Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
claire
“Hey,” Daisy greets me when we walk out of school at the same time.
“Hey.” I force a smile, not because I’m unhappy to see her, but because I know I’m about to do something that will most likely ruin our friendship.
My pace quickens as we reach our cars in the parking lot, but she pauses before she reaches for the handle of her green Beetle. Juniper takes it as a sign to sit.
“How’s it going? I feel like I never see you anymore, especially since I’m only here a couple days per week.”
“Seems like you’re a busy lady now that you’re back on the road, making house plans, and hanging out with your in-laws, not to mention all the baby making,” I remark.
Her shoulders droop, but she looks up at me through wide, green eyes. “There’s always time for you, though.”
Dammit. This is what I get for befriending an actual Disney Princess.
“I guess we are overdue for a girls’ night,” I tell her and watch as her face lights up.
“We definitely are,” she agrees.
“Maybe we should plan something the next time your brother is in town, so he can keep your husband preoccupied,” I suggest.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” she says, “except Rowan might get jealous.”
I click my tongue. “He’ll be fine. I’m not his only friend.”
“No, but we both know he doesn’t see you as only a friend,” she reminds me. “And he’s certainly never looked at any other woman the way he looks at you.”
I drop my keys on the ground, hoping the move distracts her from the guilt written all over my face. “Then we should definitely plan to set him up with someone new. Put it on our girls’ night agenda.”
She sighs. “You’re going to break his heart.”
I cross my arms and stare down at my feet, unable to form a response.
“He deserves better, Claire.”
My eyes begin to sting, and I struggle to swallow the emotion lodged in my throat. “I know he does. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell him, but he’s not …”
She furrows her brow. “I didn’t mean better than you. I’m saying he deserves a chance with you. And you deserve to be loved by someone like him.”
It takes me a moment to find my voice again after that.
“As usual, you give me too much credit, and I think your brother is just as amazing as you are. But that doesn’t make us right for each other.
He’s looking for something I couldn’t give him, even if I wanted to.
And I wish I knew how to spare his feelings, but he can’t seem to accept that what we have now is all we can ever have. ”
“He’s never going to accept that,” she says with an incredulous laugh. “You’re asking him to ignore a direct order from God.”
I groan. Of course. I should have seen this sooner, but it makes sense that he’d be mistaking the need to fix me for actual romantic feelings.
“Well, I’d rather be alone than be his pity project … or yours,” I mutter and yank open the door of my Bronco.
“Claire, wait,” Daisy calls after me. I stop, but I don’t look her way.
“I understand what it feels like to be pitied, and it wasn’t that long ago I prayed for you to like me enough to become my friend, in spite of feeling sorry for me,” she explains, Juniper whining when her voice cracks.
“I wouldn’t be here asking you to give Rowan a chance if I so much as suspected he was motivated by pity.
But you have to consider the way he’s built.
You said it yourself—there’s no reason a guy like him is still single, unless he’s looking for perfection.
And now that he’s found it, do you really think he’ll be so easily discouraged? ”
I let out a tired exhale. “If you really wanted to save your brother from disappointment, then you’d help him see that he’s confused.”
Daisy smirks and gestures for Juniper to get into the car. “I’ve already done that, silly. It’s your turn.”
And with that, she ducks into the front seat and slips on a pair of shades.
She waves at me on her way out, her hand flying up to her mouth when she scrapes her rim on the curb, and I can’t help but smile, even if she did just simultaneously poke at my guilty conscience and stomp all over my plans for the evening.
Daisy’s intervention turns out to be at least a partial success, because by the time I get home, I’m not sure I can go through with the plot I concocted earlier this week.
I’ve been thinking the only way to get Rowan to move on is to convince him that I have, so I took the plunge and responded to a DM I received a while back from one of Jeremy’s old coworkers.
As luck would have it, within seconds of extending a dinner invitation to Nick, I got a text from Rowan regarding my plans for the same night, setting up the perfect opportunity to at least make him believe I’m climbing back on that horse.
But I’ve been struggling to justify my plan since I made it.
I know giving Rowan an out is the right thing to do, but this feels worse than a quick Band-Aid rip.
I’d already been doubting whether I could follow through at the risk of hurting him and damaging our friendship, even before Daisy added another layer to the guilt settling in my gut.
I pull out my phone, thinking there’s a way I can still accomplish my goal while mitigating the sting.
Claire
Hey, sorry to bail at the last second, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come over after all. I’m not feeling well.
Rowan
Are you okay? Is there anything I can get you?
Claire
I’m fine, thanks. My stomach’s just a little off.
Rowan
Call me if you need anything. I’ll be right around the corner.
I groan, because of course he’s going to be sweet while I’m preparing to drive a knife through his heart.
Then again, this is exactly why I need to follow through with my plan.
Rowan really does deserve better, and he needs to understand that he won’t find the love of his life if he’s too busy doting on me.
With a renewed sense of purpose and a slightly more humane plan on deck, I force myself to get ready for my date and ignore the way my stomach cramps and roils as I prepare dinner. It isn’t long after I shove a pan of meat and vegetables into the oven that I hear the rumble of loud truck pipes.
Frankie and Oscar bark and circle my feet as I move to answer the door, but they don’t bother hiding their displeasure when it swings open to reveal someone other than their favorite blond-haired, blue-eyed doctor.
“Hey,” my date says with a crooked smile, his eyes immediately running over me.
He’s handsome, I suppose, though his style seems identical to my ex’s.
His dark hair and beard match the tattoos peeking out from above his collar and past the hem of his tight shirt sleeves, and I suddenly find myself wondering how I ever thought the cowboy-gym-rat look was attractive in the first place.
“Hey, Nick. Come in,” I reply, stifling a cough when his cologne wafts into the house before he does.
Frankie growls and snaps at Nick’s boot-clad foot the second it crosses the threshold, forcing him to sidestep and trip over Oscar. He stumbles and grabs my arm to right himself, nearly spilling the open beer bottle he’s already nursing.
“Sorry about that,” I say, shrugging out of his grasp to catch the dogs by their collars. “They can be a little bratty around strangers.”
Nick huffs out a laugh. “It’s fine. Guess I’d be the same way if my gut dragged the floor.”
“Yeah. Be right back.” I blink away my annoyance and haul Frankie and Oscar to their kennels, frowning when they begin whimpering.
“I’m sorry, guys. But you kind of started it when you tried to bite my date.”
Frankie howls in response, which translates to, You started it when you brought that douche into the house.
And I’m pretty sure Oscar yips out, I’m telling Rowan about this.
“This won’t take long, I promise,” I assure them before I shut the door behind me.
Then I clear my throat and adjust my boobs in preparation for my return to the kitchen, where I find Nick manspreading on one of the stools and twisting the cap off a fresh beer.
“Want one?” he offers as I walk past him to check on our food.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I mumble, cringing at the prospect of his beer breath.
“So,” he begins when I turn back from the oven. “What’s for dinner?”
I open my mouth to answer him, but I’m interrupted by the lock beeping, and my heart leaps when the front door swings open.
“Hey, it’s me,” Rowan calls out. “You stopped answering my texts, so I got worried—”
He cuts himself off abruptly as his gaze lands on the extra occupant, and I clear my throat.
“Um, hey. This is Nick. Nick, this is Rowan,” I say awkwardly.
Nick nods in Rowan’s direction. “ ‘Sup, man.”
“Good to meet you,” Rowan says, his voice just low enough to contradict the sentiment. “I guess I didn’t realize that date you mentioned was tonight,” he adds in my direction.
I shrug, forcing as much nonchalance as I can muster. “It was sort of a last-minute thing.”
“So … you’re roommates?” Nick asks hesitantly when the silence stretches too long.
“I live in Baton Rouge and only come to Camellia a couple of days a week for work,” Rowan answers. “I usually stay at my sister’s while I’m in town, but Claire lets me crash here sometimes.”
“What he didn’t say is that said sister just married his best friend, and he doesn’t like to hang around while they’re ‘trying for a baby,’ ” I explain to Nick.
Nick forces a smile and draws an imaginary line in the air between Rowan and me. “And the two of you met … how?”
Our eyes lock as we silently debate how to answer that question.
“His sister and I are coworkers,” I finally manage to say.
“Right.” Nick furrows his brow, probably trying to make the connection between “coworker’s brother” and “guy friend who stays over on the regular.”
Another uncomfortable silence ensues until Rowan speaks up. “Well, I can see why you weren’t answering the phone, and it’s not because you’re sick, since you’re obviously entertaining a guest. So I’ll just leave this here and head over to Daisy and Landry’s. Sorry about the interruption.”
He steps forward to drop a grocery bag onto the counter, backing away just as quickly. And even though this was exactly the result I’d hoped for, I feel a flicker of disappointment when he doesn’t put up a fight.
“You didn’t have to ...” My voice gets caught in my throat when I realize he’s brought me another PMS care package, this one with two pints of salted caramel ice cream, one of them bearing a peanut-free label. “Thank you,” I croak out.
“Have a good night,” Rowan says, shooting me an apologetic smile before he backs out of the house and shuts the door behind him.
I stare at the empty doorway for a second before I hear Nick huff out a laugh, and I turn to look at him questioningly.
“He had me worried for a second there,” he says mockingly.
“What do you mean?”
Nick shrugs and takes a sip from his beer bottle. “Guy walks in like he owns the place, so I’m thinking he might be the competition. Then he apologizes, like he’s the one encroaching on my territory.” He chuckles to himself, and I frown.
“And what makes you so sure there’s no competition?” I ask, my tone hardening.
He glares at me. “If anything were going on, he wouldn’t have backed off so easily.”
I lift my chin and ignore the stinging in my eyes. “Maybe he’s just a nice guy.”
“Either way, I’m good. Women like you don’t do bad things with nice guys,” he drawls, leering at me before he takes another sip.
“And exactly what kind of woman am I?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest, but the door flies open again before I get my answer.
“Hey,” Rowan says, sounding a little out of breath, and I can’t help the thrill that runs through me.
“You’re back?” I ask.
“Yeah. I was going to leave when—funny story—I realized you never said you didn’t want me here,” he replies carefully.
Nick scoffs and shoots me an amused look. “She’s saying it now.”
Rowan’s eyes meet mine. “Are you?”
My breathing gets shallow as he continues staring at me, measuring my reaction. “I … I’m on a date,” I choke out.
“I know, and I’ll leave as soon as you tell me to go,” he continues, taking another step inside. “I just need to hear you say it.”
“Come on, bruh, she obviously—”
“Nobody asked you, Nate.” Rowan’s gaze doesn’t stray from mine.
“It’s Nick,” my date mumbles.
“Doesn’t matter,” Rowan says. “I’m talking to Claire.”
A smile creeps across my face. “Then keep talking,” I tell Rowan, and Nick grunts in protest.
Rowan smirks back at me and drops his overnight bag, letting it hit the floor with a deliberate thud.
“Maybe I’m tired of talking,” he says as he strides across the room and stops in front of me. Then he cups his hand over my jaw and pauses to raise his brow, wordlessly asking for my consent.
My chest heaves as I nod, and he leans in to capture my lips with his.
He hums when I yield to him and allow his tongue to slip inside, and I clutch at the collar of his shirt.
Within seconds, I lose the ability to think about anything else but this, his firm chest beneath my hands, his fingers intertwining with my hair, the way he tastes like he’s been sipping a cool glass of sweet tea in lieu of a room-temperature beer, and how amazing it would feel if I could just get closer.
I need him closer, and preferably less clothed.
I’m still wondering how to get Rowan to lift me up and carry me to bed when he finally pulls away.
“Sorry, Nick,” he begins, his voice gravelly and shiver-inducing. “But I think …”
But his apology dies at the sound of the door slamming.