Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
claire
Oscar and Frankie take a few extra minutes to sniff the unfamiliar truck parked in my driveway when I let them out the next morning.
I smirk to myself when they each lift a stubby leg to mark the driver’s side tire.
They come bounding in proudly after that, and I reward them with a few bits of bacon, their favorite treat.
“Who’s Mama’s good boy? Hmm? Is it you, Frankenstein? Frankfurter? Frankie-Panky?”
Frankie seems unbothered and simply chews his bacon while I cup my hands around his face and pepper him with ridiculous nicknames. His brother stands by, tail wagging as he waits obediently for his turn. “And you, too, Ozzy. My little grouchy boy, Oscar Meyer, Oscar Isaac, Oscar de la Ren-ta.”
Oscar’s ears twitch, and the little shit abandons me in the middle of our daily affirmations to join Frankie in welcoming the room’s newest occupant. I roll my eyes when I hear Rowan greeting the dogs by name again in his husky morning voice and busy myself with pouring a cup of coffee.
Rowan clears his throat, presumably to get my attention, and I turn to find him standing there with a wiener dog draped over each of his forearms, grinning while they take turns licking his chin. It all seems wholly unfair, to be honest.
“Good morning,” he says cheerfully.
“Morning,” I reply flatly.
His eyes run over me before he seemingly thinks better of it, and he squints to focus on my face after that. “You’re up early.”
My brow lifts. “Did you take me for a late riser?”
“No, I guess not,” he says, chuckling to himself as he sets the dogs down. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine.” But I frown, because of course he’s going to be polite and cute, despite having a shitty evening before. And now I’m a jerk if I don’t engage with him, when I’d actually been hoping to find his truck missing by the time I’d gotten up.
“And you?” I ask after some hesitation.
“I slept surprisingly well,” he says, smiling.
I nod and fidget uncomfortably, since I’ve apparently forgotten how to do this morning stuff after living solo for the better part of the past year.
“That coffee smells heavenly,” Rowan volunteers.
“Uh, yeah. Help yourself,” I blurt out and take a seat.
“Thanks.” He smiles again and gestures in front of the cabinet, wordlessly asking for a mug after my awkward ass assumed he’d just drink it from the carafe.
“I don’t have any creamer or anything, but there’s sugar in that canister and milk in the fridge,” I add begrudgingly.
He shakes his head as he pours. “You took your coffee black last time, so I wasn’t exactly expecting a fancy peppermint mocha or a pumpkin spice latte.”
Remembering how I like my coffee earns him another eye roll. “Let me guess, creamer is another one of those comfort drugs you try to avoid?”
“More or less,” he says with a shrug and sits across from me. I notice he’s holding a string of beads in his hand. “Do you always have your morning coffee in the kitchen?”
“Depends on the weather, I guess. Why do you ask?”
“Just pictured you drinking your first cup of the day outside as you watch the sun come up,” he muses. “Or better yet, while you’re tending to your chickens in the backyard.”
I narrow my eyes, unsure of how I feel after his assessment. “I don’t have enough room for a chicken coop out back. Besides, it’s a little too chilly for that this morning.”
“All the more reason for you to invest in flannel PJs, or at least a fuzzy robe,” he drawls and takes a sip.
“Seems like a waste, since men don’t usually mind my slutty pajamas,” I retort, and his smile fades.
“Right,” he says quietly, keeping his icy blue eyes trained on his mug after that.
“I guess you’ll be needing a ride to Coach Reed’s soon,” I begin when I can’t take the silence any longer.
“If it’s not too much trouble.” He sounds distracted as he moves his fingers over the next bead on that strand.
It must be a rosary, like the ones I’ve seen Daisy and my Catholic great-grandmother use for prayer.
I’m tempted to point out the predictability of his morning habits, but he’d only take it as a compliment.
“Anything else while we’re at it?” I rise and tug down on my shirt self-consciously before I bring my mug to the sink. “Don’t worry, I’ll put on some pants before we go.”
“Guess I could use another do-over and the ability to say the right thing around you for once,” he mumbles before he crosses himself with the rosary beads and slips them into his pocket.
“You’re fine. It’s probably for the best if we weren’t really friends, anyway,” I say, my voice thick.
He huffs. “Is that why you needed to hear me say something insensitive again? So you could pretend you actually mean that?”
“It’ll make things easier for both of us,” I continue, ignoring him. “I’m going to get dressed. Be ready by the time I get back.”
I dry my cheeks when I get to my bedroom and slip into some jeans and a Camellia High FFA Chapter hoodie.
Rowan is waiting at the door by the time I return, rubbing his right eye again.
Because he’s still missing a contact lens.
And now I feel even more foolish, since he probably couldn’t see much of me in those shorts in the first place.
He bids the dogs goodbye while I turn to grab my keys and purse, and I click my tongue in annoyance when the keyring is missing from the hook where I left it.
“They’re in the car,” he calls out from the open door.
I glare at him and walk out to my Bronco, unable to hide my irritation when I discover it’s already warm and toasty inside, courtesy of the chivalrous asshole in the passenger’s seat.
We’re both quiet on the drive over to Landry’s dad’s house, and I take out my aggression on the shifter, jerking the car to a stop when I throw it into park.
Rowan lets out a loud exhale. “You’re not going to drive off as soon as I step outside, are you?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“It’s too bad I can’t call Tiana for a ride,” he says, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Then again, I don’t think she’d approve of what we’ve become.”
I snort. “There is no we, at least not in Camellia.”
“Yeah,” he says on another long sigh, as if he’s not the one who made that point abundantly clear last night. “I’ll be right back.”
I distract myself with my phone as he goes to knock on the door. This time, Coach Reed appears to let him inside, and I send Daisy a text while I wait.
Claire
Good morning, Mrs. Reed. How was that wedding cake?
It takes a minute for her to reply, but a giggle bursts forth as soon as I read her message.
Daisy
Best. Cake. Ever.
I’ve already informed my husband that I’ll be expecting a piece in bed every night. Luckily, he’s assured me that it would be his pleasure to continue serving cake on a nightly basis.
Claire
I love you. Don’t ever change.
“Weren’t you supposed to leave me stranded with Coach Sunshine?”
I wince at the sound of Rowan’s voice, and he stares at me as he plops down onto the passenger seat.
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t let you interrupt the newlyweds. From what I hear, your sister’s waited long enough for this,” I reply, though the bitterness in my tone is forced. He places the stack of borrowed clothes in the back seat, leaving a strong sense of dread and regret to settle in my stomach.
“Whatever the reason, I’m still grateful,” he says quietly, his hand covering mine, and I finally glance up at him.
“Thank you, Claire,” he adds. I swallow hard as I brace myself to withstand the warm, fuzzy feelings he’s sure to stir up. Those glasses he’s wearing and the light stubble on his jaw certainly aren’t helping.
“It’s nothing,” I barely choke out once he interlaces our fingers.
“It means something to me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, triggering a flashback from the night we met. “And so do you.”
I stifle a whimper when he brings my hand up to his mouth for a kiss. “Rowan, please … don’t.”
“I can’t leave things on a bad note again,” he tells me, then he flashes a rueful smile and loosens his grip.
I nod and tug my hand back before driving home on autopilot.
Rowan thanks me again when he says goodbye, but I barely allow myself to acknowledge him.
I wait until he drives away before I risk unbuckling my seat belt.
And it isn’t until I’m back inside the house and tossing the clothes I lent him into the washer that I find his boxer shorts tucked neatly between the T-shirt and sweatpants.