“I thought we might watch more Game of Thrones, but we can always do it some other night.”
An offer he can’t refuse. “I’d love to. Tonight.” He steps into the aisle and gestures her out.
In passing, she says, “I left them at your place, though. Is it all right to watch there?”
He slips an arm around her waist. “Of course.”
She glances up, wary. “Your daughter won’t mind?”
“Ella is at school. And even if she wasn’t, it’s my home.”
She relaxes against him. “I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“Never.” He will do anything for his daughters. After Jus died, the three of them had grown closer. He’d stuck by them through the last of high school, held on tight during the rough patches of starting college. To give them a strong foundation, a place they’d feel secure. By all accounts, he’s succeeded. Ella and Liz got on with their lives. He is the one left behind. The one left alone.
Now he’s ready to move on, too. They have to allow him that much.
But after he steps inside the house with Claire later, he does something he’s never done before—bolts the door. He tries not to think about it but it haunts him. What if Ella or Liz come home while he and Claire are making out? Or making love?
He draws the blinds, and then hangs up their jackets. “Get comfy. It’ll take me one sec.” A few clicks, and the show picks up where they left off. He stretches out next to her.
She draws up her knees and rests against him. “You didn’t watch any more episodes?”
With one finger, he traces from her temple to her chin. “Not without you.”
Surprise crosses her face, and she ducks her head.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s nice, that’s all. That you waited.”
“It’s no fun watching them without you.” He can say the same about a lot of things.
She lets out a breath, or maybe a little sob, and tries to cover it up with a smile.
He loops his arms around her. “Claire, tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Nothing.” She gives a tiny shrug. “I guess I’m not used to anyone doing things for me.”
Frustration releases in a hard breath. “It makes me so angry to hear things like that.”
She widens her eyes. “Why?”
He can’t help scowling. “Because. How could your husband not want to share everything with you? What kind of fool was he?”
She stares into his eyes a moment, and then kisses him. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t deserve her gratitude. “I mean it. You’re vivacious and beautiful and kind and intelligent. If he didn’t recognize your wonderful qualities, he must have been blind.”
“Okay, stop. You’ll think I’m fishing for compliments, but I’m not.” She turns her head.
He lifts her chin so she’ll meet his gaze. “You should never have to.” Unbelievable that she’d stayed with a man who never appreciated her. Kip can’t help kissing her again. The sensations block every thought, every promise he’d made to go slow. The more he tastes of her, the more he wants.
When she murmurs his name, he hesitates long enough to look at her, to be sure she doesn’t mean for him to stop. Her heavy-lidded eyes shine with heat.
She whispers, “Kip.”
The way her lips pout make them perfect for kissing. His mouth crashes onto hers, and his hands seem to have their own ideas about where to go, exploring every curve and swell of her. She begins to shrink away from him, and he knows he’s moving too fast again. Slow. He inhales, makes himself conscious of every movement. When he eases up, she relaxes into him. Kisses him harder.
He suppresses the urge to press her down. Slow. He rolls back onto the sofa, drawing her down on top of him.
At first, she resists. “What are you doing?”
He smoothes her hair away from her face. “Making sure we only do what you’re ready for. What you want to do.”
“So it’s up to me?” She practically glows with delight.
He splays his arms. “I’m yours. Do what you will. Express train, steam train, dangling our legs, it’s up to you.”
She traces a finger down his chest, silent and pensive. She meets his gaze again with a playful expression. “We’ve tried the express already, and dangling our legs. Both were wonderful. Maybe it’s time for the middle option.”
His eyes crinkle when he holds back a smile. “I have plenty of steam.”
She bends her head low, lips nearly touching his, and whispers, “I remember.”
Chapter Fifteen
Awakening in his bed, strands of Claire’s hair spreads across his face, her body tucks against his in a cozy spoon. Such a luxury. He treasures these moments, the lull when they need no words. Holding each other is enough. She often moves away from him while she sleeps, but her arm rests atop his, their legs wind at the ankles.
A deep inhale, and she stirs. Glancing back, she murmurs, “Morning” before throwing the covers back and rising.
“Morning.” A yawn overtakes him. “Sleep well?”
“Yes.” She’s already slipping on his robe and is tightening the belt. “Did you?”
“Like a rock.” He almost wishes he hadn’t. Sleeping so soundly robs him of remembering the time with her.
“Be right back.” She pads to the bathroom.
He debates getting out of bed, but maybe if he lingers, she’ll climb beside him again and they can create more steam, like they had last night.
When she returns, she’s wearing her jeans and tee shirt. “I need coffee.”
No steam, then, except from the kitchen. “I’ll go get it started.”
“I will,” she says, halfway out the door. “Come down when you’re dressed.”
Ah. He gets the hint to get moving, so he does. “Sure.” But from the clattering sounds, and the radio kicking on, she is already downstairs. By the time he joins her, the aroma of brewing coffee fills the air.
Her handbag sits on the island. Another hint that she’s about to leave.
Still, he puts on a perky expression as he helps himself to coffee. “What’s on the agenda today?”
“The usual. Errands, laundry, lesson plans.” She bustles around the kitchen nonstop, wiping the counter, washing a stray dish, drying and putting it away.
Hard to hug a moving target. “And tonight?” He can already guess. Lesson plans?
She sips from her mug. “Umm… I’m not sure yet.” Her gaze flicks to his, then away, as if it pains her, then she pulls her cell from the purse and checks it.
Yep, there it is, the barrier. Her evasive tactics frustrate him. He drains his cup and washes it. “Okay then.”
She starts to reach out for him, then draws back and flashes an apologetic smile. “The end of the school year’s always too busy.”
He nods, not really listening to her list of activities and excuses. “Not even time for a quick dinner tonight?”
“I can’t.” There’s the frightened rabbit look again.
After what they’d shared? “Fine.” He grabs his keys from the island. “I have some errands I’ve put off too long. See you.” He doesn’t want to leave without kissing her, but at the same time, doesn’t want to put her on the defensive anymore than she already is. “Lock up, will you?” He settles for a peck on her cheek, the barest flash of a smile, and then he flees his own house.
For the rest of the day and night, he regrets abandoning her so abruptly.
On Sunday morning, he can’t put off his most reviled chore any longer. At the grocery store, a flower kiosk near the registers makes him think of Claire. He selects a small potted daisy and sets it in the child seat. After loading the bags in his car, he drives straight to her house to give it to her. He squares his shoulders and rings the bell.
From inside, padding footsteps sound. “Just a minute.”
He waits more like three or four minutes. What’s going on? He calls her cell. “Hey, is everyt
hing all right?”
She sounds out of breath. “Yes. I’m—” A thud, then a crash. “Oh no.”
He stands closer against the door, and poises to bust through if necessary. “Claire?”
“I’m fine,” comes the muffled answer, “but my lamp isn’t. I was just in the middle of something.”
“Oh.” That doesn’t sound promising. He takes a step back on the stoop, scans the neighborhood. Only her Saab sits in the driveway, but the vehicles in the street might belong to anyone. Another man. “I should probably come back another time.” And call before barging in.
“No, don’t. I’m almost…” Her grunt turns into an angry growl. “This darn huge skirt.”
Huge skirt? “Claire… I’ll come back when it’s more convenient.” Or less strange.
“Wait, no, hold on.” More footsteps sound, closer this time, and the door opens.
The sight stuns him speechless. “What the…?” Does she engage in some sort of kinky role play? He can’t say he’d be opposed. She looks adorable.
Ruby red lips, dark hair wraps in braids around her head, her face appears luminous, despite hinting at dismay. She hitches up her long white satiny skirt, which is as poufy as her short sleeves.
“Cinderella?” he ventures with a laugh.
Pursing her lips, she widens her eyes, a defiant gesture he knows too well from his daughters. “Snow White.” She says it like a reprimand.
“Oh.” He sweeps his hand in a wide arc. “Well, of course.”
“Nobody likes a wise ass, Prince Charming.” She grabs his wrist. “Hurry before the neighbors whip out their cell phones like social media paparazzi.”
He gulps as she drags him inside. No one has ever called him Prince Charming before. Now he wishes he had access to a costume to match hers. “So this isn’t for a neighborhood gathering, then.”
“The Fairy Tale Parade.” In that outfit, she fails to look ominous when she perches her hands at her hips. “I told you about it.”
“Oh right, sorry. For the kids.” She’d mentioned it in an email, he recalls. The image in his head didn’t quite match her in costume in the flesh. No contest, the real-world version wins out.
“Yes, they’ve been learning all about the characters and settings. Each student chose a different fairy tale character to portray in the parade.” She holds her hands wide. “I’ve been Snow White for years.”
He nods. Good to know. He bites his lip to keep from voicing that thought. “You certainly look enchanting.”
“I’m no Disney princess, but the kids enjoy wearing the costumes. It makes for a fun day. A fun wrap-up for the year.” She sounds wistful, almost sad.
“I envy them.” He loops his arm around her waist. “And if you’re in need of a Prince Charming…”
She wrinkles her nose. “I’ll let you know. Are you forgetting something?”
He searches his mind. “Um, hello?”
She arches her brows and her glance shoots to the right. “Are those flowers for me?”
“Oh.” He has forgotten, though he still grips the pot. He circles the plant to his front, pops them in front of her, and bows his head. “For you, milady.”
She curtsies. “Thank you. But what’s the occasion?”
“I was in town, and saw them, and…” He shrugs. “Here I am.”
She gently presses the blooms to her nose, dark eyes sparkling in their midst.
Something tightens at his core, and he eases closer. “Claire.”
The doorbell jars him. “More company?”
She winces. “Trish and Hannah, her daughter.” She speaks in a hush before reaching for the doorknob.
“Mm.” His private fairy tale crashes to a halt as she opens the door.
“Look at you, gorgeous as ever,” a woman croons, then adds more softly, “We’re not… interrupting, are we?”
“Course not. Come in.” Claire steps to the side and smiles at him. “You can finally meet Kip. Kip Baldwin, this is Trish and Hannah Williams.”
“A pleasure.” He extends his hand.
“Kip.” Trish drags her gaze across him from head to toe. “Very nice.” Her Mae West tone must shock even herself, because she blushes and scrambles to add, “Uh, to meet you.”
“Likewise.” He sends Claire an apologetic smile. “I’ll get out of your way.” At the door, he whispers, “Any chance we could cook dinner tonight?”
She surprises him by answering without hesitation and with a warm, “I’d love to.”
This time, he doesn’t settle for a peck on her cheek. Her lips are too soft and inviting, and life is too damn short.
****
His whistles echo from the kitchen, a homey sound. Happy. I try to pull myself away from the family photos grouped atop the piano before he returns with two glasses of wine, but every photo has such an intimate, yet open, quality. A glimpse into their lives, full of laughter and pain and love. So much love, it almost breaks my heart.
“Here you go.” Approaching, he offers me a glass of wine.
I accept with a wistful grin. “Sorry for staring at your family photos. They’re so wonderful.”
“Why are you sorry?” He absently brushes dust off the nearest frame.
Without intending to, I step back. “I don’t want you to think I’m snooping into your past.”
“Of course not. I love every one of these pictures too, and love what they represent. We did have a wonderful life. But it is my past.”
I understand he’s referring to his wife, but have no doubt he’d probably return to that past, if given the choice. “Your girls were adorable when I taught them. They’ve grown into beautiful women.” Likely as interesting as their parents. I can’t wait to get to know them as adults.
He flashes a smile. “I’m grateful they took after their mother instead of me.”
Modesty—I like that. “I can see you in them.”
He sips his wine. “Thanks for helping prepare dinner.”
“I’m going to have to start jogging if we cook too many fattening meals,” I joke.
He runs an appreciative gaze over me. “You have nothing to worry about, believe me.”
His sudden attentiveness is too intense. I stroll to the sliding glass doors, hug myself and stare into the night. “You have a great view of the sky. I always wanted to see the annual meteor showers.”
He pads up next to me. “Why didn’t you?”
I shrug. “Doug wasn’t interested, and wouldn’t stay awake with me. It seemed too sad to watch all that beauty and wonder by myself.”
“We’re going to watch them. Together.” He looks at me over his glasses.
“But they’re in the middle of the night.”
“So?”
“Early morning, actually.” The peak hours are usually two or three a.m.
“I’m going to stay up to watch them,” he says, slipping his arm around my waist. “Would you care to join me?”
Is he teasing? From his defiant expression, he isn’t. “All right.”
“Good. Now we just need to find out when they’re due.”
“June eighteenth. Two weeks from now.” Oh no, I sound like a know-it-all. “I read an article yesterday.”
He draws out his cell and taps the screen. “Even better. I’m setting a reminder on my phone so we can’t forget.”
“I won’t need a reminder.” No way will I forget. Every year, I read about them, and mark the specific peak night on my calendar. They always occur after the school year ends, a bittersweet time. This week, I’ll have to say goodbye to my class after getting to know each boy and girl so intimately all year, after watching them grow from frightened babies into enthusiastic students.
The meteor showers remind me how ephemeral life can be. This year, those falling stars will be within my grasp. Maybe I’ll even make a wish.
Chapter Sixteen
Driving to school dressed as Snow White, I always like to imagine a ribbon of bluebirds trailing above the Saab’s roo
f. Maybe a few rabbits and squirrels scampering along the sidewalk as I pass. The wicked stepmother and seven dwarfs, I can live without. My students in their costumes will fill that cuteness quotient and then some.
My skirts swish as I hurry into the school entrance and down the hall. I’m tempted to sing good morning to everyone, Snow-White style. Then again, my voice might catch on this bittersweet morning—the last day of school, when I have to say farewell to my twenty sweet ones.
Today, they’re still mine, and I intend to enjoy every minute.
“Looking good, Ms. Sims.” Bill, the janitor, waves at me.
“You’re too kind, sir.” A laugh, and I hitch up my dress and hurry to my classroom.
Spanning the hallway, the flags flutter atop the cardboard box castle I helped the other first grade teachers construct. Four days’ worth of staying late at school had kept me occupied, but hadn’t managed to keep Kip from my thoughts. I find myself wanting to share everything with him now.
“Hey, Snow White.”
At the familiar voice, I grin. “Hey to you, Goose Girl.”
Fellow first grade teacher Marly Adams adjusts one of the stuffed geese sewn to the folds of her long skirt. “The girl part’s a long-ago fairy tale, but I do have geese to spare.”
“You look great.” I set my hands on my hips. “And if I do say so myself, so does this year’s castle.”
Marly stands beside me. “The kids are going to love making a grand entrance through these gates.”
The bell echoes through the halls.
“Incoming,” I say. “See you in a bit.”
With the parade in an hour, and school ending before noon, the day will end too soon, and take the year along with it. When I duck inside the classroom, I take a moment to check the decorations, though they’d hung there for nearly a month while I used fairy tales to teach my little ones about story construction. I hope a few of my students will continue learning the art of writing, and some show great promise as artists as well. For about the millionth time, I’m glad I chose to teach an elementary grade rather than high school, or even middle school. These young kids have a purity of spirit that deeply touches me. I hope I leave them with a lasting impression, a positive one that will help carry them through their academic years, if not beyond.
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