35. Clara
CLARA
IF YOU LET ME
“You have no idea how happy I am that you’re here,” I tell Tamara, taking the pot of chicken adobo off the stove and setting it on the trivet with a sigh.
“We’re bonded for life, best friend. You’re stuck with me,” she replies, flipping off the rice maker before grabbing two bowls and placing them on the kitchen counter.
Maverick left for Rochester a few hours ago. He sent the team ahead, but waited until Tamara arrived before following them. When he opened the door for her, she was armed with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, a grocery bag, and a non-negotiable demand to cook my favorite Filipino comfort dish.
Now, the rich aroma of soy sauce, vinegar, and garlic permeate the kitchen. I plate the food, giving Tamara extra potatoes and piling extra rice into mine—like always.
I carry both bowls to the table, carefully stepping around Juno, who’s weaving between my legs like a little shadow. Tamara grabs the wine and two glasses before sitting down, filling them to the absolute brim.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to pour that much,” I say, eyeing the deep red liquid sloshing precariously close to the rim.
“Girl, I’m not bougie. Why the hell would I pour half a glass just to refill it two minutes later? That shit makes no sense.”
“You’re crazy.” I laugh, shaking my head. With delicate movements, I bring the glass to my lips, sipping slowly and praying I don’t spill it all over myself.
Tamara lifts one shoulder and blows on a steaming spoonful of food with little effect. “What’s actually crazy is that I haven’t had this in… I don’t even know how long. You know it’s my favorite.”
“I taught you how to make it,” I remind her, raising a brow.
“Yeah, but it never tastes the same.”
I hum, knowing exactly what she means. My mom taught me how to cook a handful of Filipino dishes, but they never tasted like hers. And hers never quite tasted like grandma’s. There was always something missing.
Dinner passes in comfortable, familiar conversation. Tamara fills me in on the latest gossip at The Pour House—regulars who come in and ask her to “teach” them yoga—and how she’s garnered a decent clientele for her in-home yoga studio.
It’s impossible not to feel a twist in my chest. I’m proud of her—so damn proud. She’s chasing her dreams, living her life. But I’m envious, too. She’s doing all the things I can’t: chasing my dreams, living my life.
Juno must sense the shift in my mood. He lifts his head from where he’s been curled up beneath the table and rests it gently on my lap. He emits a soft whine until I automatically run my hand over his head, grounding myself in his steady comfort.
“You ever call that nurse from the hospital?” Tamara asks suddenly, setting her spoon down and reaching for her wine—the second one… also filled to the brim.
I freeze, my spoon halfway to my mouth. “Rosie?” I murmur.
Lowering the spoon, I sit back in my chair.
“No, I’ve thought about it. A lot. But everything’s just so chaotic.
I’m scared I’ll somehow drag her into it, and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her because of me, you know? ”
I swirl the wine in my glass, watching it catch the light. “But when this is over… I’d like to. She reminded me of my mom.” I pause, letting the ache settle in my chest. “It probably sounds weird, right? I barely knew her, and here I am saying she felt like my mom.”
Tamara’s lips pull into a soft smile, and she reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “It’s not weird at all, sister. She felt something too, or she wouldn’t have given you her number. You should call her. I wanna meet her.”
“Yeah,” I say, almost to myself. “That’d be nice.”
A beat passes, and then Tamara’s smile shifts into a grin—mischief blooming on her face. “So. You and Maverick.”
I laugh, then look down into my bowl. I can feel the blood rush to my cheeks.
“He’s… I don’t even know how to ex plain it.
It’s like he’s my rock. He keeps me grounded.
I feel safe with him, like I can breathe again.
Like I’m not broken.” I hesitate, my voice softening.
“I think I love him, Tam. But that’s insane, isn’t it? It’s too soon.”
“Best friend. Love doesn’t wait for permission. That shit doesn’t follow a calendar. And, last I checked, there isn’t a rule saying you have to wait months—or years—to fall in love.”
“I know. I just don’t know what happens after all this. What if he wants me gone? What if I only feel this way because we’ve been together constantly since the night my apartment was broken into? We haven’t even been on a real date. I can’t even leave the freaking house.”
Tamara shakes her head. “Well, that’s just not true because, first of all, ya’ll had breakfast outside. That’s basically a date. Like a romantic, rustic kinda date.”
“You know what I mean, Tam,” I say, rolling my eyes as I swat her hand.
“I do,” she says, her voice softer. “But you’ve been through hell. You deserve to be happy. And, best friend, he makes you happy—I can tell.”
“He does.” I rub my brow and sigh. “I just hate that I’m stuck. Remember all those romantic suspense books I read?”
“Girl, do I ever.” She wiggles her brows dramatically, pursing her lips in a kiss.
I ignore her and give her a pointed look.
“Those books always have that moment where the female main character does something simple, like step outside to grab a coffee or take a walk, and then the next thing she knows, she’s been kidnapped.
Again. And I know it’s fiction, but it’s stuck in my head.
I can’t bring myself to leave the house. ”
“You’ll step outside when you’re ready.”
“These walls…” I gesture around us. “They’re oppressive. But… weirdly comforting. Like a safety net.”
Tamara squeezes my hand again. “That’s not stupid. If the walls are what help you feel okay, then let them. And nobody wants you endin’ up like them girls in the books.”
She pauses dramatically, glancing at the ceiling as if she’s weighing something important. “Well… except when they get railed ten ways from Sunday.”
I should’ve known better. I should’ve known not to sip wine right then. I clamp a hand over my mouth, trying not to spray it everywhere. Laughing through my nose, I force the wine down, wincing as it burns my throat.
“Oh my god,” I cough, wiping a tear from my eye. “I freaking missed you.”
The soft snick of the locks snatch my attention from the TV to the front door. My heart gives a little jump, the flicker of fear shifting seamlessly into relief when the deadbolt slides back, and Maverick steps inside.
I watch silently as he tosses his keys and wallet onto the entry table. When his eyes find me curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over my legs, and Juno snoozing heavily against my side, his entire face transforms with a smile.
“It’s late, sunshine,” Maverick says, his voice low and worn. “You’re still up? ”
I glance at my watch. Nearly midnight. I lost track of time once Tamara left, and I started binge watching TV. Again.
I shift to sit up a little straighter, careful not to disturb Juno too much.
“Yeah,” I whisper, “I didn’t want to lay down without you.
” My fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket, and I duck my head, turning my attention back to the episode playing quietly in the background. “That makes me sound needy. I’m sorry.”
Maverick crosses the room in a few easy strides, stopping just in front of me. Mindful of Juno, he leans down, bracing his hands on either side of me, caging me in. His eyes study my face before softening.
“Don’t ever apologize for that,” he murmurs.
He lifts a hand, curling his finger beneath my chin and tilting my head up before pressing a lingering kiss to my lips.
I lean into him, savoring the moment—the soft comb of his fingers through my hair grounding me in a way nothing else can.
“I like that you waited for me,” he says, his lips brushing against mine with each spoken word.
Maverick places a kiss on my forehead before straightening, leaving me bereft without his warmth. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower, sunshine. Be right back, okay?”
My chin dips, a small smile tugging at my lips as I watch him turn toward the hallway. But a thought catches in my chest, tightening there until I can’t keep it inside.
“Mav?” I call softly before he gets too far.
He stops and turns back, pausing at the hallway entrance. “Yeah, sunshine?”
“Do you, uhm…” I trail off, gathering my courage. Live, Clara. With nerves fluttering in my stomach, I meet his gaze and push through the lump in my throat. “Would you like some company?”
His lips quirk, that familiar, heart-stealing smile pulling at his mouth. “You’re always welcome to join me, baby. You don’t need to ask.”
With that, he disappears down the hallway.
Steam curls around me as I step into the bathroom, my heart thundering. The air is thick and warm, the glass fogged. Maverick stands beneath the spray, water coursing down his back, his shoulders loose with exhaustion. He hasn’t noticed me yet. Or if he has, he doesn’t show it.
My stomach twists with nerves.
The last time I showered with a man in the same room, it was under watchful, controlling eyes. Eyes that violated. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, inhaling deeply and shoving the memory away before it can dig its claws in deeper. I won’t let it take this from me.
This is different. This is Maverick.
I exhale a shaky breath, willing my heartbeat to steady. I want this. I need this. I need to rewrite those dark memories and replace them with something real, something safe.
I take my time undressing, letting each unwanted memory—each unwanted touch—fall away as my clothes pile around my bare feet. When I finally open the shower door, a fresh wave of steam billows out.
Maverick turns, a soapy washcloth in his hand. His eyes find mine, asking without words if I’m sure about this.
I don’t have to think.