Clover Creek (Sweet Southern Nights Book 1)

by Heather Michelle

  “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

  I bit at my bottom lip the way I always did when he said things like that, and I wasn’t sure what to say back. “So, I narrowed it down to two movies. You pick from there,” I finally said. I glanced over my shoulder on my way into the living room. “Oh, and you can bring the pie.”

  ***

  Of course, Jayce chose The Equalizer over The Best of Me. I didn’t know why I even gave him a choice. I should’ve known. Jayce was always an adrenaline junkie. Bigger, louder, and meaner always equaled better.

  Denzel was on his third kill of the night. Or maybe it was his fourth. I’d lost count after the death by pencil scene. Jayce pulled me against him around kill number two. My back rested against his chest. I was lost in his scent. It wasn’t all woods and musk like most men. Jayce was clean and soft, like fabric softener and fresh sheets.

  “So… Monica,” I started, and Jayce groaned.

  His chest rumbled against my back. It made my whole body vibrate.

  “Is no one you need to worry about,” he answered.

  “Really? Cause it kinda sounded like—”

  “Dinner. That was cancelled. With no plans to reschedule.”

  I wished I could see his face. I wanted to turn around, to see if he had that flinch in his jaw that he sometimes got. Or if his eyes were dark and serious instead of my favorite shade of golden-brown.

  “I dated, sure,” Jayce said after long seconds of silence. His chest heaved underneath me. “But it was always you. It’s always been you.”

  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Jayce kissed the top of my head, and I smiled. No matter how much I tried to run from it, it was always him, too. What I’d had with David wasn’t love. It was a game of charades that we both played to perfection. Until we didn’t. This —sitting here with Jayce-— being with Jayce, was love. It was realer than anything I had ever known.

  “What about you? You can’t tell me in the past thirteen years, you’ve never had dinner,” he asked.

  “More like food poisoning,” I said, and he laughed.

  There was no way I was telling him about David. Not yet. The day was full of more truth bombs and emotion than I wanted to deal with. One more bomb and we might not find our way out of the rubble. I would tell Jayce about my past, about the divorce. Just not yet.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jayce

  I woke up to the light sound of Claire snoring against my chest. She’d fallen asleep before the end of the second movie, and I didn’t last long after that. Her soft, warm body molded so easily into mine. I could spend all night, every night holding her like this and breathing her in. Our bodies were made for each other. I kissed her forehead then eased out from underneath her, immediately missing the warmth of her body next to mine. I wanted nothing more than to wake up like this every morning from now until forever. There was so much to make up for, so much we had missed. And I would give it all back to her, everything she deserved.

  The sky was still dark, and the house was quiet. I slid off the couch and grabbed my phone from the coffee table. It was 5:30 in the morning. I had thirty minutes until I picked up my dad for work.

  Claire stirred beside me, so I sat on the floor next to the sofa and stroked my fingers through her hair. She looked so beautiful as I watched her sleep. So peaceful. So content. Her eyes fluttered open, and she woke with a smile.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” I whispered.

  Claire rubbed her fingers over her eyelids. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

  “You did. During your movie pick, I might add.”

  “Hush you. That movie is awesome.” She reached a lazy hand forward and poked me in the chest. “It’s your fault. Your chest has always been my Kryptonite.”

  I remembered. All the nights in the back of my pick-up truck. We would park at the edge of the woods, where it was quiet, and watch the stars. Sometimes we would listen to music. Sometimes we would just enjoy each other’s silence. But almost always, Claire would fall asleep against my chest.

  A warm smile touched her lips, as though she remembered the same thing. She tugged at the collar of my black t-shirt. “Even though now it’s a bit more—”

  “Manly,” I interrupted.

  “Hairy,” she laughed.

  “As much as I would love to stay here and listen to your flattery, I should go. My dad will be waiting on me.”

  “You want coffee?” She started to pull the quilt off, but I stopped her movements.

  “I’ll grab some on my way to the city. I need to go by the office and tie up a few things before I come back and get Pops this afternoon.”

  “I can pick him up. You go do… whatever glamourous CEO guys do,” she teased with a smile. Then she waved her hand in the air, shooing me away.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I insist. Now, go. Make jewelry. Pose for magazines. Be important.” Her eyes lit up, and I knew that look. I used to see it on her face after every football game or award ceremony. Even though she was teasing me, she was proud.

  I wanted to tell her that I loved her, that I’d missed her, and that I’d see her again soon. But the words remained stuck in my throat. I’d said them a hundred times before. What was so different about now? I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. What was I scared of? This was Claire. I’d known her all my life. I’d loved her all my life.

  I gave up on the words and kissed her forehead, tucked the quilt tightly around her, then stood to leave. A gust of wind from the ceiling fan ruffled the top page of a bright yellow notepad across the room.

  I grabbed a pen and ripped the fluttering page in half. “Here’s my cell if you need anything.” I glanced over my shoulder at her as I wrote and winked, not knowing if she could even see my face in the dark. “Or if you decide you miss me.”

  “Well, try not to stay gone so long this time.”

  Fair enough. I’d asked for that one.

  “I’ll see you soon, Claire.”

  “See ya soon.”

  Monday morning had hardly begun, and I already looked forward to Friday afternoon.

  ***

  Big Al was the first to greet me when I walked into work. “Good morning, Mr. Sterling.”

  “Morning, Al. How was your weekend?”

  I knew the answer before I’d ever asked the question. It was always the same. The difference was, now I knew exactly how the burly security guard felt.

  “Beautiful, sir. Just beautiful,” Al replied, and I smiled.

  “Same here, Al. Same here.” I put my belongings in the clear plastic bucket then walked through the metal detector.

  Al eyed me curiously as he passed over me with the wand. He seemed to fight back a grin while he did his job in silence.

  “Good morning, Sydney. Is Garrett Frost still in town?” I questioned when I reached my eleventh-floor office.

  Her mouth fell, and she looked stunned. I’d never asked for Garrett on purpose. No offense to Garrett, I just usually had bigger clients to worry about— paying clients. Except today. Today, Garrett Frost was on the top of my list.

  Sydney pursed her lips while she clicked a few keys on her keyboard then looked up at me and grinned. “Yes, Mr. Sterling. We booked his return flight for tomorrow.”

  “Great. Cancel that flight. And get him on the line, please.” I slid my ID badge across the black magnetic plate on the wall. I pushed the door open then held it with my foot. “And cancel my morning meetings. I need to see Frost first.”

  Before I could drop a pod in my coffee maker, line one on my desk phone was flashing red.

  Sydney’s voice echoed through the room as I hit the remote on my window shades. “Mr. Sterling, I have Mr. Frost on line one.”

  Perfect.

  I took a seat in my Italian leather chair and kicked my feet up on the desk in front of me. The shades stopped rolling, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee surrounded me. I leaned back and smiled as I looked out of
the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sun-kissed sky. Life was good. I was happy. “Good morning, Garrett. Meet me at my office in an hour. I think I have something you’ll want to hear.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Claire

  “The hardware store usually sponsors the fireworks, but this year George just doesn’t have the funds,” Mrs. Abraham said with sad eyes.

  The island top in Gram’s kitchen was covered with fabric samples and samples of different finger foods and samples of samples. Printed recipes and pictures of decorations were scattered across every inch of granite. The Fourth of July had officially thrown up in Gram’s kitchen. Mrs. Abraham and I had been going over ideas for nearly an hour, and it was all starting to run together.

  “We can’t have Fourth of July without fireworks,” Mrs. Abraham said. She brought the ceramic coffee mug to her lips and blew to cool the liquid.

  She’d said the words like the universe would decide to jump straight from July 3rd to July 5th just because Clover Creek didn’t have a firework display.

  I rubbed my hand over her back then started collecting everything from the countertop. I picked up each piece of paper and every fabric sample until there was only one thing left— a photo of the front of the B&B.

  “This is all we need to get started.” I placed everything back in the canvas tote bag it came from. “And don’t worry about a sponsor for the fireworks. I just so happen to know a guy.” I took a pig-in-a-blanket and popped it in my mouth. “Mmmm,” I moaned. Then, I pointed at the plate of croissant-wrapped sausages. “We’re definitely having these on the menu.”

  Mrs. Abraham’s tight expression relaxed into a smile, and I swelled with pride. For the first time in… well, forever, I felt like I was doing something right.

  Until my mother showed up.

  “I brought chicken salad.” She set a loaf of bread and a Tupperware container on the now cleared off kitchen island. “Oh, what’s this?” She nodded toward the canvas tote.

  “I’m helping Mrs. Abraham with the Fourth of July festival.”

  Her shoulders stiffened and she cleared her throat. “Are you sure you can stay that long? I mean, David must be missing you by now.”

  If by missing me, you mean sleeping with his twenty-one year old hairdresser and humiliating me in front of the whole town, then I’m sure he’s miserable.

  I wasn’t having this conversation. Not here. Not now. “David is fine, Mom. I’m not leaving Gram.”

  My mother pulled back the Tupperware lid then grabbed four plates from the cabinet. “Well, it’s your life—”

  “Yes. It is. Now, can we just have a peaceful lunch?”

  “Don’t tell me this has anything to do with Jayce Sterling.” She spit her words like they were venom.

  I spread the chicken salad across slices of bread then cut the four sandwiches in half. “This is about me making up for lost time, time I can’t get back. This is about me being here for someone I love. And in the meantime, I get to help Mrs. Abraham and do something good for Clover Creek. That is what this is about.”

  That was my mother. She always had a way of making me feel like I was a witness in her courtroom. I was done defending myself. I opened a bag of Lay’s potato chips and handed everyone a sandwich plate.

  “Myra,” Gram said as she filled her plate with potato chips. “Would you say the blessing please?”

  I knew she wasn’t intentionally changing the subject, or maybe she was, but I could have leaned over and kissed her face right then.

  ***

  Mrs. Abraham spent the rest of the morning visiting with my mom and Gram while I let the siren call of Pinterest seduce me with its mesh bow tutorials and cupcake recipes. A sneak peek turned into a love affair. One pin, then two. Those things multiplied like rabbits. By the time everyone left, I’d pinned two-hundred and twenty-seven Fourth of July ideas to my Party Up board.

  I washed my mother’s Tupperware while Gram watched me from the breakfast table by the bay window. “You know, I always hated when your mother put celery in her chicken salad,” she said.

  I hated that too. The cranberries were weird, but I could handle them. But I’d always hated the celery.

  “I thought we could work on your flower beds this afternoon,” I offered. I wasn’t sure if Gram knew what kind of shape the beds were in, but I knew working in her yard was her favorite hobby.

  “I’ve been wanting to get in my flower beds for weeks. But that housekeeper…” she leaned across the table and spoke in a whisper, like she was worried someone else might hear. “I think she’s hiding my things. Nothing is ever in its place anymore. I can’t find my gardening gloves.”

  “I’m sure Annie would never hide things from you, Gram. I can check the closet by the stairs just to be sure.”

  Dementia. It was a sneaky little devil that preyed on the minds of loved ones. It snatched them up and buried them deep within themselves until only traces of who they used to be were left behind. But sometimes, if you dug deep enough, unwrapped enough layers, you’d find just enough of the broken pieces to remind you they’re still there. Gram was still here. She had to be. I wouldn’t accept anything else.

  ***

  Just as I’d expected, Gram’s gloves were in the closet by the stairs. We spent the rest of the afternoon pulling weeds and turning mulch, and Gram was happier than I had seen in days.

  I had just gotten off the phone with Stella, explaining that I’d be staying in Clover Creek most of the summer. Stella completely understood and promised to take care of things back at home. I looked down at my screen then at the bright yellow sheet of paper on the nightstand.

  “If you decide you miss me.”

  I did. I missed the way his smile made me smile too. I missed the sexy southern twang in his voice when he teased me about things that I’d probably trip other people for. And I missed the warmth that spread across my skin every time we touched.

  I dialed his number, and he answered on the second ring.

  “I thought you’d never call,” he said.

  “In case you didn’t notice, I’m kind of a hot commodity around here. It’s been a busy day. I even missed a call from Good Housekeeping. So, you’re not the only one with magazine cred,” I said through a grin

  “Should I get with your secretary and make an appointment?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve already got you penciled in.” I settled on the bed, resting my back against the headboard.

  When was the last time I’d talked to a guy on the phone? Other than my attorney, and he didn’t count. But like, really talked to a guy on the phone? I couldn’t remember. Even with David, all of our communication was through text. Now that I thought about it, we barely talked in person. A blind person could’ve seen the divorce coming from a mile away. Talking to Jayce, though, was easy. It was effortless. It was nice.

  “Anything exciting happen in the corporate world today? Did the stocks rise? Did your limo driver get a haircut?”

  Jayce laughed, and I wished I could see the way it made his face light up. “I don’t have a limo. Or a driver. Stocks are long. And I bought a company.”

  I nearly choked on air, and that was hard to do. “People buy shoes, Jayce. They don’t buy companies.” Who was this man and how was he the same boy who made me cut his hair because he refused to pay a barber?

  More laughter. “There’s this company we’ve been dealing with for years. The guy was in some financial trouble. I’m going to need an extra pair of hands around here if I plan on spending more time there. So, I bought him out, hired him, and we both win.”

  I only cared about seven of those words. The rest might as well have been jibberish. I plan on spending more time there. “Spending more time here, huh?” There was that warm feeling again.

  “I left you once. And I’ve spent almost half my life regretting it. I won’t ever do it again.”

  I looked down at the silver bracelet on my wrist. My fingertips ran across the etched detail of each stem and
clover, and I believed him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jayce

  It had been four days since I’d last seen Claire. We talked on the phone every day, all day. And when I was lucky, I got a few minutes of Face Time before bed. But it wasn’t the same as being next to her, smelling her, touching her.

  I was meeting Bennett for lunch, and he was late, as usual. I sat at a high-top in our favorite sports bar and watched videos of goats jumping on trampolines on the big screen. This is what ESPN had to show in the middle of a Friday afternoon?

  Three commercials and one bad cat video later, Bennett walked in wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap. Anyone who looked at him, would never believe he consulted million-dollar companies on how to spend their money.

  “So, Claire Cunningham, huh?” Bennett asked as he slid onto the wooden stool. No beating around the bush with that one.

  I dunked a tortilla chip in a bowl of queso. “Yep,” I answered then stuffed the chip in my mouth.

  Bennett waved the waitress to the table then took a chip from the basket. “Does she know? I mean… she had to ask why you bolted.”

  “She knows.”

  “And?”

  “And, we’re okay. Ben, you have no idea how amazing this woman is—” I was interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing. I held up a finger. “Hold that thought,” I said, then I swiped the screen displaying Claire’s name. “Were your ears burning? We were just talking about you.”

  “Jayce, I’m so sorry. It’s your dad.”

  There was so much pain in Claire’s voice. I felt the color drain from my face. I pulled out my wallet and slapped two, twenty-dollar bills on the table. Then I looked at Bennett. “I have to go.”

  ***