Chapter 21 The Logical Next Step
The Logical Next Step
Claire
The last of the dishes clinked into the rack, the kitchen smelling faintly of braised veal and fresh rosemary.
Liam stepped out of the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, moving with that purposeful ease that meant he was already shifting into whatever came next. Down the hall, a zipper hummed and sneakers scuffed, a quiet gear change for his team event.
My phone buzzed. Brooke
You alone? I need to get away from the girls for a bit. Nolan’s here. I just need some adult time.
I leaned against the counter, thumbs tapping.
Sure. There might be some osso buco left.
The dots appeared, then
I’ll be right down.
A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
A few minutes later, Brooke breezed in, hair loose, a faint flush in her cheeks. “Hey, you.” She leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek before making herself comfortable on the couch.
“I’ll heat you some,” I said, heading for the kitchen. The scent of tomato, wine, and slow-braised meat still lingered, rich and warm, as I reached for a pan.
I’d just set the pan on the stove when I heard footsteps coming down the hallway.
“Don’t worry, Liam, I’m not staying,” Brooke called over her shoulder. “Just hiding from the girls for a minute. Don’t think badly of me.”
A low chuckle answered her. “Please. Stay as long as you like. I’m sure Claire will enjoy the company.”
I stepped out of the kitchen and almost collided with him.
He turned at the same time, the sudden proximity narrowing the space between us to nothing. His hands found my hips. Firm.
“Oh, Claire, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“I should’ve let you know I was behind you,” I managed. My pulse was doing something inconvenient. I held his forearm to steady myself.
He didn’t step back right away, his thumbs pressed lightly where they rested. “I’ll probably be home late,” he said, voice low enough that it felt meant only for me. “See you tomorrow morning for coffee?”
Before I could answer, he leaned in and brushed a kiss over my cheek, light, but close enough that the heat of it stayed behind long after he’d pulled away.
He stepped back, giving my hips a light squeeze before letting go. Then he grabbed his coat from the arm of the couch, pulling it on in one smooth motion. “Night, Brooke. Don’t let Claire talk you into dessert, you’ll never leave.”
Brooke smirked. “No promises.”
The door closed behind him, his footsteps fading down the hall.
I turned back toward the kitchen, but Brooke’s voice followed me. “Okay… what was that?”
I blinked. “What was what?”
She raised her brows.
Then she gave me a slow, sly smile. “That little scene just now. Him holding onto you like that. The cheek kiss. The whole vibe.”
“It wasn’t—” I started, but the words tripped over themselves
Her brows lifted. “Claire… if someone didn’t know you two, they’d swear you were married. Or at least a couple.”
I opened my mouth, but instead, the butcher’s crinkled eyes surfaced in my mind, his comment about osso buco being romantic.
Apparently, people thinking we're a couple is becoming a theme.
“It’s not anything, really,” I said, sinking into the armchair. “He’s just… been really good to me. Letting me stay here. Making coffee in the mornings. Cooking dinner when he’s not on the road.”
Brooke tilted her head. “You’re not exactly selling the ‘just roommates’ thing.”
“I don’t know, Brooke,” I said instead. “The other night we were having dinner, and he mentioned an old girlfriend. He made it seem like nothing, but he has a picture of the two of them mixed in with other important moments. I got the feeling there was more to the story.”
Brooke shrugged. “Okay… he can have an old girlfriend.”
“But it was the way he described her,” I said, leaning forward. “She and I couldn’t be any more different. I just don’t see how…”
I sat back, tucking one knee up under me and pulling the nearest pillow into my lap.
“So you’re just going to give up on the hot goalie because of some picture?” she asked, her smile wicked.
I laughed. “Will you stop calling him that?”
She smirked, completely unrepentant.
“So,” I said, redirecting, “what about you? Are you going to move here? Move the girls here permanently?”
Brooke inhaled, let it out slow. “Yeah… I think we are. Nolan’s on the road a lot during the season, but if we stayed in the house, we’d hardly see him.”
“That’ll make my brother happy,” I said.
Her gaze sharpened on me. “What about you? If we move here, will your nieces see you more often?”
The answer sat in my chest, waiting. “I’ve been thinking… they’re going to grow up so fast. I want to be here for it. For them. For you and Nolan.”
“And the hot goalie,” Brooke added.
“You’re impossible,” I said, shaking my head. But the thought slipped in anyway. Well…that wouldn’t be the worst side benefit.
Brooke’s grin softened. “You know… the girls would love having you close by.”
I hesitated, then shrugged like it was no big deal. “I’ve actually been thinking I might start looking for a place tomorrow.”
Her brows shot up. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’m picturing two bedrooms, so the girls could stay over if you and Nolan ever want a date night without bribing a babysitter.”
“That’s thoughtful of you,” she teased, but her eyes warmed. “So, what else are you looking for?”
I leaned back, ticking it off on my fingers. “Light. A decent kitchen. Maybe a little balcony.”
“And a doorman,” she said, like it was non-negotiable. “Nolan will insist. You know how he gets about security.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure he’ll submit a full background check request for the entire building staff.”
Brooke smirked. “Don’t laugh, he’s probably already researching.”
I smiled, but in the back of my mind, the picture was already forming, my own place, my own space.
Brooke gathered her bag. “Text me tomorrow.”
The door clicked. I rinsed the bowls, dried my hands, and pulled my planner from the nightstand. I flipped open my planner, pen tapping against the margin before I wrote it down in neat block letters: Apartment hunting.
The smell of coffee curled down the hallway, warm and rich, pulling me toward the kitchen before I was even fully awake.
Liam was already there, sleeves pushed up, one hand working the sleek chrome coffee maker while the other reached for my mug without asking. The same one he always gave me; navy blue, handle chipped on the side.
“Morning,” he said, low and easy.
I leaned against the counter, letting the heat seep into my palms as he poured. This was our rhythm: coffee, a few quiet minutes, no rush. It felt… settled.
Too settled.
I cleared my throat, shifting the mug in my hands. “Hey, mind if I use your printer later?”
His brows lifted just slightly. “Sure. Just a warning, it has a mind of its own.”
I smiled over the rim of my mug. “Meaning?”
“Meaning sometimes it jams. Or spits out the same page twice for no reason.” He shrugged, pouring the last of the French press into his own cup.
I lifted my brows. “Have you tried just giving it a good whack?”
“No, it hasn’t come to that,” he said as he shook his head.
Back in my room, I set the mug on the nightstand and looked at the suitcase in the corner. Our living arrangement was always meant to be temporary. The next step, finding a place of my own, was just logical.
Sensible.
But that wasn’t the only reason.
While I was here, there’d be no space for him to find his person. To fall in love with someone more like Nora.
Well. That stings.
I ate lunch at my desk, one hand wrapped around a fork, the other tapping through tabs on my laptop. A blank spreadsheet blinked back at me. The column headers already neatly labeled: Location. Price. Square footage. Distance to Nolan.
The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the apartment. Perfect. No chance of Liam walking in mid-search.
I clicked through listings, bookmarking a sunny two-bedroom with a balcony, then immediately wondering if it would feel too quiet at night. My fingers hesitated over the trackpad before I added it to the spreadsheet anyway.
Half a salad later, I was cross-checking commute times and making color-coded notes. The practical part of me, efficient, decisive, liked the order of it. The other part, the one that noticed my chest tightening with every “save,” kept pretending it was just the posture of leaning over my laptop.
The heat kicked on and hummed through the vents. One more listing. Two more. I told myself I was being proactive, not preemptive. That this was about giving him his space back.
I was halfway to the sink with my empty mug when I nearly collided with him in the hallway. Dark jeans. Sharp leather shoes. A charcoal sweater that looked far too soft. The words slipped out before I could catch them. “Well… don’t you look handsome.”
He stilled, blinking at me like I’d spoken in another language. A faint flush crept up his neck. “Uh, thank you.”
He reached for his coat on the hook, fumbling one sleeve before managing the other.
“I’m… going out,” he added, like I couldn’t tell from the keys in his hand.
And then he was gone.
I stood there in the quiet, my fingers tightening around the mug.
Going out. Dressed like that?
My mind filled in the blanks.