Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
rowan
Claire and I are both silent as we lock up the barn and walk toward the house, waving to my dad when he acknowledges us from across the yard.
The rest of my family is still gathered around the kitchen when we get there, and I gesture for Claire to use the sink first as my mom starts doling out slices of homemade king cake.
“Yes, but they aren’t obligated to observe their Lenten penances on Sundays,” my mother argues, and Heath exhales in defeat when she places a piece in front of each of his children.
“So,” my brother begins once I’m done washing my hands. “I see why you weren’t interested in that blind date we’ve been trying to set up for you.”
My gaze darts over to Claire, who forces a smile and keeps her eyes locked onto the dish towel she’s folding.
“I’ve been busy,” is all I say.
My mom swats at my arm. “You’d better not be dating more than one woman at a time.”
“Oh, no,” Claire volunteers. “Rowan and I are just … besties. He’s free to date whomever he wants.”
My stomach bottoms out, and the way she rolls her lips in as if the words taste sour is the only thing keeping me from breaking down in front of everyone. The sympathetic look my brother exchanges with his wife is nearly enough to do me in, though.
“Besties?” my mom asks with a fist on her hip. “Is that slang for one of those open relationships?”
“It means they’re best friends and they tell each other everything,” Gertie leans up to whisper to my mother, who feigns understanding.
“Oh, right,” she confirms as she moves closer to Claire and wraps an arm around her waist. “Either way, we’re glad to hear Rowan and Daisy have been keeping such lovely company, and we’re grateful that they’re willing to share you with us.
You’re welcome here any time, Claire, even if you don’t plan on becoming a LaFleur officially. ”
My head falls back, and I let out a groan as the rest of my family laughs. “That’s real helpful, Ma. Thanks.”
“Well, someone has to propose to her, and you’re not getting any younger, cher,” my mom retorts, running a hand over Claire’s braid before backing away.
Claire’s cheeks pinken adorably, though I’m not sure whether it’s due to my mother’s overly affectionate disposition or the subject matter itself, and she clears her throat before she speaks.
“I mean, he has tried—you know what, never mind,” she says, waving her hands apologetically. “Thanks for the open invitation.”
I whimper and shovel king cake into my mouth, and Heath pats me on the back with a chuckle.
“Naomi’s still willing to set you up with her church friend,” he offers, sounding amused. My eyes flash to Claire’s again as I force myself to chew, though I couldn’t even name the flavor. And at this point, I wouldn’t mind if it were peanut butter filled.
“So what’s she like?” Claire leans over and directs her question at Heath. He furrows his brow, obviously not having expected her to call his bluff, but my sister-in-law speaks up.
“Her name is Cecelia. She’s a cute little blonde who teaches at our Catholic elementary school. In fact, Rowan’s probably seen her in Mass before. She wears a white mantilla and usually sits in the second pew on the left,” Naomi explains as she wipes purple icing off the baby’s chin.
“Yeah, I know exactly who she is,” I remark with a short laugh.
I barely catch Claire’s eye roll, but I perk up at the sight of it. At least I can always count on her face giving away what she isn’t willing to admit out loud.
“Mais ouai, ca c’est jolie,” my mom agrees, watching Claire’s reaction almost as closely as I am. “Maggie’s mentioned her before, too. I think they’re in the same Bible study group together … or maybe she’s kin to her in-laws.”
“Wow, she sounds perfect for you, Rowan,” Claire says after a while, her smile obviously fake.
I smirk at her. “She does sound nice, but I’m not sure she’s perfect for me.”
“What makes you say that?” Naomi asks.
“Eh, I think I’m into brunettes these days,” I muse, keeping my gaze locked onto Claire as her cheeks flush again.
I don’t even bother explaining that I already know Cecelia isn’t the one for me after Marigold insisted on setting us up over a year ago. Because it doesn’t matter. I’m not interested in going out with anyone other than the woman in front of me.
“Besides, I’m not looking to start a relationship out here while I’m working in Camellia half of the time,” I add after my mom’s reproachful huff.
“Funny, that commute didn’t seem to bother you when you went out with Landry’s sister,” Heath points out, and I elbow him gently in the side.
“Maybe he does have a thing for brunettes,” Naomi says, smiling in Claire’s direction. “Or tattoos.”
Claire stops mid-bite and tosses her head back to laugh, and the sound of it warms my insides. “No, trust me. Your boy is still on the hunt for perfection,” she says as her laughter dies down. “All I ever hear about is how badly he wants to find his soulmate.”
The corners of my mouth droop at the way she says the word, as if she’s invoking one of our inside jokes, only to make me the butt of it.
“I’m not looking for perfection, so long as she gives a shit about my feelings,” I mumble as I turn and dump the rest of my king cake in the trash, just as my dad walks into the kitchen.
“Athanasius Rowan,” my mom scolds me. “Language!” But it’s the disappointment in my father’s features that brings me the most shame.
“Sorry, everyone,” I apologize on a sigh before turning to Claire. “It’s been a long week. We’d better get on the road. Ready, bestie?”
She has the nerve to look remorseful as she sets down her half-eaten slice. “Yeah, we should get going. Thanks for breakfast and the king cake, and for the tour. I had a lot of fun today, and it was great to see all of you again.”
I’m not surprised when my parents take turns pulling her in for a hug, but the sight of Claire stooping down to embrace my brother’s kids is another one I’ll be committing to memory.
My chest tightens as she reminds Gertie how to care for their new lambs and promises to return soon for a shearing lesson.
And I nearly growl in frustration when she offers to swap phone numbers with Naomi so they can “text her anytime” with their livestock show questions.
To think, I once worried my family might judge Claire for being divorced. But now that she’s here, I should probably be more concerned about them adopting her and forgetting all about me.
My dad steps up to envelop me in a hug, and I welcome the distraction.
“Hey, I see you, son. Don’t give up. Remember, love is patient,” he says over my shoulder, and my breath catches in my throat.
I nod and force a sad smile for him when I pull away, and he slaps me heartily on the back, making me regret not asking for his advice sooner.
My mother’s embrace includes a warning about what will happen if I show up for Easter dinner without Claire or allow Daisy and Landry to starve out there in Camellia, as well as a kiss on the cheek and a reminder of how much she loves me.
Claire lets me lead her out to my truck and doesn’t protest when I get the door for her this time.
“Thanks again for coming along today and being so willing to help Giles and Gertie,” I say quietly once I reach the end of the driveway.
“I’m sorry about my reaction and for making that last part so awkward.
But my parents really meant it when they said they enjoyed having you over, and I …
” I pause to swallow hard, channeling that perseverance my dad alluded to, “I really enjoyed having you here with me.”
Her eyes are watery by the time I work up the courage to glance her way.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you. And I’m sorry, too.”
“For what?”
“It seemed like they’d gotten the wrong idea about us, so I thought I’d save you the trouble by correcting your mom’s assumptions, that way you wouldn’t have to worry about offending me when you set them straight.
But I made things worse for you instead,” she explains, her voice thick, and the rest of my anger melts away.
“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “Well, it’s not okay that you thought I’d be more embarrassed to tell my family you were my girlfriend than to admit that you’re not, but I guess that’s my own fault for letting you believe it.”
She sniffles and swipes at her cheeks. “I know how much their approval means to you.”
“Nothing means more to me than your feelings do,” I say, testing her reaction, but she doesn’t reply.
I hold out my hand, palm up, and she hesitates before she laces her fingers through mine. An involuntary sigh escapes as I revel in the contact, and I consider bringing her hand up to my lips for a kiss.
“You should go, you know, on that date,” she says after a while, popping my bubble.
“What?”
“That girl they mentioned, Cecelia? She sounds lovely. You deserve someone who can give you everything you pictured in your vision, and I bet she’d fit right in.”
I squeeze Claire’s hand. “You fit in pretty well with my family today.”
“Your family’s amazing. But that’s not what I meant. You need someone who—”
“So you want me to just forget about the way you make me feel and force it with someone else because she sounds perfect for me on paper?” I blurt out.
Claire lets out a loud exhale and tugs her hand free. “Go on the date, Rowan. You owe it to yourself.”
Why is it that the harder I try with her, the more I manage to screw things up?
I think back to some of the advice she’s given me, when she said I’ve been too nice in my pursuits, but I’m not sure I’ve been nice enough to Claire in the first place. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try being a little more assertive, though.
“Won’t you be jealous?” I force myself to ask.
She chokes on her reaction. “Why would I be … jealous?” she replies in between coughs, and I bite back a smile.
“You’ve had me all to yourself for a while. But if either of us started dating other people, our relationship wouldn’t be appropriate anymore. I definitely wouldn’t be able to hang out at your place.”
She lifts her chin indignantly. “Seems like a guy with your moral code would have considered coed sleepovers to be inappropriate from the jump. And what makes you so sure I haven’t been waiting for you to start going out with other women so I wouldn’t feel bad about getting back out there myself?”
I grunt. “I thought you said you couldn’t see yourself getting married again.”
“Who said anything about husband hunting?”
“So you plan on advertising that you’re not interested in anything serious?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
She snorts. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t want you wasting your time on the kind of man who’s willing to use you and leave you, especially since you’re more sensitive about that stuff than you let on.”
“Because that’s so much worse than the guy who’s always embarrassed to be seen with me, even though he knows better.”
I clench my jaw tightly in lieu of answering her.
“Don’t waste your energy worrying about me. I can handle myself. Besides, I could use a casual fling right about now, since I can’t even remember the last time I’ve gotten laid,” she says sarcastically.
“Yeah, well, you can’t forbid me from worrying about you and say something like that in the same breath,” I retort. “As your friend, I’m allowed to be concerned about your safety and your well-being. And your soul.”
“Look who’s back on his holier-than-thou bullshit,” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her middle.
“I guess it’s too bad you’re stuck with me for the next couple of hours, bestie.”
She growls, while my eyes instinctively graze the clock on my dash after I mention the time. I stifle a curse, and she winces at the sound of it.
“What now?” she asks defensively.
“I’m going to miss Mass this weekend,” I say, gesturing to the time.
“How did you manage that?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t go yesterday because I figured I’d make it back to Camellia before Sunday evening Mass. I guess I lost track of time, though.”
“Oh,” she says softly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I’ve been slipping lately, in more ways than one,” I reply, trying to curb my frustration. Regardless of our bickering a moment ago, I can’t risk letting her think she shares any of the blame for my carelessness.
She clears her throat. “Just look for a church on the way home. I mean, if it’s so important to you.”
“I wouldn’t want to put you out …” I glance her way as I trail off.
She shrugs. “It’s only, what, an hour?”
The tightness in my stomach begins to dissipate. “Don’t your parents live around here? I could drop you off while I’m—”
“No, you’d have to backtrack. It’s not worth the trouble,” she cuts me off to say, and I make a mental note to bring it up later.
“Are you sure?” I ask and watch her expression carefully.
“It’s not a big deal, Rowan. I’ll just scroll on my phone while I wait in the car.”
“Thanks,” I say with a nod, but I’m already formulating a plan in my mind.