“Jesus,” I exclaim. “Do you hear yourself? Who the heck do you think you are?”
“Oh, I know who I am. I don’t think you realize who you’re supposed to be.”
“One fancy party and now you think you’re… what? You act like you think you’re royalty.”
“Between Patrice’s family and ours, we’ll be the cream of our social circle, it’s true.”
I restrain myself from throwing my teacup at him, only because I really like this one. “Do you hear yourself, you snotty–”
My parents walk in, glaring at us already. “Simmer down, you two,” Mom snaps. “It’s too early for this nonsense.”
“Then tell Glen to stay out of my business.”
“Tell Claire that our family is better than a trash man, and she needs to watch who she spends time with.”
Before I can say anything else, Mom holds up her hands. “Silence.”
She turns to my father, fixing him with a glare that nearly comes with laser beam sound effects.
“You told Glen, didn’t you? That’s why he’s been acting like such a brat.”
Dad’s shoulders shift uncomfortably. “It’s not my fault that he barges into my office when I have certain paperwork open.”
“What are you talking about?” I snap with more vehemence than I intend, but at least it makes them pay attention.
Mom waves for us to all sit at the table before she speaks. “Claire, honey, we didn’t want to tell you this, for fear it would make you lazy or spoiled.”
She shoots my dad a look, but he just shrugs.
“For goodness sake, just tell me already.” My hands are in fists on my lap. “I have a very important meeting to get to.”
“Your Grandma Clarisse has a special tradition where she gives each woman in the family half a million dollars when she turns twenty-five.”
Is it possible for a person’s blood to just stop running around their veins? I swear, that’s what this feels like.
“What?”
“She grew up in a time where men controlled the money, the houses, the education. She wants to level the playing field. So instead of just an inheritance when, God forbid, she passes, she wants to boost the young women in our family when they’re young and need it most.”
“Seriously, five hundred thousand dollars?” I whisper.
“Yes. It’s completely yours and you can do whatever you want with it, but it’s generally understood that it will be used for further education, or a nice home. Something that will set you up to be successful throughout your entire life.”
“Why twenty-five?”
Mom smiles. “She read some study about the human brain continuing to develop until the mid-twenties. And she doesn’t want you to waste it on anything frivolous. She figures that’s an age where people are taking stock and look into the future.”
“I wonder if I had married you a year earlier whether you would’ve received it too, since that made you family,” Dad chuckles. “But mom already set me up quite well.” His smug expression reminds me of how furious I am with him.
“It’s completely unfair,” Glen grumbles. “Getting things handed to her just because she’s a girl.”
Dad shuts him up with a quick shake of his head. “Zip it, boy. Women have been getting shafted for thousands of years. Trust me, this is a good thing.”
Glen’s face scrunches up. “But she’s just going to shack up with that weird dirty guy from the–”
“Silence.”
I have to admit, I love the tone of voice Mom is finally using with Glen.
“It’s Claire’s first boyfriend. As long as he’s good to her, it’s none of our business. She won’t be getting the money for years anyway.”
“Besides, Shane could be quite wealthy by then, if he plays his cards right,” Dad says with a dark smile.
“You bastard.”
Three heads whip around to stare at me, open-mouthed, as I glare at my father.
“How could you walk into Shane’s shop, the one place he truly loves in the entire world, and suggest he sell it?”
“Claire, that place is worth a fortune, and–”
“And I don’t give a rat’s ass. You really upset him, which upsets me. Now he thinks that I’m not interested in him unless he’s wealthy.”
I stand up, ignoring my slightly quivering knees. “Right now, you’re all coming across as money grubbing assholes.”
The three of them have never been silent and still for a full ten seconds before. Strangely, it makes me feel powerful.
Dad looks stunned, hopefully with a side order of shame.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to work, kick ass at a presentation, get a promotion, then get my own apartment so I can have some space from you people.”
My hand brushes mom’s shoulder as I walk past. “Thank you for letting me know about the early inheritance. By the time I’m twenty-five, I’m probably not going to even need it.”
I rush upstairs to finish getting ready, then walk quickly to work.
My ears are almost ringing from the adrenaline aftershocks. I’ve never said such things before, with such volume. Strangely, it feels like I just grew up.
Pausing at Henry’s Coffee, I look through the window and see that Shane isn’t there.
Fine.
As I continue to walk to work, the realization unrolls like a red carpet before me. I want Shane. I need him.
After my meeting, I’ll go to his shop and tell him that I told my father off. I’ll tell him that I want him exactly the way he is. I don’t want him to change a single thing for me. Ever.
If I can find the words, I’m going to tell him that I love him.
No. I will find the words.
Turning the corner, I approach my building to see Shane standing in front with a large, flat leather pouch.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I say quickly. “Shane, I–”
“No time. Your meeting is in half an hour, and you need to prepare.”
Strangely, I absolutely love that he gets down to business immediately. He pulls me into the lobby so that we can sit on a bench opposite the security desk.
“You said you need indestructible, utilitarian notebook covers,” he says, unzipping the leather pouch.
He pulls out a stack of flat rectangles, all in pairs. Notebook covers.
“These aren’t punched with your little holes,” he says quickly, “since I didn’t know what system you use. But I’ve cut them in A5. That was the size of the samples you showed me before, right?”
“Yes.”
My hands glide slowly over the brushed aluminum, the thin sheet of copper, and something that feels like very hard industrial rubber.
“That’s a recycled tire,” he explains. “Guys who work with cars really love that smell. It makes them think of their first garage.”
“These are amazing. How did you…why did you even do this?”
“No time, just listen. I did a bunch of research online this weekend. You said most of your notebook lines have a cheap version, a medium version and an expensive version, right? If you create a line of notebooks and calendars for working men, rubber tires and buffed aluminum would be super cheap.”
He sets those covers aside on his knee, pointing to a few more. “We can do a copper blend, since it’s only decorative. That’ll keep the cost down for the medium version. There’s also brushed brass, or we could do light engraving.”
He pulls two more sheets out from the bottom and I actually gasp.
Everyone loves paper collages. The contrast of textures and colors, the handmade look. Somehow, Shane had created this aesthetic through super thin sheets of metal.
Asymmetrical brushed brass and hammered copper shapes overlaid a flat steel base. Yet there were no sharp edges. The entire effect was hard and soft at the same time.
“This could be the fancy line,” he explains. “Hand crafted, with bits of scrap metal. Looks super expensive, but would actually
be pretty cheap to create.”
“Wouldn’t these take a long time to make?”
Shane’s hand runs through his thick hair. “Not really. If I were set up for it properly, I could probably hammer out thirty to fifty sets a day. Or I could hire an apprentice. Or I could speak to your manufacturing plant and see if we could automate it.”
“No, I love the handmade look,” I say, as my fingertips graze over the different textures of the metal. “It feels amazing.”
My chin tips up, our faces so close together that there’s no way to ignore the heat between us. I’m so relieved that it’s still there. That those dark eyes are still hungry for me.
“Thank you for this,” I whisper. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“I fix problems,” he says. “Repair things. You know that.”
Staring up at him, I can feel the words on my lips, but I’m too scared to say them.
I love you, I think at him, hard. I love you. Can you feel this?
Shane hesitates, as his hand brushes my knee. Then he jumps into action.
“Grab your stuff.” He slips all of the covers back into the leather case, then hands it to me. “Remember, speak slowly and clearly, and take your time. You’re going to be great.”
He kisses my forehead, then turns me to face the elevator head on, his hands heavy on my shoulders. “No matter what happens, I’m already proud of you.”
I glance up to flash him a grin before marching into the most important meeting of my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
~ Shane ~
I don’t understand how women can be so chipper so early in the morning.
The first three customers of the day were all perkier than I’d ever been in my entire life. Even that time in high school when I chugged three energy drinks to see what would happen.
Yet they all bought boxes of antiques, raving about how excited they were to display them at their next dinner parties or whatever.
I have to admit, I’m becoming slightly more accustomed to chatting with customers. I don’t know whether it was from forcing myself to be social at Claire’s brother’s party, or something else.
Before, when I was in the back working with metal, I couldn’t help feeling like every time that bell rang, I was being interrupted. Now I’m trying to see it as matching people with the treasures they needed. A subtle mind shift, but it seems to be working.
When the store clears, I go into the shop area to start laying out the next few projects. Yet my focus is off. There’s no way my mind can stop thinking about Claire’s meeting happening a few blocks away.
What if my industrial looking covers are completely wrong for whatever it is they’re looking for? What if she doesn’t get the promotion, and it’s all my fault? I can’t stop stewing about it.
When the bell rings again, I quickly rinse my hands and come out front. “Good morning. How...”
Thud. Claire barrels into my arms hugging the daylights out of me.
I guess I’m forgiven for being a temperamental ass.
My arms hold her snugly against my chest. Her hair smells like honey and hay, as I breathe her in. “Did it go well, sweetie?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Picking her up despite her little squeal, I set her down in a chair at the table Mom uses to hold court. “Tell me everything.”
Her smiling eyes tell me the overall gist of it faster than words.
“Mr. Egler loved everything. And he adored your covers. His favorite high school class was metal shop, so I think he was a bit disappointed that he didn’t think of it himself.”
My arm slips around her shoulders to stay connected. “What else?”
“He loved all of my lines, and although he always makes a few tweaks here and there so that it’s in line with his company vision, it sounds like it’s all going to happen. He saw that I’d been a bit nervous, especially with the other investors and production people there, so he gave me the rest of the day off.”
I lean in to kiss her forehead. “I’m so proud of you, sweetie. I love that you’re such a hard worker.”
Something glimmers in her eyes, and I replay what I just said. It’s time to speak my mind completely.
Turning to face her, I take her hands. “Claire, I’m sorry I went off the deep end about your family. I’m going to try harder to get along with people.”
“I actually had an interesting talk with the whole family this morning.”
“Yeah? What happened?”
Her nose crinkles as she grins. “I called them assholes, and my father a bastard.”
I blink hard, then begin to chuckle. “I wish I had been there for that.”
“I’m so sorry about whatever Dad said to you. I don’t care about money. I never have.”
“It’s not just that,” I say, trying to keep my tone level. “They’re society people. Will they ever accept me if they think of me as the junkyard guy?”
“I made it quite clear this morning that I don’t give a damn what they think.”
My hand slips into the back of her hair, as I feel that hot prickle of desire run up my spine as I lean in to kiss her gently.
Pulling back to watch her reaction, I take a breath. “Claire, I know it’s fast, but it’s right. You can feel this is right, can’t you?”
She nods, those caramel eyes wide.
I glide my lips against hers, whispering, “Just you and me, sweetie. That’s all that’s ever going to matter.”
“Mmm hmm,” she murmurs. “Take me to your place?”
I chuckle, kissing her once more. “I’ve never slacked off on a weekday in my entire working life. Let’s go.”
While I quickly put a few things away, Claire grabs a sheet of printer paper and one of her fancy pens to make a sign, even tearing the top edge in that artsy way.
“Closed. Had to go pick up magic dust for the repair elves. Please come back tomorrow!”
I would never in a million years have allowed my mother to put such a sign on the door. Grabbing the tape from the gift wrapping table, I stick the page at Claire’s eye level, facing the street.
Then I stop, pondering.
What the heck, she should know.
Tossing the tape on the counter, I take Claire’s arm and lead her to a specific spot at the front window. “What do you see?” I ask.
“Henry’s. Why?”
She presses her back against my chest as I wrap my arms around her stomach. “This is where I stood every day, looking for you every morning for about two weeks before we met.”
“What?” She looks up at me, incredulous.
“I’ve never stared at a woman like that before. So I’d like to formally apologize for being a creep.”
She spins in my arms, stretching up to kiss me. “Take me home so we can stare at each other properly.”
“Whatever you say, sweetie.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
~ Claire ~
As I walk into Shane’s house, I’m relieved that I didn’t have any preconceived notions. He loves his work, and his business seems to be doing well, but that was obviously inherited from his father.
His home is his own space, so it should reveal a lot more about him.
It does.
The beautiful two-storey red brick house is slightly old-fashioned. Slightly minimalist. And very Shane.
As I hang my purse and sweater on a hook in the front hall, I look around to see more or less what I expected.
The entire first floor is one huge room, with the living room, dining room, and kitchen all flowing together. Everything is clean and tasteful. Tranquil. Yet somehow manly.
It is clearly his oasis to come home to when he was tired of dealing with customers, or projects that didn’t go his way. The oversized couch, the broad, sturdy coffee table. This was a place for him to kick back and rest.
It’s hard to analyze his home while he’s watching me, though.
“I love the colors,” I say, walking th
rough the living room. “You blend things well.”
“Hmm. Thanks.”
I take a stroll through his kitchen, noting the antique brass clock, and incredibly organized little glass spice bottles.
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