12. Because of You
Chapter twelve
Because of You
Jack
Itell myself I'm not watching the Monroe house.
I'm standing at my kitchen sink with a mug of coffee, staring out the window in that general direction, but that doesn't mean anything.
The yard between our houses is still dark with wet patches from the storm. The air coming through the open window smells like salt, rain, and damp wood that will probably take the next few days to dry.
Just in time for another storm.
My attention drifts to Claire's porch.
More specifically, the swing.
It's still hanging wrong.
Not dangerously wrong anymore, thanks to the rope holding it in place, but crooked enough that looking at it makes my hands itch to fix it properly.
I don't remember it bothering me this much when Claire wasn't in town.
Now it's apparently the only thing I can see.
I set my mug down and look at Dusty, who's sprawled across the kitchen floor like he doesn't have a single problem in his life.
“Must be nice.”
Dusty blinks up at me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my tool bag and head outside.
The swing needs to be fixed. That's all. I'm tired of catching it out of the corner of my eye every time I look out the window.
There's no reason to point out that I can only see the thing from one particular window and only if I angle my head slightly.
The explanation works well enough for me.
I cross the yard and step onto the Monroe porch.
The house looks different somehow.
Nothing has actually changed, but there's a sense of life around it that wasn't there before. Like the place knows someone is living inside again.
I don't know why I notice that either.
I set my tool bag beside the swing and get to work.
This time, I have the right hardware. New chain links and a sturdier hook that I definitely didn't buy specifically for Claire's porch swing.
They just happened to end up in my cart the last time I was at the hardware store.
An accidental purchase.
It happens.
Fortunately, my accidental purchase means I can fix the swing properly this time. The kind of fix that will hold through storms and summers and the weight of someone sitting here for hours.
I'm crouched beside it, tightening a bolt, when the front door opens behind me.
“Jack.”
My name sounds like an acknowledgment and a question.
Mostly, What are you doing on my porch again?
I keep my attention on the bolt for another few seconds, partly because I want to finish tightening it and partly because looking up means dealing with whatever expression she's wearing.
“Good morning.”
“It's afternoon.”
I finally look up. “It's still morning somewhere.”
Claire stands a few feet away with her sleeves rolled up and her hair pulled back. There's dust on her clothes and a faint smudge along one arm, like she's been cleaning or sorting through things inside the house.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
The answer seems fairly obvious.
“Fixing it.” I nod toward the swing. “So you can actually use it instead of standing inside and worrying that it'll launch itself through a window.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “I thought you were done helping.”
“I assure you, I'm not helping.” I raise my hands in mock surrender. “I'm merely correcting a problem.”
For a second, it looks like she's fighting a smile.
Then she clears her throat and the almost-smile disappears.
I stand and wipe my hands on my jeans. “Before you say anything else, I know you told me not to touch it.”
“And you didn't listen.”
“No.”
Claire crosses her arms and gives me a look. “You also told me I could go.”
I freeze.
Right.
Yesterday morning.
The memory comes back immediately. Claire standing in my kitchen. Her phone in her hand. Telling me it was her realtor checking on her.
Then confirming that, yes, she was still selling.
Something in me had shut down before I'd even had time to understand why. I'd gone cold and defensive and told her she could leave because pushing her out the door was easier than standing there thinking about what selling the house actually meant.
That Claire would leave Tidehaven.
Again.
I take a slow breath. “Yeah.”
She waits.
Apparently, I'm not getting out of this with one word.
“So, about yesterday...”
Claire gives a small nod for me to continue.
“I was a jerk.”
She stares at me.
Then blinks a few times, like she wasn't expecting me to say it quite that bluntly.
I keep going before I can decide this conversation was a terrible idea.
“You said realtor, and all I heard was leaving.” I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “I didn't handle that particularly well.”
Something in her expression shifts. She doesn't exactly soften, but she looks a little less guarded.
“I didn't mean to make you feel unwelcome,” I continue. “I know that's what I did, but...” I exhale. “I guess I didn't know what to do with any of it.”
Claire frowns. “Any of what?”
I gesture vaguely between us, immediately regretting starting a sentence that requires me to explain myself.
“This.”
Her frown deepens.
“Very helpful.”
I glare at her. “I'm trying.”
“Sorry.” She presses her lips together. “Continue.”
I look away for a second, toward the yard, then back at her.
“You being here,” I say. “You talking to me like we haven't spent years avoiding each other. You being in my house. You falling asleep on me like it was the most natural thing in the world.”
A faint flush rises in her cheeks.
At least I'm not the only one uncomfortable now.
“The whole thing felt...” I pause, searching for a word I don't particularly want to admit.
“Normal.”
Claire doesn't say anything.
Neither do I for a second.
Because that's the part I still don't know what to do with.
“It felt normal,” I repeat, quieter this time. “And then you reminded me that you're still planning to leave.”
I look down at the wrench in my hand.
“I guess it got under my skin.”
Claire stares at me for a moment before letting out a slow breath.
“Jack.”
I stay quiet. I've already managed to say more than I planned, and there's a good chance anything else will make it worse.
“I didn't come back to Tidehaven to fall into anything,” she says. “I came back to sell the house and leave before I had to feel too much. That was the plan.”
I nod.
I knew that.
I still hate hearing it.
Claire reaches for the swing chain and slides her hand along it, testing the repair without actually sitting down.
“But yesterday, when I was in the house...” She pauses. “It wasn't all bad.”
I wait.
“I kept expecting every room to feel like a punch,” she continues.
“And at first, they did. But after a lot of procrastinating, I started finding other things too.
My mom's handwritten recipes. The stupid dent in the hallway wall from when I tried to roller-skate inside because I was eight and apparently had no survival instincts.”
My mouth threatens a smile.
She immediately scowls at me. “Don't even think about laughing.”
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
“I was just thinking that's an impressive level of stupidity.”
“Thank you,” she says flatly.
There's enough amusement in her eyes to tell me I'm not in serious danger.
Her fingers tighten around the chain.
“Anyway, the house started to feel like mine again. Not just...” Her voice softens. “Grief.”
I don't interrupt.
I'm not sure there's anything I could say that would make that better, and for once, I know enough not to try.
Claire takes another breath. “So I don't know what I'm doing about the sale anymore.”
Something shifts in my chest, but I keep my expression neutral.
Or try to.
“I don't have anything useful to say to that,” I admit.
She gives me a faint smile. “Probably for the best.”
“Probably.”
“And I'm not making some big declaration,” she adds quickly. “I'm not saying I'm definitely keeping the house or moving back to Tidehaven or anything like that. I'm just saying I don't want to make the decision while I'm still...” She grimaces. “Wobbly. Which is Evie's word, not mine.”
“Of course it is.”
“But the point stands.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
Claire looks at me. “Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
She continues staring at me like she's waiting for the catch.
There isn't one.
“It's not something you have to decide in a day,” I say. “You came here pretty sure you knew what you wanted. Or at least it looked that way. If you're not sure anymore, then don't rush it.”
Her expression shifts slightly.
I don't tell her what I want.
Not yet.
It's her house. Her decision. And after spending years resenting her over something she didn't even do, the last thing I'm going to do is make her feel like she owes me a particular choice.
Instead, I step back and gesture toward the swing.
“Test it.”
Claire looks from me to the swing. “You want me to sit on it?”
“That's generally how you test a swing.”
She gives me a look.
“Unless you want me to do it,” I add. “But then you'll complain that I'm taking over.”
Claire snorts. “You would never.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Try me.”
She shakes her head, then turns and slowly lowers herself onto the seat.
The swing holds.
Of course it does.
It just needed the right hardware and someone to fix it properly.
Claire shifts her weight, testing it a little more. When nothing snaps, tilts, or attempts to launch her into the yard, some of the tension leaves her shoulders.
She rocks once and looks up at me.
“Well. It's officially not trying to kill me.”
I smile before I can stop myself. “That was the goal.”
She rocks a few more times, then pats the empty space beside her.
“Are you going to stand there and hover, or are you going to sit?”
“I'm not hovering.”
“You absolutely are.”
I hesitate before sitting beside her, careful not to jostle the swing too much.
We rock once together.
Then again.
Around us, the air still smells like rain and damp wood. Beyond the dunes, the ocean sounds calmer than it did yesterday, the waves settling back into their usual rhythm.
Claire's shoulder brushes mine.
Neither of us moves away.
I stare out toward the yard, knowing I should probably leave well enough alone.
I've already apologized.
She's already told me she's reconsidering the sale.
This is enough.
Except the words have been sitting somewhere inside me since yesterday morning, and now that she's beside me, I can't seem to keep them there.
“I don't want you to go.”
Claire's breath catches.
I turn toward her.
“I know you came here to sell the house. That's been well established.” I pause. “And I'm not telling you what to do. I'm definitely not trying to make the decision for you.”
She watches me without speaking.
“I'm just telling you the truth.” I swallow. “I don't want you to go.”
Her hand remains curled around the swing chain.
I could stop there.
I probably should.
But apparently, once I start being honest, I become an idiot.
“And not because of the house,” I add.
Claire's eyes stay on mine.
“Because of you.”
For a moment, she doesn't say anything.
Then she lets out a breath that sounds almost like relief.
“You're terrible at this.”
I frown. “At what?”
“Being honest.”
“I just told you exactly what I was thinking.”
“Yes, but you somehow made it sound like you're delivering a structural assessment.”
A laugh escapes me. “After all the glaring and general rudeness, this probably qualifies as a repair job.”
Claire laughs softly.
I like the sound more than I should.
Her hand moves from the chain and comes to rest over mine on the seat between us.
I look down at it.
For a second, neither of us moves.
I want to turn my hand over and lace my fingers through hers, but something stops me. Maybe because this already feels like more than I expected when I walked across the yard with a tool bag.
“So, just to confirm,” she says, “you're finished punishing me for something I didn't do?”
I look at her. “Yes.”
“Completely?”
“I promise.”
Claire nods, her thumb moving once against the back of my hand.
“And I don't want to feel like I have to leave just because leaving is easier than staying.”
“Then don't.”
The words come out before I can overthink them.
Simple.
True.
Claire holds my gaze as the swing moves gently beneath us, but everything else seems to go strangely still.
Her eyes drop to my mouth, then lift back to mine.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs.
I lean toward her.
Claire does the same.
But at the last second, I stop.
Barely an inch separates us now. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of her breath. Close enough that all I have to do is move forward.
But I don't.
Not yet.
“Claire?”
Her eyes meet mine, and I don't have to finish the question.
She closes the distance.
Her lips touch mine, soft and tentative at first, like we're both waiting for the other person to realize this is a terrible idea and pull away.
Neither of us does.
Instead, she leans closer, and the kiss deepens into something warmer. Something that no longer feels like a question.
My hand turns beneath hers, and this time, I let my fingers slide between hers.
Claire squeezes once.
It's such a small thing, but I feel it everywhere.
When we finally pull apart, neither of us goes far. Claire stays close, resting her forehead lightly against mine while our hands remain intertwined between us.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
The swing keeps rocking.
The ocean keeps moving beyond the dunes.
And for once, I don't think we need words.
We sit there for a while after that, the porch swing rocking gently beneath us.
Claire eventually leans against my shoulder.
This time, she's wide awake.
And this time, I know she chose to.
I look out toward the yard, then beyond it toward the dunes.
For years, Tidehaven has felt like something I needed to guard. The property. The boundaries. Everything my family had lost and everything I thought I needed to protect.
Sitting here with Claire beside me, it feels different.
Less like something I have to defend.
More like a place I might actually get to live.
Claire settles a little closer.
And I let myself stay right there with her.
The End