AS CLAIRE RETURNED home with a wagon full of rags and mops to launder and a perfectly faded Clash t-shirt, the sky above softened into an ombre of lavender and pink. The houses glowed from within, the dim light outside dulled the aging exteriors except those most in need of repair. She slowed her pace, straining to see movement inside the old Russell place.
The closed blinds must have been the cheapest ones available because she saw a masculine silhouette illuminated by the glow of what had to be a large television. A glance at the curb confirmed the presence of the garbage can newly adorned with an orange warning sticker from the village. So often, when she moved to a new place, no one told her anything, especially not the unwritten rules. She found those out the hard way—through expensive fines and passive aggressive notes in her mailbox. Not here. She’d do her civic duty and warn the poor resident. Residents? Only one car sat in the driveway. Resident.
After parking her wagon by the overgrown hedges, she walked to the front door. When she pressed the doorbell, nothing happened. She knocked. The recently painted blue door looked nice. Too bad no one had bothered to paint the rest of the porch, or the trim for that matter. She had ample time to look while waiting. No toys graced the porch. Maybe it was someone single, a contractor at Adena, or a much older couple where someone failed the driver’s test. Blind? Or someone deaf. She knocked again, louder this time, wondering how loud the mystery man had the TV since she could see flickering images glowing through the light curtains in the front room. As she decided to leave, she caught a shadow moving across the plain white paper covering up the sidelights.
Chapter 4
First, he didn’t trust his ears, now he didn’t trust his eyes. Not only was the knocking legitimate, but the intriguing blonde from the diner stood on his threshold. “Hello?”
“Hi. You’re new in town.” She must have been expecting to find someone else, the way her words stretched out.
“Yes.” He extended his hand toward her as he rocked onto his toes and replanted his feet. Fate had brought him a chance to meet the only remotely urbane person in town, not to mention she was really, really attractive. Green eyes got him every time, and hers looked real, not some unnatural shade of contacts. “I’m James.”
“Claire. You were at Jo’s the other day, right?”
“Jo—? Oh. The diner.”
“That’s the one.”
Her slender hand was surprisingly calloused, her fingers strong. She looked ethereal, but her touch was grounded in reality. He couldn’t stop looking at her as he held her hand. Her mouth twitched into the bewitching smile of a woman who knows when a man is smitten, but fortunately her eyes lacked the cold calculation of assessing his income.
“Best breakfast in town.” He hardly recognized the breathiness in his voice.
“The only breakfast that doesn’t come in a take-out sack. I hope I didn’t interrupt your peaceful meal too much.”
She interrupted his dreams and random moments when he wasn’t devoted to work, but she didn’t need to know that. Not until he had scoped out her motives. “Not a problem. Were you randomly knocking on doors or looking for someone in particular?”
“Particular, yes. Are you the new owner?”
“Not exactly. I’m renting this place.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. Why, he had no idea. He was disappointed, but only because she’d let go of his hand.
“Well, I guess I’m looking for you, James.” She flashed a smile so warm it could melt the contents of his freezer. He’d been looking for her too, although not so hard that he had to interact with the locals outside of the office.
“Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee or something?” A mystifying look flashed across her face. He backpedaled. “Or we could sit on the steps?”
“I’d like that, although I’d prefer water to coffee.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He should have offered beer. Or wine. Was wine too intimate? She wanted water. This house had come “furnished,” but when he moved in, most everything had been scratched-up old junk with a patina of age and use. Disgusted by the chalky layer of minerals on the provided glassware, he’d bought new. He filled two recently purchased glasses with water filtered at the faucet system he’d bought. The fridge was so cheap and old, it didn’t have a built-in water and ice dispenser. “I hate this place.” Claire might be the antidote to the miserable months that lay ahead.
He slipped on a pair of moccasins before returning with their drinks. She waited on the uppermost step, seemingly unaware of the large dust streak on her back and cobweb in her hair. They couldn’t have come from his deck because he spent last weekend cleaning the debris away. He handed her the glass and sat beside her.
“Thanks.” Her smile was shy without being coy.
He glanced out to the street, and caught sight of something red. Not again. “Those kids. They’re always leaving stuff in my yard.”
She began to laugh and nearly choked. In spite of the sputtering, he enjoyed her hearty laugh. In a surprisingly familiar gesture, she placed her free hand on his knee, but removed it almost as quickly.
“I’m sorry. That’s my little red wagon. Very handy for hauling stuff on beautiful days like today. I didn’t want to risk anyone tripping over it on the sidewalk. I take it the neighborhood kids still come over here to play?”
“Yes, they do.”
“You sound annoyed, City Boy.”
His brows pulled together enough to obstruct his view. Mom was always after him to get Botox so his brows couldn’t give away his thoughts, but it was too late. Claire chuckled a low noise that made his stomach quiver in an abnormally pleasant way, the kind that kept the antacids at
