Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
claire
I peer up at my rearview mirror to watch Rowan pulling in behind me. Then I switch to the side mirror when he gets out of his truck with his overnight bag and walks over to wait for me like an obedient puppy.
He lets out a measured exhale as he stands by patiently, shivering and looking adorably nervous, and I feel an ache deep inside my chest. I might have been able to convince myself that I didn’t like him all that much before, back when I thought I’d never see him again, but I’m not fooling myself anymore.
Crushing on Rowan is also entirely too dangerous, especially since he has a knack for turning every conversation into a counseling session.
You’re not doing this again, Claire. Get your shit together.
I huff and roll my shoulders back, preparing myself to step back into the role of the tough, emotionally closed-off divorcée. I can’t keep letting him see Claire Bear, the soft, silly, self-conscious girl hiding behind the hard exterior.
“Are you really going to wait on me all night? You know I’m just messing with you now, don’t you?” I call out from inside my car, trying to set the tone.
He smirks and steps forward to open my door, and I swallow hard, pretending I’m unaffected.
“I actually don’t mind,” he begins, offering his hand, “Especially since watching you talk to yourself in the mirror might just be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
” I gasp and reach out with my free hand to swat at him, but he absorbs the blow and laughs softly, refusing to loosen his grip on the hand he’s holding.
“Besides, what else am I going to do if not wait for you to let me in?”
I roll my eyes, trying not to dwell on the physical contact we’re supposed to be avoiding or that he knows I needed to give myself a pep talk before facing him. But man is it hard not to squeal when he doesn’t let go of my hand until I tug it back to unlock the door.
Shit, what’s that code again?
“I can turn around if you don’t want me to see the combination, but I’d like to think you can trust me by now,” Rowan volunteers, stifling another laugh.
I click my tongue and punch in the numbers, grateful when I get it right on the first try this time. “I’m going to wash all this mud off,” I tell him as I stoop to pet the dogs. “Mind letting Frankie and Oscar out before you shower?”
“Got it,” he says, already crouching down to take my place. I toss my keys on the counter and move toward the hall, but he calls out and stops me. “Claire? Since we’ve agreed to be on our best behavior and all …”
I groan. “Do my pajamas really bother you that much?”
He furrows his brow and nods. “I’m sorry. But, yeah, they really, really do.”
A huge smile spreads across my face, despite my best efforts to conceal it. “I’ll see what I can find.”
I can’t shake that stupid, silly shit-eating grin the whole time I’m in the shower, even though I nick the back of my knee shaving my legs. Like hell, I’m not coming out in something at least a little sexy.
After assessing the damage, I decide against a Band-Aid because I’d be giving myself away again. I gather my wet hair into a messy bun and make sure I don’t have any leftover mascara lingering beneath my eyes before I venture out to put our muddy clothes washing.
Rowan stifles a whine when I enter the living room, but I’m afraid I’m the one whose breath stills at the sight of him.
He’s fresh from the shower in a T-shirt and gym shorts, looking good enough to eat.
More importantly, he’s wearing those gosh darn glasses as he reclines on my couch with both of my dogs in his lap.
I stop abruptly before I reach the sofa and cross my arms. “What do you think you’re doing?”
A panicked look crosses his face, and he pushes the dogs aside to stand. “Um, I’m sorry. I guess I was making myself at home, but I shouldn’t have assumed … Should I not have let them on the furniture?”
He glances back at Frankie and Oscar, who continue staring up at me without a care in the world.
“No, um, they’re fine,” I say, clearing my throat awkwardly. “I meant …” I let my explanation hang in the air and gesture over my face.
He furrows his brow and pushes his glasses up, most likely out of habit. Then I watch as the realization hits him, and he mirrors my pose, crossing his arms and tilting his head back as one side of his mouth turns up in a cocky smirk.
“Fair is fair, right,” he declares, allowing his eyes to run over me. My skin prickles with his gaze.
“But I didn’t even put on the slutty PJs this time,” I say with a pout.
He blinks back in surprise. “These aren’t the sexy ones?”
I scoff. “No, not really.” The black ribbed-knit tank top and matching shorts aren’t exactly modest, especially with the lettuce-edge curling the hem of the shorts up even higher, but it’s certainly not the skimpiest set I own.
He looks me up and down again before grunting and squinting his eyes closed. “I was wrong. You definitely have an unfair advantage.”
“Only because you’re a gynecologist who’s afraid of women,” I mumble.
He groans louder and turns away, resettling himself on the couch. “I’m not even engaging with you on that one.”
My pout returns. I’m slightly disappointed in my victory, maybe because I expected him to put up more of a fight.
“So, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” I venture quietly after a while.
His smile reappears when he glances up at me, keeping his eyes trained on my face this time. “I didn’t want to be a needy guest, but I’m definitely aware that we skipped dinner.”
“I’m sure I can throw something together that’s kosher for you, but you should probably oversee it, just to be safe,” I offer.
He nods and follows me into the kitchen, and we go about the business of sorting through the fridge before settling on grilled cheese sandwiches. It’s endearing when he insists on helping.
“This is perfect for meat-free Fridays,” he tells me while I plate our sandwiches. “My options are limited without peanuts, especially since I try to avoid the other likely suspects, like tree nuts, soy, and chickpeas, just in case.”
I ladle some of the marinara sauce I made from scratch onto our plates, and he brings them around to the bar, where I’ve already set out a glass of lemonade for each of us. It feels very domestic, I realize as we sit beside one another, and I don’t hate it.
Rowan surprises me by stopping to bow his head, presumably to say grace. I’m not sure whether I feel more relieved or slighted when he doesn’t ask me to join him.
He smiles up at me once he’s done making the Sign of the Cross, then reaches out to cover my hand with his. “Thanks for this. Not only would I have contracted hypothermia by now, but I’m sure I would have starved without your help tonight.”
I swallow hard when he squeezes my hand. “No worries. Like I said before, I couldn’t let you bother the newlyweds on their well-deserved honeymoon.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, his smile widening. “And I definitely didn’t mind the company.”
“Right, especially since I was small enough to fit in that crawlspace,” I reply on a light laugh, attempting to free my hand. But he tightens his hold and keeps his gaze locked onto mine.
“Because you make everything more fun,” he says, sounding almost breathless. “Even busted pipes and emergency room visits.”
I lick my lips when his thumb begins stroking the side of my wrist. “Yeah. I’ve been having fun with you, too. Well, except for the parts when I end up crying, but I guess that’s not completely your fault.”
He smiles shyly. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I really do like learning everything there is to know about you.” He pauses to swallow. “And speaking of confessions, there’s something I feel like I should tell you. Something about me you probably need to know.”
“You’re not a serial killer, are you?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
But he brushes over my question, his expression hardening. “Remember how my family sort of teased me for talking to you at the wedding reception?”
“Yeah?” My heart is racing so fast that I can hardly hear him at this point.
“I … well, in the past, I’ve mostly dated women who were … religious … like me.”
I furrow my brow and manage to yank my hand back this time. “That’s why you were embarrassed to be seen with me,” I say flatly. “Because I’m divorced, and I don’t go to church.”
“But it’s not that simple—”
“It’s fine, Rowan,” I interrupt him and shake my head. “You’ve already apologized. And I thought we weren’t doing this anymore? We’re supposed to be keeping it light … and fun.”
He blows out a breath and lets his head hang. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”
“So, what are you going to do about your sister’s house?” I ask after the silence stretches out too long.
“Know any decent plumbers I can call?” he quips as he picks a corner of grilled cheese and dips it into the sauce. Once I take the first bite, I realize I’m hungrier than I thought, and it doesn’t take either of us long to devour our sandwiches.
I give him a rundown of our options for construction and maintenance services, and he continues asking questions about our small town while we finish dinner.
Eventually, I go to the freezer to grab dessert.
He turns down an ice cream sandwich after checking the label, but he accepts the frozen fruit bar I offer next.
We sit together and slurp our popsicles as he listens to my rambling about the state of life in Camellia, his attention rapt.
“How did you even end up here?”
I wince at the question. “It’s a long story, but I basically followed my ex. He’s from the next town over, and we moved into this place after I started teaching at Camellia High.”
“Were you close to his family?” he asks as he finishes his popsicle and stands to clear the table.