8. Youre Not Leaving #2
My first instinct is to tell her I've got it.
I don't need help.
Especially not from a Monroe.
The thought arrives automatically, an old reflex I've never bothered examining too closely.
I take a breath and push it aside.
“Will you grab the lantern?”
Claire blinks. “Your power is still on.”
“For now.”
The answer comes out sharper than I intend, so I force myself to lower my voice.
“Just grab it, please.”
She gives me a strange look but heads toward the kitchen. A moment later, she returns with the lantern and switches it on.
“Where do you want me?”
“Over here.”
She moves closer and angles the lantern toward the window frame. The extra light actually helps, making it easier to see where the water is working its way through the seal.
I crouch and press a towel against the bottom edge of the window before running my thumb along the corner.
There.
I reach into the coffee table drawer and pull out a roll of duct tape.
Claire looks at it.
Then at me.
“Duct tape?”
“Yes.”
“That's a surprisingly questionable choice for a professional contractor.”
“It works for temporary fixes.”
“Maybe I should've duct-taped my porch steps.”
I glance up at her.
She looks completely serious.
“You wouldn't have.”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
The corner of her mouth twitches.
I turn my attention back to the window before I do something stupid.
Like smile.
Claire shifts the lantern to follow my hands as I seal the worst of the leak. When she leans closer, her shoulder brushes mine.
Neither of us moves away immediately.
The contact lasts maybe a second.
Then I shift toward the window, and Claire adjusts the lantern like nothing happened.
Fine by me.
I ball up the wet towel and replace it with a dry one. The tape appears to be holding, but I leave the towel in place anyway.
Partly as insurance.
Partly so I don't forget to fix the seal properly before the next storm.
Claire studies my work.
“So your house isn't immune to storms.”
I look at her. “Nothing is immune.”
Something about the words makes the humor fade from her expression.
Her gaze moves toward the window and across the yard.
I follow it without meaning to.
The Monroe house is still dark.
Claire swallows but doesn't say anything.
Neither do I.
I don't comment on the way she holds herself so tightly, like she'd rather break than ask for anything else.
Another gust slams against the house, rattling the windows hard enough that Dusty gets to his feet and trots closer.
Claire looks down at him.
“Is he guarding me?”
“He's bored.”
The answer comes automatically.
Dusty immediately presses his nose against her leg.
Claire looks at me, the corner of her mouth lifting.
“He's a very friendly bored dog.”
I grunt.
What am I supposed to say?
I don't like how much Dusty likes her.
I also don't like that I don't hate it nearly as much as I should.
Claire heads back into the kitchen and sets the lantern on the counter.
“I guess I should go check on my house.”
“No.”
The word comes out with more force than I intend.
Claire turns slowly.
“Excuse me?”
I nod toward the window. “Take another look outside.”
She does.
The rain has become one solid sheet, blurring the yard between our houses. The trees bend beneath the wind, their branches whipping hard enough to make even the short distance between here and the Monroe house look like a bad idea.
“My house isn't far,” Claire says. “I only came over to see if you had electricity. And considering yours probably won't last much longer, I might as well get comfortable at my own place.”
“Stay until it calms down.”
She turns back to me.
“It's twenty yards, Jack. I'm not crossing the Atlantic.”
“I know.”
“Then what's the problem?”
“The problem is that it's dark, the wind is getting worse, and half the things on your property seem determined to become airborne.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Your window is leaking.”
“That's different.”
“How?”
“It's my leaking window.”
Claire stares at me.
I hear the words after I've said them.
“That made more sense in my head.”
Her mouth twitches.
I sigh.
“Just stay until it calms down. Otherwise, I'm walking you home to make sure you get inside safely.”
She rolls her eyes. “How gentlemanly of you.”
I clench my jaw.
“Fine. Don't stay.”
Claire lifts her eyebrows.
“But you're not leaving.”
She stares at me. “What does that even mean?”
I have no idea.
“It means—”
The lights flicker.
We both look up at the ceiling fixture as if staring at it will somehow convince the electricity to behave.
It steadies.
For now.
I grab another lantern, switch it on, and set it beside the first.
When I look back at Claire, some of the fight seems to have gone out of her.
Not all of it.
That would be asking too much.
“Sit for a few minutes,” I say, keeping my voice quieter this time. “Please.”
Claire hesitates before returning to the chair she'd occupied earlier.
Dusty follows immediately and flops down at her feet like he's been waiting for permission.
She looks down at him.
“Your dog is making himself comfortable, I see.”
“He's making you comfortable.”
The words are out before I can stop them.
Claire's head lifts.
“What?”
I clear my throat.
“I said he likes having people around.”
“That isn't what you said.”
“Close enough.”
“Not really.”
I give her a look.
Claire gives me one right back before reaching down to pat Dusty's head.
“Mm-hmm.”
I turn away before she can see how much I regret opening my mouth.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
The wind pushes against the house, rain lashes the windows, and Dusty settles more comfortably at Claire's feet.
I glance at her.
I don't mean to.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
She looks tired, but not in a way that has anything to do with the time of day. It's something deeper. Like the storm has pulled whatever she's been trying to keep buried closer to the surface.
For the first time since she showed up at my door, I don't think she's seriously considering going back to her house.
Maybe she's finally realized staying here is the more logical option.
Her house is dark.
The weather is getting worse.
And apparently half her property is a collection of hazards waiting for me to fix them.
But I have the uncomfortable feeling it isn't the electricity keeping her here.
Maybe she just doesn't want to be alone.
The thought settles somewhere I don't want it to.
I look away.
I've managed to avoid Claire Monroe for years, and now she's sitting in my kitchen during a storm with my dog asleep at her feet.
Stuck in the same house.
My house.
This is not how I planned to spend the evening.
The overhead light flickers again.
Claire and I both look up.
It steadies for half a second.
Then blinks once more.
And goes out completely.