tours?”
Reagan nods slowly. “Sure. I mean, no one has ever booked a private trip with me, but there’s no reason I can’t.”
I think she’s going to swoon. I also hope Tiago isn’t messing with her. She’s a nice woman.
I set the box of pastries on the counter.
Reagan seems to snap out of a short trance, turning her attention to me before handing me her credit card. She immediately returns to face Tiago. “Are you a painter or something?” She points at his splattered shirt.
He glances down. “Oh, yeah.”
“Houses?”
He chuckles. “No. I’m an artist.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, wow. That’s amazing. I’d love to see your work sometime.”
“Perhaps we can set up a day for hiking and then you can come over and see some of my art,” he suggests.
I feel like a voyeur. These two are setting up a date, and I’m standing next to them, wishing I could slink into the back room and give them some privacy.
“I’d like that,” Reagan said softly.
Tiago pats his pocket. “I’ll call you.”
Reagan takes her credit card from me, pockets it, and reaches for the box of pastries. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
I try not to grin too broadly as Tiago hurries over to the door to hold it open for Reagan. He stands there watching her as she climbs into her car out front.
When he finally turns around, I laugh. “Guess you have a date.”
He shrugs. “Guess I do.”
“What can I do for you?” I ask. “You haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“Ryder asked me to come pick you up whenever you’re ready. He got delayed.”
“Delayed? Is he okay?” He’s been gone for hours.
Tiago smirks—a look that matches his brother’s. “I’m sure he’s fine. He just had to go farther than he expected to get what he wants.”
A ring. He’s buying a ring. I wonder where he’s gone.
“So, whenever you’re ready, I’ll take you back to the house,” Tiago adds.
“Okay, thanks. I’ll just be a few minutes. We were about to close for the day.”