14. Claire
Claire
I couldn’t keep myself from grinning like a fool. Every time I thought about the kiss, my heart did a little somersault. The feel of his lips on mine had ignited something deep within me, a warmth that spread through my chest and made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t in years.
Christian and I walked back to the inn, the crisp afternoon air wrapping around us like a silent companion. The Christmas market had been beautiful, and despite his initial reluctance, I sensed he might have enjoyed it a little.
As we reached the inn’s porch, I turned to him, hesitating for a moment. “I should check on my grandmother.”
“Yeah,” he replied, his voice low.
We stood there, staring at each other. The night seemed to hold its breath, waiting.
“Right,” I said, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. “Well, if you want to come down for dinner…” My words trailed off. I was babbling. “Um, anyway, thanks for coming with me today. And I—” Biting my bottom lip, I felt the heat rise in my face again. “Right. I'll see you.”
Christian nodded, his eyes never leaving mine.
I turned quickly and headed inside, scurrying down the hall, feeling my heart race.
Once I was out of sight, I pressed myself against the wall and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
Despite my best efforts to maintain composure, a smile broke out across my face that I couldn’t suppress even if I tried.
When I heard footsteps approaching, I quickly turned around, half expecting to see Christian himself standing there. Instead, it was Mrs. Jensen from down the road, coming in for her usual cup of tea and chat.
“Morning, Claire,” she said, eyeing me with a knowing smile. “You look positively radiant today.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Jensen,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just another busy day at the inn.”
“Oh, don’t try to fool an old woman,” she chuckled. “There’s something different about you today.”
I felt my cheeks flush and quickly changed the subject. “Would you like your usual Earl Grey?”
Mrs. Jensen gave me one last amused look before nodding. “Yes, please.”
As I prepared her tea, I couldn’t help but steal glances out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Christian.
Who was I right now, some kind of middle school girl?
But he was nowhere in sight. Part of me wanted to find him and kiss him again, but another part was afraid of pushing too hard and scaring him away.
I quietly made my way down the hallway to check on Grandma.
Her room was always a haven of warmth and love, filled with the faint scent of lavender and the soft glow of her bedside lamp.
Pushing open the door, I saw her resting peacefully, her silver hair spread out on the pillow like a halo.
She looked so serene that it brought an involuntary smile to my face.
I didn’t want to disturb her, so I gently closed the door and tiptoed back out. My own room beckoned with promises of solitude and a hot shower, something I desperately needed after the emotionally charged day.
Once inside, I headed straight for the bathroom.
The steam rose as soon as I turned on the water, enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth.
Stepping under the hot spray, I felt my muscles unwind, tension melting away with each passing second.
It was like washing away all the questions and speculations that had been swirling in my mind since Christian arrived.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, I reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out.
Wrapping myself in a towel, I walked over to my closet.
The soft fabric of my favorite sweater called to me, so I pulled it on along with a pair of jeans.
Simple but comforting—just what I needed.
I glanced at the clock and realized it was time to start getting ready for dinner. Taking a deep breath, I went downstairs to prepare. There was something soothing about cooking; it allowed me to focus on something tangible, something real amidst all the emotional turmoil.
I decided on making stew. It was the perfect dish for a chilly evening, something hearty and comforting. As I chopped the vegetables, I found myself humming Christmas songs. The familiar tunes brought a sense of normalcy, grounding me in the moment.
Jane, the other cook, bustled around the kitchen with her usual efficiency. "You seem to be in good spirits today," she observed with a sly grin.
"Just trying to get into the holiday mood," I replied, stirring the pot and watching the ingredients meld together.
The dinner rush arrived in full swing, filling the inn with the hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware. The distraction was welcome; it allowed me to focus on serving dinner rather than dwelling on Christian.
I moved between tables, refilling drinks and delivering plates of steaming stew. The scent of rosemary and thyme filled the air, mingling with laughter and chatter. As I approached one table, a couple caught my attention with their hushed but intense conversation.
"Never should have gotten involved," the man muttered, his eyes darting around as if checking for eavesdroppers.
His companion leaned closer, her expression one of disdain. "I'm not surprised he's here. I doubt the British government wants anything to do with him."
I felt a jolt of curiosity but tried to remain professional as I set their bowls of stew down gently. "Enjoy your meal," I said, offering a polite smile before turning away.
Their words echoed in my mind. Hong Kong? British government? What had Christian been involved in? The questions swirled around like leaves caught in a winter windstorm. I knew he was in the SAS, but what did that even mean?
As I continued serving other guests, I couldn't shake the conversation from my thoughts. It seemed everyone had an opinion about Christian—some sympathetic, others suspicious. My own curiosity about him only deepened with each passing moment.
Returning to the kitchen to fetch more bread rolls, Jane gave me a knowing look. "Everything all right out there?"
"Just another busy night," I replied, keeping my tone light.
But as I stepped back into the dining area, my mind kept circling back to Christian and what he might be running from. The answers seemed just out of reach, tantalizingly close yet frustratingly elusive.
For now, though, there were guests to serve and an inn to run.
As dinner was wrapping up, I saw Christian enter the dining area. My heart skipped a beat. His hair was damp, and he wore a clean shirt. It looked like he had taken a shower too.
"Take a seat," I called out to him, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'll get you some stew."
He nodded and found a table away from the crowd, his usual guarded demeanor in place. As I ladled stew into a bowl, I noticed the couple from earlier had stopped talking. They were staring at him intently.
I walked over and set the bowl in front of Christian. "Enjoy," I said, giving him a small smile before turning to address the couple. "Did you need something from him?" I asked with forced politeness. "You're staring."
The man leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "You're going to repel customers if you keep him here," he said bluntly. "You know that, don't you?"
"I know no such thing," I snapped back, my patience wearing thin. "And quite frankly, it's rude for you to make assumptions when you don't know anything about him."
The woman scoffed, her lips curling in disdain. "And it's na?ve to see the good in strangers."
The man's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "He's killed with his bare hands," he said. "Do you know anything about who you've let live here?"
I felt my blood run cold at his words but refused to show it. Instead, I squared my shoulders and met their gazes head-on.
"I trust my own judgment," I replied firmly. "And until I have reason not to, Christian is welcome here."
With that, I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving the couple to stew in their own suspicions. Reaching Christian's table, I noticed his eyes were on me, curiosity mingled with something unreadable.
"Dinner's on me tonight," I told him softly.
He gave a slight nod of acknowledgment before returning his focus to the steaming bowl in front of him.
As I moved back through the dining room, attending to other guests, the tension from the earlier confrontation lingered in the air like an unwelcome guest. But I couldn't let it deter me. Christian deserved a chance to find some peace here, just like anyone else.
Dinner continued without further incident, but anger flared inside me, hot and quick. I didn't like it. I didn't understand people sometimes. How could they judge so harshly, without knowing the full story?
For a second, I considered looking up the information myself. Maybe I could find out more about Christian, about his past, about what he was running from. But then I stopped myself. If Christian wanted to share, he would. And if he didn’t… Well, I'd respect that too.
I glanced over at him, sitting there quietly eating his stew. He looked up, and our eyes met for a brief moment before he returned to his meal. There was something in his gaze that spoke of a deep weariness, a kind of silent suffering that made my heart ache.
The couple who had been whispering about him finished their meal quickly and left without another word. Good riddance. The atmosphere in the dining room seemed to lighten once they were gone.
I busied myself with clearing tables and refilling drinks, trying to shake off the lingering tension.
As the evening wound down and the last few guests trickled out, I finally allowed myself to relax a little. The inn was quiet now, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the soft clinking of dishes being washed in the kitchen.
Christian finished his stew and stood up to leave. He walked over to where I was stacking plates.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You're welcome," I replied, offering him a small smile.
He hesitated for a moment as if he wanted to say something more but then thought better of it. Instead, he nodded once and headed toward the stairs.
As I watched him go, I couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for him. Whatever his past held, whatever demons he was battling, I hoped he would find some measure of peace here at my inn.
With a sigh, I returned to my tasks, trying to focus on the present rather than dwelling on the mysteries of Christian's past. After all, if he ever decided to open up to me, I'd be here ready to listen.
For now, though, I'd let him have his secrets.
I just hoped he'd kiss me again.