Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CLAIRE
I can’t shake the memory of Declan’s hand on my hip. The subtle stroke of his thumb against my skin. The chill that consumed me the second he let go.
This is exactly why I went for a run this morning. To stop thinking about him. Not crash straight into him like some rom-com heroine with a head full of fantasy and poor coordination.
I push myself to run faster, welcoming the pain as a distraction.
But it’s no use. My body still hums, lit like a live wire, every nerve ending buzzing from that single point of contact.
I can still feel the heat of him. Can still smell the faint spice of his body wash mixed with the cool, early morning air.
I’d tossed and turned most of the night, consumed with the idea of Declan being my neighbor. I’d somehow managed to convince myself it wouldn’t be a big deal. I barely saw Finn when he lived here. With my busy schedule this time of year, I figured Declan and I would hardly cross paths.
Or maybe I hoped we’d hardly cross paths.
It’s just my luck that, within hours of learning he’s my neighbor, I run into him.
Literally.
Maybe I should talk to him. Get his schedule so we can avoid each other. But that’s ridiculous. We’re adults. We only spent one night together. One night out of the thousands I’ve been alive.
Yet it’s the one night I can’t stop thinking about. The one night that feels branded into my soul. Because for once, I felt like I could be completely free with someone. Someone who wouldn’t judge me for my desires. Someone who was eager to give me everything I asked for without hesitation.
Maybe that’s the truth of the matter. Maybe it’s not necessarily Declan I crave. Maybe I just crave the way he made me feel. Maybe I just need to find someone else who can make me feel the same way. Who I can be free with.
I round the corner onto my street, my lungs burning and my thighs aching.
The townhouse comes into view, and a ridiculous wave of nerves tightens in my chest. I slow my pace, glancing at the unit beside mine, feeling like I’m being watched.
I hold my breath as I turn onto the walkway leading up to my place, half-expecting the door to Declan’s townhouse to swing open.
It doesn’t.
Relief floods through me, and I sprint up my porch steps, fumbling to get the key code correct before barging inside like I’m being chased.
Only then do I let myself breathe.
I yank out my earbuds and pause my audiobook. Not that I heard any of it. I ran nearly five miles and can’t remember a single thing that happened. All I could think about was him.
The grip of his hand on my hips. The way he steadied me. And worse, the way my mind betrayed me by instantly recalling the last time his hands were on my hips, holding me in place as he drove into me like he couldn’t get deep enough.
I try to shove the memory down, bury it under thoughts of work deadlines, social media captions, and the dozens of things I need to do today. But my body isn’t listening. It’s still humming, still aching, still betraying me with every reminder of how alive I felt for those few fleeting seconds.
I wander into the kitchen to find Dylan in the middle of throwing a bunch of fruit into a blender.
“Perfect timing,” she says brightly.
She’s wearing her usual black chef gear, her blonde hair smoothed back into a tight ponytail. I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water.
“I was about to shoot you a text to let you know Finn rented out his place. If you see a stranger lurking around over there, it’s not someone breaking in.”
“Yeah.” I take a long sip, forcing my voice to stay even. “He rented to Joshua’s father.”
Dylan pauses, her hand hovering over the blender as she turns to stare at me. “He’s here? Like…living here?”
“Just for the next month.” I give a casual shrug. “He wants to spend the holidays getting to know Joshua, especially since this will be his first Christmas without his mom.”
“Sounds like a decent guy,” she offers.
“He is,” I reply quickly, smiling. But it feels stiff, like I’m gritting my teeth.
Her eyes narrow, and I swear for a second she’s about to call me out for acting weird. Dylan’s been my best friend since we were in diapers. She can read me better than most people, my mom and sister excluded. But before she can pry, she glances at the clock and groans.
“I have to go,” she mutters, pouring her smoothie into a travel cup.
“The family I’m working for this week needs breakfast before their precious ski day.
Pretty sure they think ‘personal chef’ means ‘personal assistant slash nanny.’ I can’t wait for them to pack up and head back to Beverly Hills.
” She slings her bag over her shoulder. “Counting down the hours.”
I shake my head, wondering how Dylan manages to bite her tongue around some of her uptight clients.
She and her friend from culinary school started a personal chef business a few months ago, and while she loves parts of it, some of her clients treat her like hired help rather than a professional chef.
“Before I forget…” Dylan faces me, her car keys clutched in her hand. “Are you up for drinks tonight? I need to unwind after a week with these people. If I don’t get some bourbon in me soon, I might murder someone with a spatula.”
My instinct is to say no. This is one of the busiest weeks of the year at Holley Ridge, and I have a laundry list of things to do. But Parker has unequivocally told me I’m not allowed to work past eight tonight. And staying home means staying here.
Next door to him.
The thought alone makes my skin prickle.
“I could actually use a drink,” I respond. “Or ten.”
Dylan beams. “Perfect. I’ll see you later.”
Once she breezes out the door, I head up to my bedroom, strip out of my sweaty clothes, and step under the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away the rest of the tension.
It doesn’t.
I close my eyes, letting the steam rise around me, but I still feel him. The press of his body. The weight of his hand. The husky edge in his voice.
A night out with Dylan is exactly what I need. A few drinks with my best friend. A distraction.
Anything to keep me from thinking about the man living on the other side of the wall.