Chapter 33 The Real Thing
The Real Thing
Claire stood over her open suitcase, hair damp, towel long forgotten. She stared at her clothes like one of them might whisper the plan for the day.
“I have no idea what we’re doing,” she mumbled to herself, eyeing a pair of white shorts and a navy henley.
After a beat, she shrugged. “Might as well look cute and comfortable.”
She stepped into the shorts, tugged the top over her head, and checked her reflection. Not too much. Not trying too hard. Just... enough.
As she bent to zip the suitcase, she heard it.
“Have you been waiting for me like that?”
Claire glanced between her legs—and saw Jaxon leaning against the doorframe, grinning.
She smirked. “Not like this, but... whatever works.”
He crossed the room in three easy strides and kissed her, fingers grazing her waist.
“Morning,” he said. “How was yours?”
“Shower. Breakfast. Read the note you left about twenty-seven times. Thank you, by the way. That was... sweet.”
He started loosening his tie. “I try.”
She watched the way his fingers worked the knot. Effortless. Casual. Dangerous in that quiet way men are when they don’t even realize what they’re doing.
“So,” he asked, pulling the tie free, “what’s the plan?”
“I figured we could explore a little. I looked up a few things.”
Jaxon grabbed a pair of khaki shorts from his suitcase, tugged on his favorite t-shirt, and laced up his sneakers.
“Honestly, I’m good with whatever. Just happy to be out of dress clothes.”
They headed downstairs and made it through the lobby. But when Jaxon turned toward the sidewalk instead of the rental, Claire paused.
“We’re not driving?”
He shook his head. “It’s too nice out. Let’s walk. We’ll figure it out as we go.”
Claire fell into step beside him, the city unfolding ahead in afternoon light. As they passed glass storefronts and flower stands, she thought back to something he once told her.
“Touristy spots are fine. But if you want the soul of a city, go where the locals go.”
She smiled to herself, remembering the exact tone of his voice. Confident. Certain. Like he didn’t just explore places—he understood them.
Come to think of it… since they left for the airport, he hadn’t once pulled out his phone to look anything up. And yet, somehow, he always seemed to know where to go.
They turned a corner and stepped into a tucked-away shopping strip. Claire’s eyes lit up.
A couple of local boutiques.
An old-school diner with checkered floors.
And a coffee shop with a crooked sign that read Spilt Beans.
“How did you even find this place?”
Jaxon grinned. “When you went to the restroom at dinner, I asked our server for recs. Told me this spot was worth checking out.”
“Why the server and not the concierge?”
He shrugged. “Because the server lives here. He’s not trying to impress anyone—he’s telling me where he goes. The concierge would’ve sent us to some polished mega-center with valet parking and a celebrity-owned gelato place. I don’t want the nicest, Claire. I want the best.”
He motioned to the diner across the lot.
“That place? Bet they’ve got the best burgers in the city.”
Claire looked at the half-empty booths. “But it’s dead.”
“It’s one. Lunch rush is over. Locals here probably get a half-hour max. Come back at six, and it’ll be packed. Line out the door.”
She laughed. “And you know this how?”
“Because every city has that spot. The hole-in-the-wall that serves fries better than Michelin-star places. It’s not about the lights—it’s about the flavor. Trust me.”
Claire looked around again. The colors. The smells. The charm that didn’t try to sell itself. The way his world never felt like an accident.
And maybe that was what was getting to her the most.
He didn’t just know how to plan a day.
He knew how to make it feel unforgettable—without ever saying that was the goal.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye.
And quietly, almost guiltily, she thought—
This doesn’t feel like a trip anymore.
It feels like the beginning of something that might be impossible to walk away from.