Either way, it didn’t matter, because there was no such thing as love at first sight. Which meant I was free to forget about Claire; free to let her go on with the rest of her life; free to let her heal from her loss in peace.
There was no such thing as love at first sight.
By the time I opened up the front door to McCarthy’s, I no longer believed it. Because there was Claire, and I fell in love with her for the first time all over again.
She sat in the very middle of the bakery’s floor, at a tiny circular table for two. Behind her, racks of croissants and fresh loaves of bread lined the wall. Afternoon sunshine beamed through the large side window, showering the other wrought iron chairs and tables that were all painted in different colors. Claire sat at the pink one. The only occupied one. Which was fitting, because for me she could have been the only person in the world.
She wore jeans and a loose green tank top. Her hair was down, held back by a thick headband. She looked fresh, rested, without a trace of makeup on her face. She gazed evenly back at me, staring at me almost like she couldn’t believe I was there.
“Owen!”
I blinked, trying hard to adjust my vision. Claire had spoken, but her mouth hadn’t moved.
“Hey,” came the voice again. It wasn’t Claire. It was her sister, Gwen, sitting right next to her and seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
Gwen stood up. “How’s it going?”
“F-fine,” I stammered.
With a start, I realized I still held the door open. Taking a step inside the shop, I let it clang shut behind me.
“How are you two?” I directed the question at Gwen, not sure whether or not Claire was happy to see me. My best educated guess would be no.
“Good,” Gwen answered. “We’re just tasting cakes for my wedding.”
“Wow. Great,” I answered with a little too much enthusiasm. “That sounds like fun.”
“Sit down. Do it with us.”
“Um…” I peeked over Gwen’s shoulder at Claire, who smiled timidly up at me. She wasn’t being near as friendly as her sister, but it also didn’t seem like she wanted me to leave. “All right,” I decided.
Gwen grabbed a chair from the lime green table and pushed it up between her and Claire’s, then we both settled down.
“Where’s your fiancée?” I asked Gwen. “He’s not here to do this with you?”
“He’s in London all week. I’m going to send pictures of the cakes to him, and then we’ll decide.”
She didn’t sound very happy about the plan. Claire watched her sister, studying her, but when she saw me watching her, she snapped her eyes to me.
“How long have you been here?” Claire asked, speaking to me for the first time since I’d walked in the shop.
“Just a few days.”
She nodded slightly. “Ah.”
“What about you?”
“I got here yesterday. I’m just helping with some wedding things. I need to get back to the city tomorrow.”
“Claire’s my maid of honor,” Gwen explained, pulling out her cell phone and typing a text as she talked.
“Great.”
I hoped my paltry answer didn’t come across as too awkward. But, damn, I felt awkward. I didn’t know what the hell to think or how to feel. Should I have gotten in touch with Claire sooner? Maybe I had read her wrong in New York, and she’d actually hoped to hear from me?
No, that couldn’t be right.
I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She bit her bottom lip and looked out the window. Was it just me or did she seem incredibly uncomfortable?
Yes, it was me. More specifically, it was my presence. I didn’t need to be there. It wasn’t my place, whether or not Gwen had invited me.
I began looking for an excuse to leave. I didn’t want to do that, but I couldn’t keep being the asshole who constantly popped up just to make things awkward.
Just as I opened my mouth to tell them I’d forgotten I had plans with a friend, the swinging door leading into the back of the bakery flew open. A middle aged woman came out carrying a silver platter with half a dozen slices of cake on it.
“Here we are,” she sang out, setting the desserts down in front of us. She eyed me with curiosity. “Is he the best man?”
“Oh no.” I held my hands up. “Just stopping by. Actually, I should probably get going.”
“Stay,” said an unexpected voice.
I looked at Claire, wondering if I’d heard wrong. “Stay,” she repeated. “We need a man’s opinion.”
“Okay,” I said on an exhale. She kept her eyes on me as the woman turned and grabbed three forks from a canister on top of the display case behind her.
Our hostess began a grand explanation of the spread, pointing at each slice as she went along. “On the end is the chocolate with chocolate butter cream. Here we have the lemon curd, then the coconut featuring fresh strawberries between the layers. On this end, there’s the hazelnut-almond with chocolate ganache. Over here is red velvet with vanilla butter cream, and last but not least there is pumpkin spice cake with pumpkin pie filling and cream cheese icing. Let me know if you have any questions.”
The front door opened, and she hurried off to greet the new customer.
“Wow, pumpkin,” I commented. “That’s a little different for a wedding, right?”
Gwen opened the camera on her phone and started taking pictures. “Yeah. It was just a thought. You know, since it’s an October wedding and all.” She shrugged. “I’m sure we won’t end up going with that one.”
Claire spoke up. “Unless you decide to go with the Halloween theme.”
Gwen pursed her lips.
Claire chuckled. “I’m kidding.”
“Plenty of people get married in October.”
“I know, but no one who gets married in October goes with a Halloween theme. It would make your day truly special.”
Gwen stood up to get a different angle on the cakes. “I don’t have anything to say to that.”
Claire turned to me. “I think they should go with it. The groom can dress as Frankenstein’s monster, and she can be the bride of Frankenstein. It’ll be perfect.”
I laughed, more in awe of this comical and lighthearted side of Claire I’d hardly even glimpsed than of the actual joke.
“Instead of bird seed, they could throw candy,” I suggested.
“That’s good. I’m going to write that down. What about bobbing for apples? What do you think of that, Gwen?”
Gwen scowled and took her seat. “I’m not answering that,” she muttered, busily typing away.
“She’s sending Jason the play by play of the tasting,” Claire explained.
“Ah.”
Gwen sighed. “Yeah, unfortunately, this had to be done now. Any bakery that’s worth its while needs an order placed this week. I wish I’d known that before he took off on his trip. I would have scheduled this sooner.” She frowned down at the platter.
“Hey,” Claire said, “cheer up. I know what will help.”
“What?”
She picked up a fork. “Six pieces of cake.”
Gwen nodded but still looked sullen. “That’s true. Sugar helps everything.”
Claire handed us both forks, and we looked down at the cakes.
“Which one do we try first?” I asked.
“They’re all so pretty,” Gwen sighed.
“Pumpkin,” Claire announced, digging her fork into the end of the cake.
“Hold on!” Gwen pulled her phone back out. “Don’t mess it up yet! I have to take a picture of it.”
“Take a picture of me eating it.”
“No.”
“But how else are we going to record the enjoyment level that comes with each cake?”
“No.”
Claire waited while Gwen took her pictures then resumed charge, picking each cake that would come next. Twenty or so minutes later, after a second round of tasting, we’d only been able to cut out the lemon curd a
nd the red velvet, on account of lemon probably not being able to hold up in popularity with guests and red velvet being too “overdone” as Gwen put it.
The three of us stared down at the half eaten pieces of cake.
“I don’t know,” Gwen said. “Surprisingly, I love the pumpkin.”
“Does that mean you’re going with the Halloween theme?” Claire asked.
Gwen ignored that. “But I also love the coconut.”
“It’s my favorite,” I offered. “But some people really hate coconut. Or are allergic to it.”
“Hm,” mused Gwen. “The same with pumpkin…”
“Screw those people,” Claire said, taking another bite of the coconut with strawberries. “It’s your wedding, Gwen. Do what you want. If people don’t like your cake they can go home afterwards and help themselves to the frozen cheesecake in their fridge or whatever. You and Jason are the only ones who will even remember the cake ten years later.”
I gazed admiringly at Claire. “She’s right. I have to say, I agree with her.”
Claire smiled at me, light bursting over her face like a flash of lightning. Just as quickly, though, the smile dropped off, and she turned away.
My heart jerked. I wanted to say something, to ask Claire just what it was she wanted from me. When I’d first gotten to the shop, she’d seemed displeased to see me… and then she’s joked with me… and then she’d smiled… and then she’d not even look at me.
If it hurts you, I’ll go. I didn’t want to tell her that, but it was what I needed to tell her. Even though leaving would hurt me, I couldn’t stay if it pained her.
“You guys have a point,” Gwen said. “But unfortunately, it can’t really be that way. You have to take all of your guests into account. That’s the way it is at a wedding. People will be coming from all over. Aunt Edna is flying in from Mexico.”
“This isn’t your coffee shop,” Claire nearly snapped. “You don’t have to take people into account if you don’t want to. And what? They don’t have cake in Mexico? Or frozen cheesecake? She can eat some cookies on the plane ride home.”
I pressed my lips tight together in an effort to not laugh.
Gwen stared at Claire. “Yes, I do have to take everyone into account,” she said slowly as if talking to a small child. “If I didn’t care about the people coming then I wouldn’t have a wedding at all. I would just elope.”
Claire shrugged nonchalantly. “Then do that.”
Gwen barked out a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“Life’s too short, Gwen, to worry about what the fuck other people think about your cake.”
A heavy silence followed the statement. I looked from Claire to Gwen, wondering if I was about to be witness to a family quarrel.
Gwen didn’t retaliate though. “You’re right.”
Claire pursed her lips. “But you’re still going to do everything by the book.”
“I want to. It’ll make me feel better that way.”
Claire’s expression softened. She almost looked sad. “I know,” she whispered.
“What about two cakes?” I suggested. “I’ve been to a couple of weddings where they did that. It might have been because the guest list was so big, but it was also kind of nice to have choices. At one they had a big, main cake that was fancy and then a smaller, simpler one.”
“Yeah,” Gwen nodded. “That’s a thought. I really like that.”
Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up to answer. “Hello?”
While someone talked on the other end of the line, I looked out the window at the side street. We were at the edge of downtown, right where the shops ended and turned into houses. I briefly felt Claire’s eyes on me. I debated looking at her as well but was afraid of catching disapproval there. Her demeanor had been so up and down since I’d walked in, it was impossible to guess just how she might be currently feeling.
“Geez,” Gwen said into the phone. “Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Bye.”
She hung up and dropped her phone into her purse. “I have to go into the shop. The crazy ice lady is back.”
Claire’s eyebrows furrowed. “Can’t you just call the police on her?”
Gwen’s eyes rolled. “Don’t I wish. Apparently, it’s not about ice this time. She’s ranting and raving because there was water on the counter and it got on her wallet. Matt asked her to leave, but she’s still there. That’s not something you can call the police in for.” She sighed. “This might take a while.”
“I’ll let Lisa know you’ll give her a decision soon,” Claire said.
Gwen stood quickly. “Thanks. Nice to see you, Owen.”
She waved, and before I could answer, ran out the back door.
Claire’s eyes slowly moved to mine. “Yep.”
It was a word meant to fill the space, to cover up some of the extra awkwardness spouting up between us now that Gwen wasn’t there.
“Crazy ice lady?” I asked.
Claire shook her head. “Apparently, no matter how much ice you put in her latte, it’s never the right amount.”
“Wow. And to imagine there are people in the world worrying about where their next meal will come from.” I shook my head. “They should meet the ice lady. It’ll give them some perspective.”
Claire laughed out loud at my sarcasm. The sound made my heart lift.
“I need to go tell Lisa we’re done.” She stood and went to find the owner.
I waited in my seat, trying to resist the urge to turn around and watch her. Coming in through that bakery door, I’d been hit by so many things at once. Shock. Elation. Fear.
Was it a sign that I’d run into Claire just when I’d been conveniently convincing myself my deep feelings for her meant nothing?
Or was the truth just that I thought about her all the time anyway and, consequently, any running into her would seem like fate in action?
Either way, with the exception of the first couple minutes I’d been there, and then the other strained moments peppered in afterwards, she seemed a lot more emotionally stable than the other times our paths had crossed. Perhaps I’d worked things up in my mind and made them a lot worse than they were. Maybe she was finally healing. Had she been seeing a therapist?
“All right,” Claire said from right behind my shoulder.
I jumped up into standing. She gazed at me, an unreadable expression on her face. “I’m going to walk home.”
“I can walk you,” I offered.
She turned her face to the side and peered at me with the one eye.
“What?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
“All right,” she finally said. “That would be nice.”
I stepped forward to push the door open for her, and we moved together into the glaring sunlight. Summer had hit with an intensity that took my breath away. Every morning the stagnant summer air rose before the sun. If I neglected to turn the air conditioning on in the house the night before, going for the ceiling fan instead, the heat would be my alarm clock, rousing me with a hearty shake.
The only real respite could be found underneath the shade of a tree in the evening or inside somewhere where there was air conditioning and refills on iced drinks.
We walked past the insurance office next to the bakery, then along the white picket fence ringing the first house there.
“Hey,” Claire said. “Why did you come into the bakery?”
Realizing I hadn’t so much as thought about baguettes since walking through the door, I laughed. “Bread. I can get it later. Or skip it. It was just an idea for dinner.”
The baguette hadn’t been the only thing I’d forgotten. Even the name of the girl from the meet-up who I’d briefly thought about asking out had flown out of my head upon seeing Claire.
The slightest breeze hit us, kissing my face with its coolness.
“Do you want to walk down to the river?” Claire asked, surprising me. “It’ll be a lot cooler down there.”
“Yeah,” I answered, trying to not sound
too eager. “Let’s go.”
Though I knew the way, I let Claire lead. She crossed the street then took a right, heading down the road that only had houses on one side. The street turned into a narrow but paved walking trail, taking us away from town and into the lushness of the woods.
“If you take this to the end it comes out on Weaver,” she said. “Then you just double back half a block, and you’re at my parents’ house.”
“Wow. Nice. So is this the path you took when you snuck out as a teenager?”
She grinned at me. “No. But only because this trail hadn’t been made yet. Back then we had to hack our way through the woods.”
For a moment I thought I saw a flash of what teenage Claire must have been like. She was exuberant. Hilarious. Wild, perhaps, some might say. She was unbridled and open, daring and ready for whatever new adventure might come her way.
I could see bits of that imagined girl, nestled deep beneath all the pain and fear. I could also see how she might come out again someday.
Those thoughts were dangerous territory. I didn’t know what would happen between Claire and me. Since seeing her in New York, I thought I’d come to an agreement with my crazy heart: the things I felt for her were out of line, and I could take my liberties with feeling them, but acting on them would be impossible. Acting on them would make me a sleaze ball and result in her pushing me away.
If Claire needed anything in her life, she needed friends, just like everyone else.
I gave some thought to the best way to broach a change in topic.
“So,” I slowly began. “How have you been doing?”
They were heavy words, taking on so much more weight than they normally would all because of the last few months of her life.
“Okay,” she thickly replied. “Thanks for asking.”
I looked up at the tree branches stretching over the trail above us. They grew thicker as we walked, the trees further down the path becoming older.
Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) Page 9