He did not need to invest himself in some small town in Maine, or in a woman whose blue eyes could suck the life out of a man...or give him enough fuel to survive anything. A woman who could make him feel like he owned the world, and then rip it out from under him the moment she deemed him unworthy. No, he didn’t need that again.
He yanked open the truck door and set his gear inside.
“Griffin?” Clare walked down the stairs. “Is everything all right?” Her voice was gentle and worried, and her eyes were filled with warmth. She barely knew him, and already she was opening herself to him, bringing him into her circle. She’d done it when she’d announced to the entire store that he could stay at her house, and she was doing it again.
For a split second, Griffin was tempted to let himself accept her concern, to yank her into his arms and breathe in the purity of her essence. But for what? So she could take it all back the moment he spent too long at the computer? Screw that. No more loss for him. He wouldn’t start down this path again, not when he knew where it would go. Clare was all about home and family, and she would eventually hate him just like Hillary had. “I have to go.”
Her forehead furrowed with concern, with worry, utterly without judgment. “Where?”
But he wasn’t going to fall for it. “I just need to go.” He started the truck, shifted into reverse, and peeled out of her driveway without looking back.
He would not go back to a world of accusation and blame.
There was only forward.
Only forward.
Only forward.
Chapter Seven
The Ox Hill Pub loomed dark and moody as Griffin sped down one of the side roads that had led off Main Street in town. Neon beer signs flashed in the window, and there were a scattering of pickups in the dirt parking lot.
Not the same as the bar at the Four Seasons, but he’d take it for now.
Briefcase in hand, Griffin yanked open the door of the bar and headed inside. Dark wood beams bisected the white ceiling, and the walls were bare wood, decorated with black and white pictures that seemed to document a hundred years of history. Farmers with their pitch forks. Old tractors. A couple of guys in hip waders holding some bass.
The low-lit bar smelled like a wood stove and fresh bread, and he was surprised by the hum of energized conversation. There were dining tables to the right filled with families who’d taken their kids out for an early Sunday dinner. But to the left was a bar. Quiet at this hour on a Sunday, and exactly what he wanted.
No one seemed to be attending the door, so Griffin headed inside, grabbed a table in the corner and set up his office.
Two beers and a burger later, he was immersed in Phillip’s file and the world of teen fashion. The creators of In Your Face jeans had expanded into jackets, and he was damned impressed. The two Berkeley grads had taken their start-up into impressive places, and were selling their product to some powerful outlets. They were onto something, and it smelled the same as Free Love Slippers had when he’d first scented that gem.
He clicked on a pair of jeans with the IYF logo on the hip—
“You’re a fashion guy?” Jackson Reed, the guy with the good tires, leaned over Griffin’s shoulder, peering at the computer screen. Jackson had spiffed up with a pair of dark jeans and a collared shirt. His hair was slicked back and the man was freshly-shaven.
“It’s a business I’m thinking about buying,” Griffin explained. This was his comfort zone. Business talk with a guy who invested in good tires. No one ever accused him of failing to deliver when it came to work.
“Yeah?” Jackson pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m thinking about buying out my boss. Risky shit, going into business on your own, isn’t it?”
Griffin couldn’t help but grin with satisfaction. “It’s the best deal on earth.” He hadn’t been accountable to anyone in years, and he would never go back.
“Yeah?” Jackson cocked an eyebrow, folding his massive arms over his chest, the body of a man who lived by hard labor, much like Griffin’s dad had. “What if it goes belly up? You lose everything?”
Griffin shrugged. “It’s a risk, yeah, but not likely if you know what you’re doing.”
Jackson barked with laughter. “Yeah, if it was that easy, everyone would be doing it. Hell, I’d have started my own company years ago.”
Griffin leaned back in his chair as the waitress set another beer in front of him. It felt good to have a little man time. “What’s your business? Construction?”
“Yep.” Jackson tipped his chair back and propped his booted foot on an empty seat. “Been with the same company since I was eighteen. Jeff Green took me on when I showed up here on my way to nowhere, and I’ve never left. This town was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Griffin didn’t bother to comment on that. “Why don’t you buy it?”
“Well, yeah.” Jackson let the foot fall back to the floor. “Jeff’s retiring, and he wants to hand it off to me.” He shrugged as he helped himself to one of Griffin’s fries. “Can’t do it now, though. Things being what they are and all.”
As if he had any clue what Jackson was talking about. “Why can’t you do it? It’s always the right time to go out on your own.”
“Why can’t I?” Jackson grinned suddenly, his face lighting up. “Shit, man, how do you not know? You’ve been in town for twenty-four hours. Everyone knows.”
Griffin ground his jaw. “Yeah, well I’m not tapped into the gossip chain yet.” At least when it came to others. Apparently, his personal life was a well-covered topic.
“Just giving you grief, my friend.” Jackson slapped him on the shoulder, then grinned. “Trish’s having a baby, big guy. A baby!”
Griffin blinked. “Trish?”
“My wife!” Jackson looked so proud Griffin half expected him to leap on the table and start beating his chest. “I’m going to be a damned father. Can you believe that shit?”
Griffin couldn’t help but grin at Jackson’s enthusiasm, and he raised his beer. “To the new dad.”
Jackson slammed his drink against Griffin’s so hard that the amber liquid sloshed over the table. “Hell, yeah, man. Hell, yeah.”
Griffin eyed the other man as Jackson took an enthusiastic slug of his beer. He couldn’t quite remember what his reaction had been when he’d found out Hillary was pregnant. In fact, he couldn’t even remember finding out. Just one day, his daughter was there. But he was pretty sure he’d never been as fired up as Jackson.
“So, now you see why I can’t buy out Jeff,” Jackson said.
Griffin tried to figure out the connection between the baby and Jackson’s inability to buy the business. “I’d think that now would be the time to make the move. Get the security of being your own boss—”
Jackson shook his head instantly. “And risk Trish and the baby? No chance.”
Griffin frowned. “How does buying out your boss risk them?”
“Don’t you get it, Griff?” Jackson leaned forward, his face serious. “They’re counting on me now. I have to provide for them. A house, food, clothing, all that shit. If I sink all my savings into a business, then I’ve got no security for them to count on. And what if the business tanks? We’ve got nothing.” Jackson shook his head. “Different story if I was single, but when you’re single, what the hell does it matter anyway? Who are you doing it for? The dog?” He grinned and his face was at peace. “I’ve got a new job now, and it’s not the one that pays the bills.” He slammed his fist on the table. “I’m on it, Griff. I’m going to be the best damn father any kid has ever had and—”
“Jackson? Sorry I’m late.” A woman with long blond hair streaming down around her shoulders waved from the entrance to the bar. She was wearing a thick sweater, but there was no obscuring the swell of her belly. She smiled at Jackson, her face beaming at the sight of him.
Shit and damn. Griffin had never had a woman look at him like that. Jackson was a lucky bastard.
“Trish!” Jackson
bounded out of his chair, his face glowing. He was by her side in an instant, his arm around her shoulders and his hand resting protectively on her stomach. “How are you?” His question was earnest, and he said no more as he waited for her answer.
She smiled and touched his cheek. “I’m great.”
“Good.” Jackson tucked her against him and turned toward Griffin. “Trish, this is Griffin Friesé. Griff, this is my wife Trish.”
“Nice to meet you.” Griffin nodded at her. “You’ve got a good man.”
“Oh, I know.” Trish smiled warmly at Jackson before turning back to Griffin. “It’s great to meet you. We’re so glad to have you here.” Trish beamed at him, and Griffin was surprised to see sincere welcome on her face. No judgment like there’d been from the others in the store. No fear that he would murder her unborn child or her grandma. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said cheerfully.
Griffin laughed softly, spinning his beer between his palms. “If you’ve heard that much about me, you shouldn’t be talking with me.”
“Griffin.” Trish walked over and took his hand, holding it between hers. He was so startled by the contact he almost jerked his hand away before she squeezed it with genuine affection.
“Thank you for taking care of Clare and the kids last night,” she said earnestly. “They were so lucky you were there for them.
Griffin stared at her for a second before he could muster up an answer, momentarily undone by the strength of her welcome. “It’s no problem,” he finally muttered, embarrassed but pleased.
She smiled cheerfully, a twinkle of mischief in her blue eyes. “Jackson and I are so glad that you’re in town and staying with Clare. She needs you.”
Griffin’s warmth at her welcome faded as he registered her comment. What did she mean that Clare needed him? Was Clare in trouble? No, no, no. He couldn’t go there. “I’m just renting a room at Clare’s. Nothing else.”
Trish’s smile widened. “No one just rents a room in Birch Crossing.”
“I’m only going to be here a couple days.” Maybe less. “I’m just passing through.”
“So was I,” Jackson said. “Twelve years later, I’m still here.” He slung his arm around Trish’s shoulders, and kissed her temple. “Gotta get my girl some dinner before she gets cranky. Talk to you later.”
“Yeah, sure.” Griffin leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head as he watched Jackson and Trish head off toward the restaurant section. Their heads were bent toward each other, and they were talking quietly. Intimately.
He pulled his gaze away, feeling like he was intruding, and he focused his attention back on the computer. Jackson might think the key to being a good dad was to be someone else’s workhorse, but Griffin knew better.
And as soon as he bought In Your Face and launched his new business, Brooke would see that he was the only father she needed.
But as Griffin scrolled through to the next product line, he couldn’t quite keep his gaze from drifting across the restaurant to the couple who’d just left.
But Jackson and Trish were out of sight.
With a resigned sigh, Griffin went back to work.
* * *
Almost six hours later, Griffin paused on the steps outside the back door of Clare’s home, listening for the sounds of activity inside the farmhouse. All was quiet, as he’d hoped. He’d worked until closing, and then he’d done another hour in his truck before driving back to Clare’s.
It was almost midnight now, and even Wright & Son had been closed and quiet when he’d driven by. Surely, Clare and Katie would be in bed by now.
He frowned at the thought. Yeah, his goal had been to walk into the house and be left alone to do his thing, but now that he’d managed to make it work...he almost regretted it. Was walking into silence better than getting grief from Clare for bailing on dinner? He thought of those intense blue eyes and wasn’t sure anymore.
Not that it mattered. He’d set it up the way it needed to be. He had one job to accomplish up here, and he was going to get it done, without distraction. Plus, as soon as he got inside, he was going to hook up to the Wi-Fi and send the emails he’d written to Phillip while at the bar, and get that moving as well.
He tested the door knob, wondering if would be open. Clare hadn’t given him a key, claiming that she never locked the door, and she’d ignored him when he’d questioned the wisdom of that (murderers abounded in this small town, yes?). Would she really leave it unbolted? Or was she going to punish him for bailing on dinner and lock him out?
But the chipped white knob opened easily, and Griffin stepped inside.
He was immediately assaulted with the scent of baking cake. The air was filled with chocolaty sweetness, swirling so thickly he could almost taste it. It reminded him of walking into his house as a kid, and having his mom in the kitchen. It had been years since he’d smelled cake baking in his own house. Domestic as hell. And it smelled damned good. He smiled. More cupcakes from the lawyer, apparently.
The house was dark, except for a faint glow coming from beneath the kitchen door. There were no lights from upstairs where Katie’s room was, or from Clare’s bedroom at the end of the hall. Just the kitchen.
Griffin shut the back door and headed down the corridor toward his room. But he paused outside the kitchen when he heard someone typing on a computer. Clare?
He reached for the kitchen door to push it open, then dropped his hand. For what purpose? So she could berate him about how he’d ditched everyone? How the kids had waited for him and he hadn’t been there? Screw that. He was going to bed—
“There are leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Clare said, her voice just barely audible through the closed door.
Griffin froze, waiting for more, for the recrimination, for the blame. But she didn’t say anything else. And she hadn’t sounded mad.
He’d walked out without an explanation or an apology. Was he really such an ass that he’d ignore this offer as well, and head to his room without acknowledging her?
Hillary would say he was.
Eppie would hope he was.
Katie would predict he would be.
And Brooke... would she even care anymore, or was she too busy with her new father? Dammit. He wasn’t the ass they all thought he was. But would Clare think he was if he ignored her this time?
He thought of her concern when he’d skipped out on dinner, the way she’d stood up for him in Wright’s, and suddenly he wanted there to be one person in the world tonight who didn’t think he was pond scum. And he wanted that person to be Clare.
So, he shouldered his brief case, shoved open the kitchen door and walked inside.
* * *
Griffin was well aware of how much he liked Clare’s captivating blue eyes. He was on board with his physical reaction to her in the store. He knew that she’d brought out the hero-wannabe side of him.
But he was still unprepared for the potency of his physical reaction to her when he walked into the kitchen and saw his disheveled and utterly unpretentious landlord hunkered down for a night at home. Her hair was up in a messy bun on top of her head. She was wearing faded jeans and a light pink tank top without a bra, revealing the soft curve of her shoulders and the decadently tempting swell of her breasts. No makeup, just her natural features. A silver chain with a heart pendant hung from her throat, nestled against her chest. There was white flour dusted across her shoulder, and pink frosting in her hair.
She was leaning back in her chair, knees propped against the table, her feet dangling to reveal rose-pink toenails. A folder was on her lap, a pen in her hand, and her laptop was open on the kitchen table.
She looked studious, intelligent and innocently sexy, all at the same time. He had a sudden, driving need to walk across that floor, ease his hand through those dangerous locks of hers, and allow his primitive side to take over.
She looked up at his entrance and gave him a weary but welcoming smile. “Hey,” she said.
�
�Hey.” He leaned against the door jamb, content to just watch her. The aggravation of the evening, the frustration of trying to arrange dinner with Brooke, the judgment by Hillary, the pressure to get a bid in place for the company he wanted to buy... it all seemed to melt away as he stood there, breathing in the fullness of Clare and her kitchen.
The cabinets were painted a shade of green that reminded him of the pine trees in her yard, and their carvings told him they’d been made back in the day when people took the time to create beauty and personalization in their work. The counters were old wood, polished and gleaming.
There was nothing new. Nothing pristine. No glitz. No glam. As far from his condo as it was possible to get. He’d spent a lot of money creating his haven, but this place...something about it eased him. Something about Clare eased him.
“Everything okay?” The buzzer from the stove rang out, and Clare hopped up, padding across the wood floor in her bare feet. Her voice was calm, her body relaxed as her hips swung gently as she walked. She was so natural, so comfortable in her own skin, so completely at ease that his entire body sizzled with the desire to claim her and lose himself in the magic that seemed to emanate from her.
“Yeah.” He realized that she really wasn’t mad at him. She wasn’t going to give him grief for bailing on dinner, which immediately made him want to apologize. “Sorry about taking off like that.”
Clare picked up a pink potholder with hearts on it and slipped it over her hand, looking at him carefully, as if debating whether to believe his sincerity. “You’re a boarder here, Griffin. Your life is your own.”
Griffin frowned as she pulled a tray of cupcakes out of the oven. They were a decadent chocolate brown and smelled amazing. “Yeah, well, I just wanted to apologize because I said I’d be there for dinner, and I wasn’t.” He did mean it, and for some reason, he wanted her to believe him. It mattered to him.
Clare set the tray on the counter and turned to face him. She gave him an understanding yet quiet smile. “Griffin. You rent a room here. You come and go as you please. I’ll always make enough food for you, and you can grab leftovers whenever it works for you.” She met his gaze, and her eyes were full of emotion he couldn’t decipher. “You will be leaving soon,” she said carefully. “And that’s good.”
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