by Karina Bliss
Her cheeks had lost their hollow look, and the fresh breeze flagged them pink and pulled golden strands loose from her ponytail. There was a dab of varnish on one eyebrow. It hit him that he was going to miss this woman. A lot.
“I accept,” she said and held out her hand with its roughened skin and short nails.
Nate took it.
“If you promise to come home within the next six months for a visit,” she added.
Hell, he could always cancel. “Sure.”
“If you don’t,” Claire warned, her grip tightening, “I’ll come get you again.”
“Fine,” Nate said easily. Anything could happen in six months. And he’d given her a fighting chance of making this business work. “Phone the real estate agent so he can contact the buyers. Notify the bank and Jules. I don’t trust Ellie’s secret-keeping, so let’s supercharge this thing. If I can borrow your car I’ll go into Whangarei and organize a new switchboard and control panel for the wheelhouse. I want to be gone within forty-eight hours.”
He wanted to be gone, but he had nowhere to go. When Zander cooled down, Nate might be able to beg for his job back. Yeah, when hell froze over. At least the rocker’s reputation as a prima donna meant Nate’s reputation wouldn’t suffer by a dismissal.
She dug her cell out of her coveralls and started making calls. Nate went to change clothes. Claire came inside as he shrugged on a leather jacket. “A minor setback,” she said cheerfully. “Adam reminded me that the buyers won’t be home from Fiji until Friday to sign papers.” Nate scowled. He’d forgotten he’d bought them off.
“I’m delighted,” she said. “I get an extra day of free labor. Besides, we can have everything else nailed down before then with the bank and the trust. Jules is coming to dinner tonight to talk over the process.”
Nate didn’t like it, but he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t leave until the sales contract was signed. “I was thinking…. You can book the engine in for reconditioning now as well as give the canopy company the green light. I’ll credit some money to your account tonight to cover costs and you can reimburse your half when the house money comes through.” Claire was looking at him strangely. “What?”
“You’re a good person,” she said.
“No, I’m not.” His recoil was instinctive. “I’m the guy who stonewalled you for months, who won’t see his friends or your son, who used his heroism medal to score a job in Hollywood….”
“Who’s making sure my venture will succeed, who hasn’t made me feel guilty about Steve, who listens without judgment. Why are you so hard on yourself, Nate?” She hesitated. “Is it because you survived and Steve and Lee didn’t? You saved Ross, kept him alive for twenty minutes under heavy fire. I don’t understand—”
He cut her off. “We’re not having this conversation. Where are your car keys?”
“So I have to revisit painful subjects but you don’t?”
“Pretty much.” Nate checked the table, the kitchen counter. “The difference is that what you and Steve had is worth saving. I—” He stopped. “Where are the damn keys?”
“You’re not?”
He spotted them on a hook by the door and grabbed them. “I’ll make sure I’m here for dinner.”
Claire blocked his path. “I’m tired of you closing me down. Tell me what’s riding you.”
“Confession being good for the soul?” He’d wrestled with this dilemma for eighteen months. But it would only be shifting the burden.
“Maybe.” She squirmed at his sarcasm but didn’t back down. “Or if you can’t talk to me, talk to Ross or Dan. They understand what you’re going through.”
“The only thing riding me is you three,” he snarled. “When are you all going to understand that wanting a clean break doesn’t make me damaged? Hell, hasn’t that been your argument these past few days? I’m happy earning the big bucks in Hollywood and delirious that lives don’t depend on me anymore. It’s freedom, Claire, in the same way Heaven Sent represents freedom to you.”
“You’re not free,” she retorted. “Let alone happy. And there’s a big difference between my fresh start and your clean break.”
“I don’t see it.”
“For one, I’m not in denial about still having issues, for two I haven’t ditched my old friends.”
“You want more quality time with me?” Sidestepping her, Nate grabbed the keys. “Then try giving me some damn space.”
Chapter Eleven
Powered by frustration, Claire blasted through the rest of the afternoon’s tasks, including hammering a hefty discount on a bait freezer out of a secondhand dealer.
Ellie’s visit had spooked Nate, and then Claire had gone and spooked him more, fracturing the tentative trust she’d been so carefully fostering this week. Nate’s happiness was important to her, re-establishing their friendship had brought deep joy. She wanted to help him. The way he was helping her. If only the bloody man would allow it.
Distracted by their fight, it was late afternoon before she remembered Jules was coming to dinner and she had nothing to feed her. And no car to go shopping with.
Taking a deep breath, she phoned Nate’s cell and wasn’t surprised when it went straight to message. Maybe he was busy, more likely he was avoiding her call. Fine, I’ll be the grownup, she thought, smiled at her sulky resentment and felt better.
“Nate, it’s me…. Okay, I won’t mention the war.” She hoped he still appreciated black humor. “Dinner’s at six. Bring absolution.” Unsure whether he’d clear his messages, she phoned Jules with a shopping list, then showered and changed into black leggings and an off-the-shoulder knit in a pearlescent gray over a pink tank. After blow-drying her hair into a tousled fall, she put on makeup, smoky shadow to give her light eyes drama and added a sheen of pink lip gloss.
She was honest enough to admit she was taking pains with her appearance because of Nate’s smartass comment about spending some money on herself. He’d said it as a tactical ploy but had left Claire with a strong desire to show Mr. Hollywood she could knock his Ralph Lauren socks off.
When Jules arrived, she was glad she’d made the effort. With her dark hair styled in a French twist, her friend radiated urban professional in a navy wool tunic dress, black patent-leather pumps and patterned tights.
Jules pulled out a bottle of champagne from one of the grocery bags. “To celebrate your new partnership with Nate… Where is he?”
“I scared him off.” Claire unpacked baguettes and green-lipped mussels in their shells, salad ingredients and a gateau from the Cheesecake Factory. “Well, me and Ellie.” As she poured the champagne, she told Jules about her mother-in-law’s visit. “This incognito stuff is driving me crazy.”
Jules settled onto a stool at the counter that divided the living room from the kitchen. “We all have secrets we don’t share,” she said, accepting a glass. “Maybe you should respect Nate’s privacy.”
Claire thought of the anger at Steve that she’d never shared with anyone but Nate. Didn’t he understand that she wouldn’t judge him, either? “It’s been a year and a half since he walked away from everyone who loves him, Jules. If he could fix himself, wouldn’t he have done that by now?”
“I don’t know him as well as you do, but he strikes me as the ‘horse you lead to water and can’t make drink’ type. Anyway, he has made progress. He’s here for you.”
“True.” Claire opened a container of aubergine dip and a packet of baby carrots and passed both to Jules. What was this increasing tug she felt toward him? Concern, affection, both of those? “I just worry about him, that’s all.”
“Well, stop, he’s a big boy.” Jules dunked a carrot into the dip. “And tonight’s about celebrating, girl. Thanks to Nate you’ve got a better business model. I, for one, will be sleeping more soundly at night.” She lifted her flute in a toast “To your successful sports-fishing enterprise.”
“To Heaven Sent.” Claire felt a frisson of excitement as she chinked crystal and took a sip.
The bubbles fizzed on her tongue. As careful as she’d been in formulating her business plan, there were contingencies she couldn’t allow for. A poor season—for fish or tourists—weather conditions. If she didn’t have to fork out thirty thousand for Nate’s share of the boat and he split the cost of upgrades—yes, like Jules, she’d be able to sleep at night.
“Every ongoing cost is mine,” she told Jules as she scrubbed the mussel shells clean under the running tap. “Make sure of it when you’re drawing up an agreement. And I want Nate to get ten percent of net profits. He’s got to get something more than free board and fishing.” They talked through a revised agreement while she sauteed garlic, onion and celery in butter, prepared a side salad and set the table.
By the time Nate returned, the bach was steamy and fragrant with the white wine she’d used to steam the mussels open, and Claire was adding cream to the sauce. She was also a little tipsy, which made it easy to deliver a natural greeting as she busied herself dressing the salad. But she couldn’t look at him.
“We’ve already opened the bubbles,” Jules confessed, pouring him a flute. We’ll make another toast at the table. But can I just say that you’ll be getting another birthday card next year.”
“I’ll make sure I check the post.” He sounded normal. Claire chanced a quick glance. He and Jules were exchanging smiles. Oh, they’d be perfect for each other, she thought, and her stomach dropped. She must be hungrier than she thought.
“We have to eat now or the mussels will be chewy,” she called. “Jules, take the salad to the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nate came into the kitchen as she wrestled with the big pot holding the mussels. “Let me.” He tipped the steaming shells into three bowls. “I got your message,” he said in a low voice. “Sorry for overreacting this afternoon.”
“No, I’m sorry for being pushy. I didn’t even thank you properly for your idea. It’s genius and I’m so happy.” For some reason her eyes prickled with tears. “I just want you to be happy, too.”
He gave her a hug. “I’m happy if you’re happy,” he said gruffly.
“I’m happy.”
“Then you and I are cool. Incidentally you look beautiful.” He released her, spotted the glint of tears. “Claire?”
“I’m a little emotional,” she admitted. “It’s been a long journey…. Here,” she handed him the bread, spooned the creamy garlic and white-wine sauce over the seafood. “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”
He took the hint. “This smells incredible.” They all sat down. Jules poured more champagne. “Make the toast, Nate.”
He lifted his glass. “To fish.”
Claire laughed. “To fish.”
Jules didn’t refill her glass. “I’m driving. Anyway, I need my head clear for the business part of this evening.”
As they savored the meal, Claire filled Nate in on their progress. “The engine’s getting picked up tomorrow for reconditioning. And the canopy company is coming to recheck measurements.”
“Are you returning for the launch next month?” Jules asked Nate.
“He’ll be on tour,” Claire reminded her.
“It’s so great that Zander came around,” Jules commented. Nate blinked and dropped his gaze to his plate.
“Oh,” Jules said slowly.
Puzzled, Claire glanced between them. “Am I missing something?”
“Yes, the last roll.” Jules reached for the final baguette. “So, Claire wants to give you a ten percent profit share.”
Nate’s head jerked up. “Wait, we didn’t discuss that.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday.” Claire paused to savor a spoonful of creamy sauce. “I’m well aware this deal favors me, for all the smoke and mirrors you’ve used around my paying insurance and ongoing costs.”
“But—”
“It’s my deal breaker, take it or leave it.”
Jules laughed as she buttered her baguette. “Normally I’m trying to get negotiating parties to consider the other person’s point of view.” She glanced between them as if struck. “You two fight in each other’s corner.”
Nate was still glaring at her. Claire repeated, “Deal breaker.”
“Accept it,” Jules advised. “She’ll call the whole thing off otherwise. Our Claire doesn’t get a single bee in her bonnet, she gets a whole hive.”
“Tell me about it,” Nate muttered.
Claire took that as consent and relaxed. “Let’s not talk business until after dinner,” she suggested.
“Good idea,” Jules approved. “Nate can tell me what Zander’s looking for in a woman instead.”
“Compliance,” Nate said, still looking at Claire, and she laughed. The conversation moved on to some of Jules’s conflict-resolution experiences, including a current one with an unnamed couple who’d separated over his ignoring their twentieth anniversary. His wife had given him an ultimatum when he’d missed the nineteenth.
“It’s clear they love each other, but they both have blind spots. He simply can’t understand why one day in the year outweighs three hundred and sixty-four others. And she can’t understand why he ignored it when she’d told him how important it was to her for those three hundred and sixty-four others. And both are so hurt and bewildered that neither is giving an inch. I can see it escalating to a divorce.”
Claire drained her champagne flute. “They could still work it out.” It was suddenly important they did.
“Except they can’t talk without fighting. I don’t expect you to understand that kind of lunacy.”
Picking up the champagne bottle, Claire paused. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You and Steve never argued.”
Claire refilled her glass. “We teetered on the brink of divorce ourselves when Lewis was small. Until Steve wrote me a letter.” She waved the bottle. “Get your guy to write his wife.” In her peripheral vision she saw Nate sit back. Withdrawing from the conversation or disapproving of her third—or was it fourth—glass of champagne? Defiantly, she poured bubbles to the brim.
“That’s so hard to imagine.” Jules accepted the empty bottle. “You got on so well.”
“We’d learned to live together by the time you met us. When Lewis was little, it was touch-and-go for a while.”
“And a letter saved your marriage?”
“We wanted it to be saved,” Claire admitted, “but yes, it was a turning point for us.”
“It must have been some letter.”
“It was incredible.” Claire sighed happily into her flute and bubbles tickled her nose. “I can quote it verbatim. ‘You’re everything to me, my soul…’” The words trailed off as a sudden suspicion struck her. She looked at Nate. “Wait a minute.”
“I’ll clear the table.”
She stopped him. “You said you all offered to help Steve write a letter once.”
“It didn’t come to anything,” he reminded her.
“It was lyrical, it was romantic, it was perfect,” she said to Jules. Too perfect. “Come to think of it, Steve would never use the word soul mate. Nathan Wyatt, was my love letter written by committee?”
“He asked for feedback only because it was so damn important,” he hedged.
“Wait here.” Pushing back her chair, Claire marched into her bedroom.
Nate looked at Jules. “Am I in trouble?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Sounds like she really loves that letter.”
Claire returned, carrying a sheet of handwritten paper in a plastic sleeve. “I cried over this so much I had to protect it.” Narrowing her eyes, she thrust it across the table at Nate. “Give me an example.”
Nervously Nate glanced again at Jules and then down at the page, cursing that he’d ever raised the subject. Would this make things better or worse? He was a guy, how the hell would he know? He cleared his throat. “Okay, Steve would start with something like, ‘Without you, my life would be crap.’ We’d workshop that into…” Nate found the quote with his finger—you m
ake my life worth living.’ Trying to put a positive spin on a negative statement,” he added, risking a glance at Claire.
Her expression, as she eyeballed him over the edge of the champagne flute, gave nothing away. “Lee, being our romantic, suggested some of the poetic stuff…changing ‘wife’ to ‘soul mate,’ for example.”
Claire exchanged glances with Jules but made no comment.
Nate stared at the letter, fighting that male sense of helplessness that told him nothing he did now would be right. “Okay, this line, ‘We have so much fun, in bed and out of it.’ That’s all Steve’s…except for the ‘out of it’ part. That change was group consensus—we thought it might look like Steve was being shallow.”
Nate told himself to shut up now, but the continuing stony silence only increased his verbal diarrhea. “The marriage vow thing, for better or worse. I think Steve wanted to write about things having to get much worse before he gave up….” Desperately he scanned the page. “That sorta morphed into, ‘No matter what, I’m committed to you for the rest of our lives.’”
He could see them all now, four bearded, dust-covered young men agonizing over this damn thing while Steve paced camp, occasionally bursting out with, “It’s not fucking’ right yet…. It’s got to be right.”
A lump in his throat stopped him. He looked up. Claire had her head bowed, so did Jules. Oh, shit. Claire’s shoulders were shaking. “You’re upset,” he said helplessly.
A hoot escaped her…a hoot? She lifted her face and there were tears in her eyes. “Th-th-that’s hilarious!” The two women collapsed in paroxysms of laughter.
Nate stared at them in amazement.
“Can’t you see them?” Claire hiccuped. “Oh, Jules, can’t you just see them?”
“Right down to licking the pencil,” Jules managed to say, sending Claire into whoops again.
“It was a pen,” Nate said stonily. “And I don’t see what the hell is so funny.”
“You’re right, it’s beautiful.” With a last giggle, Claire wiped her eyes dry with a napkin. “Steve was so hopeless at this kind of stuff, and for him to do this, to lay it on the line in front of you guys…and for you all to agonize over it…” She leaned over and hugged him. “Nate, it’s sweet and funny and, well, thank you.”