Chapter 25 Claire
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
claire
I tighten my robe around me and narrow my eyes at the faded pickup parked in my driveway. Frankie bounds excitedly down the front porch steps when he sees it, tripping over his own ears, and my smile widens when he trots over to pee on one of Rowan’s tires.
“That’s Mama’s good boy,” I coo and scratch his round panse when he returns, prompting Oscar to lift his own leg over the rim before returning to collect his belly-rub reward.
Rising onto my tiptoes, I lift my chin to peer into the truck cab.
But I can barely see inside with all the ice coating the windshield.
I have to pretend I’m checking on one of the plants Daisy gave me the other day to catch a glimpse of Rowan’s bundled form.
He looks like he’s wearing the same jacket from the night the pipes busted, as well as an orange hunting beanie and a pair of camo gloves.
He coughs a few times, and it’s actually cold enough to see his breath in the air.
Oscar looks at me strangely when I let out a frustrated groan.
I shouldn’t be giving in so easily, I know.
But I also hate staying mad at someone or letting them stay angry with me.
And the sight of this man sleeping out in the cold just for the chance to apologize in person does funny things to my heart, especially since I wasn’t on the receiving end of many apologies in my last relationship.
Okay, practically everything Rowan-related does funny things to my heart, but I’m choosing to ignore that at the moment.
Then again, I should just forgive Rowan and move on, because holding on to my anger would be tantamount to admitting I care enough to let him hurt me that deeply.
If I let him plead his case now, I can pretend I wasn’t devastated to learn that I’ve been baring my soul to a man who couldn’t trust me with the truth, who held back on sharing the most basic elements of himself because he saw me as nothing more than a passing temptation.
And I may not be the best human on the planet, but I know I deserve better than a hypocrite who only wants me when his pristine reputation isn’t on the line.
It’s just so hard to reconcile that guy with the one I thought I knew, the man who begged me for more than one night together, who couldn’t deliver a pickup line without blushing, who gave me his underwear when my dress ripped, and who wouldn’t kiss me until he was certain he’d earned it—the Rowan who wanted to take turns listening to me talk and making love to me all night because I was his soulmate.
But I knew he was too good to be true.
Despite being the only person who’s ever made me feel safe and understood, Rowan LaFleur isn’t the man I thought he was.
At least I figured it out early this time, before I let him talk me into molding my life around his for the next decade or so. Just in time to pull off the lie that none of this hurts me as much as it does.
I slip back inside and crack open the blinds before settling down with my cup of coffee and my phone. If I’m going to downplay this whole thing, I might as well have some fun while I’m at it.
Claire
Okay, fine. I woke up in a charitable mood.
You have a thirty-second window in which I am willing to hear you out. And I’m only giving you one last chance because you’re Daisy’s brother.
The clock starts now, Benadryl Boy.
I watch closely as Rowan pops awake and searches for his phone.
The way he bobbles it around for a second before taking off a glove induces another good laugh, as does the look on his face when he finally reads my message.
Panic sets in, and from there he drops his phone, spends another moment looking for it, pauses to put on his glasses, checks his watch and curses—something I know he doesn’t do often—and scrambles out of his truck and up the front steps.
I’m still snickering to myself when I calmly waltz over to open the front door.
“Sorry, time’s up,” I intone as I move to swing it closed, but Rowan steps forward and plants his foot in the opening.
“No,” he begs, sounding out of breath. “Please?”
I roll my eyes and stifle a smile, letting him in and gesturing toward the coffee maker. He stops to remove the other glove so he can properly greet the dogs, and I hate that I love how sweet he is to them. Then he slips off his shoes before shuffling into the kitchen.
“You really are a saint, you know that?” he mumbles as he fills up a mug and inhales deeply, but I don’t like the cough that follows.
“Tell me you didn’t give yourself pneumonia, tête dur,” I scold him as I go over and touch the back of my hand to his forehead, which feels a bit clammy for someone who spent the night out in the cold.
He gazes down at me and stifles another cough. “It’d be a poor penance, but I deserve it.”
I roll my eyes again. “You can cut the shit, Rowan. I’m a high school teacher, remember? I’m immune to cute and sappy.”
“That’s all I’ve got right now,” he says with a frown, reminding me of the Rowan I knew before. I turn away, because I’ve obviously never managed to build up a resistance to cuteness, or I’d never have lasted this long in the education field.
“Well, you’re gonna have to do better than a few pity coughs,” I lie as I pour myself a refill.
He sighs and puts his mug down to remove a layer, revealing a thick vest beneath his jacket. I realize he’s wearing his work clothes beneath the insulation. Did he change in the car during the night, or did he actually come prepared to sleep in his truck?
“Any chance I can toss my shirt in the dryer while we talk? It’s a little wrinkled.” I nod, distracted by his hands as they work to peel away the vest. “I should probably just start wearing scrubs while I’m here,” he muses to himself.
“So anyway, I spent the night thinking about what I could possibly say to make up for holding back and not telling you the full truth, and I figured I could start by fessing up to something else embarrassing,” he continues, unbuttoning his shirt next.
“I’m listening,” I say. But I’m not. The way his collarbones look peeking out of the collar of his white undershirt reminds me too much of one of our last close encounters, when I didn’t hesitate to slide my hands over his chest to warm them up.
And warm me up, he did.
“… I basically ended up losing my lunch after the first live birth I attended in medical school,” Rowan explains, and I notice a pink tinge to his cheeks when I finally drag my eyes up to his face.
It’s so cute that I want to blush, too, and I shuffle uncomfortably and tug on the ties of my robe again.
He holds up his dress shirt and gestures toward the laundry room, and I nod a little too quickly this time. “You should probably throw your pants in there, too,” I call out after him, then cringe when I hear how thirsty it sounds. “I mean, they looked a bit frumpy, so you might as well.”
He returns in his boxers and that T-shirt, and I take a big gulp of hot coffee, hoping it’ll divert my attention.
“Anything else you want to know, I’m an open book,” he says, grinning.
“Like the time I was an altar server and almost took out the deacon with my overzealous thurible swinging. Or when I walked into an exam room to find my best friend’s baby sister and the guy who was responsible for getting her pregnant. ”
I snort out a laugh that time. “Don’t you hate it when you get invested with someone, only to find out they’ve been lying to you the whole time?”
He cringes. “Yes.”
I blink at him, and he sighs, obviously not expecting me to interrupt his spiel. “I was planning on offering up a few more of my most mortifying moments before transitioning into my apology, but I think all the rest of them have happened in front of you.”
“Let me guess, the worst one was having to admit to your sister that you almost had a one-night stand with her slutty work friend?”
“Claire.” He says my name on an exhale, his expression falling. “Please don’t talk about yourself that way.”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” I ask sardonically.
Rowan shakes his head. “Not even close. If anything, I’ve been taking advantage of the fact that we don’t share the same beliefs since the night we met.
I convinced myself that giving into lust with you wasn’t all that wrong if you were just going to find some other guy to hook up with anyway, which we both know you weren’t going to do.
And even if you had, I’m not in any position to judge you for it.
I haven’t done you any favors by letting you think you had to earn my affection by sleeping with me, either. ”
“But we didn’t sleep together,” I say quietly. “And you made sure no one suspects otherwise. You got what you wanted.”
“I didn’t want anyone to find out because …
Well, it’s not that I’m embarrassed of you so much as what we .
..” He stops and scratches the back of his head before he starts again.
“Sorry. That’s not ... Look, what I’m trying to say is that I don’t usually care what anyone thinks of me.
I haven’t stayed chaste this long without earning some criticism or having to defend my choices, and a big part of my motivation thus far was to set a good example for my siblings.
So it was more important for me to keep what happened between us quiet because I didn’t want it to seem like I was condoning—Wait, that’s not quite it, either. ”
I cross my arms over my middle. “What makes you so sure I wasn’t just as embarrassed for people to find out about us? I made it clear from the beginning that a casual hookup was all I ever wanted from you.”
He flinches, but I continue. “And I basically lied to my only friend on your behalf, so don’t you dare act like telling Daisy the truth was a sacrifice for you.”
“I know, I’m sorry. That came out all wrong.”
“You say that a lot for someone so nice,” I retort, though I’m already feeling guilty about my rant.