63. Claire
sixty-three
I can’t believeI’m back here.
It has been almost a month since my last day at River Valley Middle School. And yet, here I am. Back on their payroll. Because I signed up to chaperone the stupid dance back when Nathan had asked me to.
I would have forfeited my position, but Penelope insisted that they had no one else to help out. She also insisted that I dress the part. When I refused, she dragged me to my closet to assemble my current outfit: the same green satin piece I’d worn to Halloween. The one with the tear in it. The one that, as soon as I slipped it on, brought pesky tears to my eyes.
I haven’t seen Nathan in almost as much time, and it still stings. He put the ball in my court, and I hate him for it. If he was a man, he’d be knocking down Penelope’s front door and begging for me to take him back, wouldn’t he?
No. That would make him a book boyfriend. And I’ve learned that they only exist between the pages. Not in real life. No, real life men stew and then regret their decisions when the one they had becomes the one that got away.
I step into the gym and take direction from Sam, who tells me I’ll be on the south side of the gym.
“Just make sure they leave room for Jesus and keep their hands above the butt,” he says.
I lift my brow and shake my head, laughing all the way to my post.
For the most part, this is the easiest hundred bucks I’ve ever made. The kids are mostly respectful, the music is decent, and I’ve gotten free punch all night long, brought to me by Rocco Thatcher himself. I decline a dance with him, but he does manage to convince someone his own age to cuddle up during a slow song. I sip my punch as my mind wanders.
Maybe Nathan and I were meant to be in each other’s lives for a reason. He pushed me to leave the cage of my parents’ house. I pushed him to the freedom he denied himself. That doesn’t necessarily mean we get to have each other forever. Maybe we were only ever meant to be chapters in each other’s books, not the rest of the story.
And yet, my mind still holds onto him.
Penelope has been casually dropping hints about him at home. When she mentioned that he took a sick day last week, I almost took a day off from my class to check in on him. Is it him, or is something wrong with Cal? He shouldn’t be going through any of this alone. If he’s still sick over me…
As if that thought alone were a spell, his cedar and vanilla scent wraps around me. I close my eyes, allowing one moment of peace with those memories before I peel them open, and there he is, standing before me.
He looks lighter. Less high strung. Less afraid.
I wonder what I’ve missed in the last month. Wonder if he’s moved on without me.
I offer him a small, pinched smile, and he extends his hand, bowing slightly.
“I believe I promised you a dance.”
My breath catches, but my heart is in the driver’s seat as my hand slips into his. Before he can drag me any further out onto the gym floor, I hesitate. He stops with me.
“Won’t it look bad if you and I dance together? In front of your staff?”
He nods curtly, then says, “It’s not going to look any different than Sam and Juliet over there, or Lucy and Aaron ten minutes ago. And besides, you aren’t my staff anymore.”
That insinuation sits heavily in my stomach, and I let him drag me out onto the gym floor.
We’re stiff for the first verse and refrain of the song, dancing as awkwardly as the teenagers are with his hand on my waist and the other clutched in mine. I don’t know what to do, what to say. Not when the only thing I actually want is to give into the urges that my heart is screaming feel like home.
“I messed this up, Claire. This is on me. This is my fault.”
Short, sweet, and to the point.
His voice is low and raspy, pressed to my ear now as he leans down to speak.
“You were right.”
My eyes, that had just fluttered closed at the sound of my name on his lips, snap open, my gaze flicking to his.
“My parents’ death wasn’t my fault. But this rift between us is.”
The empty chasm where my heart has been residing floods over. He drops my hand in favor of cupping my waist in both of his, seeming to ground himself there.
“I don’t know how to do this—to trust in other people. I barely trusted Dr. Marty and June to take Cal on those few nights when my classes and Cal’s school schedule didn’t align. I don’t let people in easily, but you barreled into my life, and now I don’t know how it works without you in it. I know now what it looks like to speak through the burdens on my heart, and that’s because of you.”
He stutters here, and I can’t help the hand that slides up to squeeze right over his heart.
“I don’t want to do that alone any longer. I want you by my side. In my life, so that we can lift each other up, and remind each other of the things we don’t think we deserve. Because you deserve the world, Claire. I just hope I can deserve you enough to give it to you.”
The slow song ends. Some high-energy, high-octane, TikTok song makes every single adolescent in the room start screaming as they rush the dance floor. My lips part, but I can’t even hear his name on my tongue, let alone piece together anything I’d want to say to him.
He squeezes my waist, then presses his lips to my ear and says, “I’ll be in my office after the dance. Go enjoy your night.”
And with that, Nathan Harding, assistant principal at River Valley Middle School, known to students and staff as “Hard-Ass Harding,” joins a circle of jumping, thrusting, twerking middle schoolers.
I can’t help but laugh.
And the moment the dance is over, I hightail it to his office.
“Should I wait up for you?” Penelope calls after me.
“Nope. Lock up!” I toss over my shoulder.
He is waiting right where he said he’d be. Behind his desk, checking emails, because the man never stops working. The sight of his soft, relaxed smile when I close the door behind me takes my breath away.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.”
Immediately, he pushes away from his computer, standing to join me in the middle. Even though I practiced this speech over and over again in my head all evening, the only words I can get out are, “Penelope said you took a sick day last week. Are you okay? Is Cal okay?”
He smiles, huffs a laugh, and reaches for me.
“Everything is fine. I wasn’t sick. I actually played hooky.”
“You faked being sick?” I ask tilting my head in disbelief.
“I did.” He smirks, wrapping his hands tentatively at my waist. His face softens as he says, “I took off work to go talk to Cal. We worked things out, and made a decision about our financial situation and the house moving forward.”
I blow out a breath. “God, you are always right to the point, aren’t you?” I chuckle.
“I try to be. I don’t want you to have to read between the lines when it comes to us anymore.”
His gaze turns stone serious.
“I’m selling the house. I found a smaller, more manageable property, fit for two people and a few big dogs. I decided to use my inheritance to hire a company for the new build—fit with a custom library that will be bigger than the one in the study. All I need to complete it is the woman I wouldn’t be complete without. The woman I’ve been in love with far longer than I once would’ve admitted.”
I gasp. My heart stutters like a choked engine as I blink away the disbelief.
He’s selling the house. He’s building a new house. He…
“You said the ‘L word.’”
He tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, smiles, and says, “I said I’m in love with you, and I meant it with my whole heart.”
My own swells, picturing his growing three sizes bigger with those three gestures toward our future. I grin, shaking my head as I clutch the lapels of his jacket.
“In the name of not having to guess, is this you asking me to move in with you?”
“When you’re ready. I’m not fit for games, and I know what I want. You can stay with Penelope as long as you’d like, but our bed will be waiting when you’re tired of going home at night.”
Our bed? Oh, fucking swoon.
I swallow around the ball in my throat, licking my lips as I try to fend off the tears.
“Nathan Harding…” I shake my head, unable to tamp down my smile. “Did you fake sick for me?”
He only smiles, shaking his head as if I don’t quite get it just yet. Cupping the side of my face in his big, strong hand, he says, “I’ll give you the world if you’ll let me, Claire Benson.”
I can’t hold back any longer. I press up on my toes and I kiss the man I’ve fallen in love with.
Kissing Nathan feels like coming home. Our mouths move lazily but hungrily, like we’ve missed each other, but we know we have all the time in the world left to make up for it. We part after what feels like days, and he rests his head against mine.
“I love you, too,” I breathe, against his smile, for only us to hear. “I love you, Nathan. We’ll take on whatever comes next together. Please keep talking to me, though. Don’t get lost by yourself inside your head again.”
“Together,” he echoes, exhaling in relief. “As long as I have you to pull me out onto the other side, we’ll always find our way. I love you.”
He takes me back to his place, and we don’t stop making up for lost time between our bodies until the sun is peeking over the horizon. My head rests on his chest, my fingers drawing absentmindedly through his chest hair. Suddenly, he picks up my hand and inspects it.
“Your nails aren’t painted.”
“The polish came off, and I didn’t have the heart to fix it myself.”
He kisses every one of my fingertips, and though I’m much too sore and exhausted to go another round, I can’t deny the heat in my bones at the gesture.
“Pick out a new color, and we’ll get this fixed tomorrow.”
“My hero,” I sigh, propping myself up on my free elbow to cup his cheek and kiss the bridge of his nose where his glasses would be if he hadn’t discarded them before demanding that I sit on his face a little after midnight.
“I’m really going to miss this place,” I sigh, taking my spot against his chest again.
“I am too. But it’s not the walls I’ll miss. It’s the memories. And I’m more excited about the new ones we’ll make together than the old ones here.”
“Okay, sappy sentimentalist. I’m definitely going to miss the library!”
I sit up, tugging the sheet over my torso as I go. He follows, laughing with that brilliant, carefree smile. The one I hope sticks around for the years to come.
“I already told you, it’s a custom build. They’ll give you anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“Try me.”
“Rolling ladder?”
“Done.”
“Window seat?”
“I already added one to the list—along with a fireplace.”
I smirk, adding my last amendment.
“Okay, big shot: One bookshelf at belt height, wide enough for me to sit on, that’s specifically for you to fuck me on?”
He growls. I giggle, falling onto my back as he falls on top of me, heat in his eyes despite the bags that are there too. He kisses me tenderly, then pulls back to brush the hair off my forehead.
“I love you. I know I’ve already said it a dozen times tonight, but I don’t want you to go a second without knowing how much my heart beats for you, Claire.”
I fan my fingers down his cheek, pressing my lips and my own I love yous to his mouth as I let him tug the sheets back over us, and prove it to me as the sun comes up.