10. I Dont Hate You #2
I hold out the bottle of water, and her fingers brush mine as she takes it. The contact is brief and accidental, but this time she doesn't pull away like I've shocked her.
I notice the difference.
I'm not sure why I notice it, which is probably the bigger problem.
Claire twists the cap off the bottle. “So what happens now?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“You're just going to stop being rude to me?”
“I wasn't—”
She gives me a Look. Not just a look. A Look that makes it clear denying anything at this point is a waste of time.
I sigh. “Fine. Yes.”
She immediately points at me. “Stop stealing my word.”
I ignore that and glance toward the refrigerator, half expecting it to restart if I glare at it long enough. It doesn't.
Apparently, my glare has limits.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. The storm fills the silence instead, rain striking the windows while something outside rattles in the wind.
Claire's attention shifts toward the sound, and I see the change in her immediately. Her shoulders tighten and her body goes subtly still, as if she's bracing for something.
I've been noticing it since before the storm arrived.
Every time the wind hits the house harder or the rain intensifies, something in her changes. Even the flickering lights had put her on edge. It's never dramatic, and she recovers quickly enough that most people probably wouldn't notice.
But I do.
I want to ask her about it. Claire grew up in Tidehaven. Storms aren't new to her, so whatever has her on edge isn't just the weather.
But considering how hard she's trying to hide it, I keep my mouth shut.
“Back to the living room?” I ask instead, nodding toward the doorway.
Claire glances that way. “I suppose our entertainment options are limited.”
She heads back first, and I follow.
When we sit down again, Claire chooses a spot closer to me this time.
Not close.
But closer.
I'll take that as progress.
Not that I'm looking for progress.
Dusty immediately repositions himself so he can lie between us, pressed against both of our legs.
Of course.
Always has to be the center of everything.
Claire leans back against the cushion and stares toward the dark window. The lantern light softens her face, and I try not to look at her.
I fail.
“I didn't want to be alone tonight.”
Her voice is so quiet that, for a second, I'm not sure she meant to say it out loud.
I don't answer right away. She said something similar over dinner—that her house was loud even when it was quiet—and I didn't know what to say then either. I still don't.
So I settle for the only response that feels honest.
“Yeah.”
Claire glances at me, and for a moment, I wonder if that was the wrong thing to say. But something in her expression eases, and I realize maybe she wasn't looking for advice or reassurance. Maybe she just wanted someone to understand.
We sit there without talking while the storm continues outside, the silence between us more comfortable than it was before.
After a while, I notice her eyelids starting to droop. She fights it, of course, lifting her chin every so often as if she can keep herself awake through stubbornness alone.
Apparently, stubbornness is one thing we have in common.
Eventually, her shoulders relax and her eyes drift closed. A few moments later, her head tips sideways until it comes to rest against my shoulder.
I go completely still.
For a second, I barely breathe, waiting for her to realize what she's done and pull away. She's not fully asleep yet—I can feel the slight tension still lingering in her body—but she doesn't move.
She stays.
As her breathing slowly evens out, the weight of her head settles more comfortably against me. I stare straight ahead, trying to ignore the fact that my heart is doing something I don't particularly appreciate.
I should move. Shift just enough to wake her and tell her she'd be more comfortable in the guest room. That's the reasonable thing to do.
Instead, I stay exactly where I am.
And then, before I can stop it, a thought slips into my mind.
I want her to stay.
My chest tightens at the realization, because the thought feels bigger than this moment. Bigger than wanting her to stay here on the couch with her head resting against my shoulder.
Claire has made it perfectly clear that she's here to sell the house. Once it's sold, she'll leave Tidehaven again.
That should make everything simple.
It doesn't.
Claire's head rests against my shoulder like it belongs there, and Dusty is pressed against her side, completely content, as if he's been waiting for this exact moment since she walked through my front door.
I look toward the window.
Beyond the glass, the yard is dark and rain continues to fall in sheets.
I could wake her.
I could tell myself this is nothing more than a storm, bad timing, and two people who happen to be stuck in the same house.
Instead, I stay exactly where I am.
Because for the first time since Claire Monroe came back to Tidehaven, I'm not thinking about the Monroes.
I'm not thinking about the property line.
I'm not thinking about the development deal or my father's disappointment or all the reasons I've spent years telling myself she was someone I didn't want in my life.
I'm only thinking about Claire.
And I'm suddenly afraid that if I move even an inch, she'll pull away.
And I'll lose something I didn't realize I wanted until it was already here.