Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CLAIRE
The barn smells like cinnamon and nutmeg, the kind of cozy warmth that wraps around me like a sweater. Twinkle lights snake along the rafters, casting a golden glow over the long rows of baking stations for the first annual Holley Ridge Christmas Bake-Off.
It’s chaos wrapped in holiday cheer — metal bowls clanging, mixers whirring, contestants cursing under their breath when their icing comes out too runny.
But I welcome the chaos.
Watching contestants build and decorate elaborate gingerbread houses keeps me busy. Keeps me distracted.
Keeps me from thinking about Declan.
At least it should.
But I still find myself drowning in the memory of him. His hands. His voice. The way he held me like he hated to let me go.
Except he did let me go.
When I got home from work the fateful day I decided to hand him my heart, his car wasn’t in the driveway. I didn’t think anything of it at first. Figured he was probably spending time with Joshua.
But the next morning, the driveway was still empty. And again the next night. I immediately knew something was wrong. Knew he’d left.
Joshua later confirmed my suspicion, mentioning Declan needed to get back to D.C. for a work emergency.
But I knew better.
The work excuse was precisely that. An excuse. He left because of me. Because I wanted more.
No matter how many times I tell myself it’s his loss, that I’m better off without someone who can’t choose me, I still feel hollow inside. Like I’m not worth sticking around for.
“Who are you rooting for?”
I startle at the voice and turn as Joshua sidles up next to me, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He smells faintly of raw earth and pine, a sharp note against the syrupy sweetness of the barn.
“What’s that?”
He nods toward the bakers, who are scrambling as the clock ticks down. “Who do you hope makes it to the final round?”
“Oh. Uh.” I clear my throat, scanning the row of contestants, most of them local bakers hoping to increase awareness of their business. “I like Jaxon. Anytime I post a clip of him on social media, our views skyrocket.”
Joshua smirks. “Always the marketing brain at work.”
“I can’t help it.” I shrug, trying to match his easy tone. “I see a speck of dirt and want to figure out a way to market it as artisanal holiday soil and make it go viral.”
“And I love that about you.” He chuckles, his eyes shining with affection.
Affection I don’t deserve.
I turn my attention back to the contestants. One’s piping buttercream onto his towering gingerbread castle. Another is caramelizing sugar with a torch. But despite the excitement surrounding me, all I can feel is Joshua’s steady gaze on me.
“Have you decided what you’re doing for Christmas?” I ask to cut through the tension mounting with every heartbeat.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to stay here, or…spend it with your father?” The word catches in my throat.
Joshua’s jaw works as he considers. “I’m not sure. Sycamore Falls is my home. But maybe going to D.C. isn’t such a bad idea. That way I won’t be surrounded by memories of Mom.”
I give his arm a squeeze. “If you stay, you’re always welcome at our house. You know that.”
“Thanks.” His expression softens, but his eyes don’t leave me. I can feel the weight of them. Pressing. Studying. Scrutinizing.
I drop my hold on him, pretending to be consumed by the final seconds of the competition. But it’s all just background to the heat of Joshua’s stare.
“You love him, don’t you?” he says softly after several protracted moments.
I whip my head toward him. “What are you talking about?”
“Declan,” he replies simply. “My father. You’re in love with him.”
The air leaves my lungs in one harsh exhale. “I… What? Why would you—”
“You don’t need to lie to me, Claire.”
His tone is calm, steady, lacking even a hint of accusation. A contestant drops a bowl, and the crash echoes like a cymbal. Regardless of the unexpected sound, Joshua doesn’t pull his attention away from me.
“You don’t have to protect me from being hurt,” he assures me. “It’s okay. I mean, when I first suspected it, I didn’t want to believe it. But then I saw the way you looked at him at the parade. It’s the way I’ve always wanted a girl to look at me.”
My heart aches. “Joshua, I…”
“And when I saw the way he looked at you?” He shakes his head. “I never looked at you that way. But he did. And that’s what you deserve. I’m sorry I stood in your way of finding that for so long.”
My eyes sting, and for a second, all the noise of the barn fades. It’s just Joshua and me. Like it’s been most of my life. He’s always been there for me. Never judging. Never assuming. Just…there. After everything, he deserves the truth.
“We met in Boston,” I rush out, the words leaving me before I can stop them.
“Before I knew he was your father. When I met you for dinner and saw him sitting there, I thought I was imagining it, since I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.
But when it turned out to be him?” I blow out a long exhale.
“It was definitely the shock of a lifetime.”
“I can imagine.” He laughs under his breath.
“He really wanted to focus on building a relationship with you, Joshua. I could tell how important it was to him. How scared he was over the idea of you hating him already. So we agreed to forget we ever spent the night together. Pretend it never happened.”
“But you couldn’t.”
“No.” My voice cracks. “At least, I couldn’t. But Declan…” I trail off, struggling to find the words.
“What happened?”
“I wanted to change the rules. He didn’t.”
“Rules?”
“It was just supposed to be casual. No attachment. No feelings. Just…you know.”
“Sex.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I should feel mortified talking to Joshua about sleeping with his dad.
Part of me does. But Joshua has always had a way of making me feel comfortable.
It’s probably why he was the first boy I kissed.
And the first boy I had sex with. He’s always been my safe space.
The one person I’ve never had to pretend around.
But there’s never been that spark.
Not like with Declan.
“Exactly.” I nod.
“But it became more for you,” Joshua remarks.
“It did. And I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry about?”
“Everything,” I say with a sigh. “Not telling you. Sneaking around. Breaking the rules and pushing for more. I’m the reason he went back to D.C., Josh. I’m the reason he abandoned you.”
“No, Claire. You’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Listen to me.” He grips my biceps and turns me toward him, his eyes blazing with conviction. “This is not on you. Just like you’re not the reason your dipshit sperm donor left your mom. He chose to leave. Just like Declan did.”
“But I pushed him. I asked for more. I asked for too much.”
“There’s no such thing as asking for too much when all you’re asking for is what you deserve. If he’s not willing to give it to you, then he’s a fucking idiot.”
The timer buzzes overhead, contestants rushing trays to the front, powdered sugar pluming like smoke. The barn hums with holiday cheer, but I crumble, sobbing into Joshua’s chest.
“I ruined everything,” I choke out, all the emotions I’ve kept inside for too long overflowing. “I knew how important finding your father was to you. I never wanted to come between you.”
He cups my cheeks, pulling my eyes toward his. “It’ll take a lot more than you screwing my dad to get rid of me.”
Mortification surges, and I bury my face in his chest once more. “God, you make it sound so horrible.”
His chuckle rumbles against me, steady, teasing. “I can understand it. I mean, I got my good looks from somewhere.”
I pull back and meet his eyes, staring at him for several long moments. Then laughter bubbles up, spilling out of me until I’m shaking.
It’s the first time I’ve laughed in days.
“What did I do to deserve a friend like you?”
“As your mom would say, it was written in the stars.”
I wipe at my cheeks, unable to stop smiling, an enormous weight lifting off me. “Thanks for being so cool about everything. For not hating me.”
“I could never hate you.” He pulls me into a hug, touching a soft kiss to my head.
“Why don’t you come over tonight? I’ll order tacos, crack open some growlers from Jude’s brewery.
We’ll binge-watch baking shows and pretend we know what we’re talking about.
Throw around terms like isomalt and fondant and royal icing like pros. ”
“I’ll have you know I am a pro. At watching baking shows. Not actually baking.”
“I know.” He flashes me a wink. “So what do you say? Baking show marathon? Like old times?”
I melt into his embrace, grateful for his always-present patience and understanding.
“That sounds perfect.”