Chapter Sixteen
Claire wasn’t the least bit surprised her Fusion-recommending friend Jessie agreed to meet her, though she expected to at least have to meet her halfway between the lodge and the city. Turned out, however, that Jessie was actually a bit further upstate and headed home, so they made plans to grab coffee in town while Liam worked on the heating system. It would have to be the same place she’d ordered Liam’s coffee the day before. The barista remembered her. “Black regular coffee with a shot of nothing?”
Jessie looked at Claire in surprise. “That is so not how you drink your coffee.”
“No,” she said. “It’s not. I asked for it yesterday for someone else and apparently it was memorable.” She ordered her favorite frothy white concoction—one that was about as far from black coffee as she could get without just drinking milk—then tossed down enough cash to pay for herself and whatever Jessie wanted, and took a table all the way in the back. Jessie gave her a strange look, but kept her distance until the coffee was ready. Upon joining Claire at the table, carrying both cups, she didn’t mince words.
“So who drinks black coffee?”
Claire didn’t mince anything, either. “He bet his brother whether he could sleep with me, or whether I’d talk to him if he did or something like that.” The thought of that…ugh. If only anger and hurt could erase memories, because she so did not need any good ones of him. Not then. Not ever.
“He who? He the black coffee drinker, or he the brother? And I’m sorry, but did you just tell me you were having sex with someone? You, who swore off ever getting near another man?”
Claire ignored the question about sex, especially since Jessie had all but announced her entire question to everyone in the shop. Fortunately, there weren’t many people there to hear. The sleek, espresso-wood and chrome store was mostly empty, save for a group of elderly women near the front. “The black coffee drinker,” Claire said, “who likes beer and thinks Stanley is a good name for a raccoon apparently bet, or accepted a bet, from his brother as to whether the he, black coffee drinker, could nail me without me running from him.”
“There’s a raccoon named Stanley?” Jessie blinked. “Why do I feel like I’m missing about three quarters of this story?”
Claire shrugged. “There was nowhere to run.”
“Is there vodka in that drink?”
With a sigh, Claire said, “Liam, from Fusion Air—that place you recommended—knew who I was. Apparently there are some bonus points in catching the…a runaway.”
Jessie’s eyes brightened with understanding, though lacked what Claire would have considered a reasonable amount of remorse. “So you did sleep with him?” she asked.
“Not the point.”
“Ah, I get it.” She gave a knowing nod. “You slept with him and had expectations.”
“I definitely did not have expectations.”
“Then why are you hurt?”
Claire sat back in the chair and tried not to cry. Fortunately, being pissed off that she felt the urge was enough to stave away the tears. “There were no expectations, yet he was this ridiculously amazing guy who did everything right. A random encounter kind of guy shouldn’t do everything right.”
“I hate to break it to you,” Jessie said, her tone brimming with skepticism, “but it doesn’t sound like he did.”
“The thing is,” Claire said, “he wasn’t wrong to want out. It got intense. Like, we were together. That’s not something either of us wanted, so for me to hear him say he couldn’t wait to get home should have come as a huge relief. Instead it just…hurt.”
“So if you don’t blame him, is it safe to assume we won’t find his body in the basement?”
Claire appreciated Jessie’s stab at humor, but it hit a little too close to the truth. Because Liam was leaving, and she needed him to. “I believe he planned on spending the day in the basement. One can hope he’s still breathing.”
Jessie met her gaze across her cup lid and cocked a brow. When she lowered the cup, she said, “You know, you look good. I think this place agrees with you.”
The change of subject was a bit abrupt, but not entirely unwelcome. It wasn’t like there was any fixing this thing with Liam. “There’s something to be said for not waking at four in the morning to have someone else paint my face on so the cameras will find me palatable. Heaven forbid I show up on the screen and ruin anyone’s breakfast.”
“You don’t need your face painted,” Jessie said. “Frankly, it’s disgusting.”
“Um, thank you?”
“No need to thank me. I just kind of hate you for not scaring small children when you’re not wearing makeup. In fact, it’s safe to say most people would hate you for that, but we all have our crosses to bear. So, why can’t you and this guy be a thing?”
“Headlines. I can’t deal with that all over again. I can’t be in a normal relationship with anyone, not with everyone waiting and judging and mocking. And that was before I found out he was one of the judgers and mockers.”
“If he actually did that, then I’ll find him and hurt him myself. But if there’s any chance it was a misunderstanding, give it a month. No one will remember you. You’ll be free to frolic in the middle of Times Square, and no one will be the wiser.”
“First of all, it’s been three years since wedding fail number two, and they haven’t exactly forgotten, and with that publicity tour and rumors of a book deal for bachelor number three, I don’t think it’s going away any time soon.”
Jessie’s brow lifted. She stared over her drink. “People are going to stop paying attention. Trust me. So you didn’t get married twice. You have guts and self-respect. It’s awesome, but it’s not as news-worthy as they make it.”
“No, that’s not it. I mean, that’s not all of it.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “He’s…likewise viral.”
Her face twisting, Jessie said, “That does not even remotely sound like something you should be having sex with.”
“Not. Like. That.” Claire looked around, feeling somewhat ridiculous, but ridiculous was what small-town rumors were made of. Finding them sufficiently alone, she said, “He’s Hot HVAC Guy.”
Jessie’s eyes flew wide. “You slept with Hot HVAC Guy?”
Claire could have died a thousand times at the volume of Jessie’s voice. “Could you not?”
Jessie shook her head. “Um, no. No one could not. You’re kidding me, right?”
“You told me to call them.”
“I didn’t know he was from Fusion!”
Claire almost spit out her coffee. “How could you not know that?”
“Because I’m a grown-ass woman with a job. I don’t follow that stuff.”
“Yet you knew who he was.”
“I saw the picture,” Jessie admitted, “and it may have contributed to an orgasm or two—which, by the way, you’ve just ruined—but I didn’t do a background check. God, no. If I’d found he had a wife and a couple of kids, that would have killed the fantasy. Kind of like finding out my best friend actually slept with him. What are you doing?”
Claire looked up from her phone, where she’d been rapidly keying in Liam’s name. “I’m making sure he’s not married.”
“What if he is?”
“He’ll go back to her in pieces.” After a moment, she sat back, relieved. Not married. No kids, either. Just three look-alike brothers, all gorgeous, one of whom had bet Liam he couldn’t catch the Runaway Bride.
Where the hell was anyone betting her she couldn’t get away?
…
Ironic, Liam thought, that the job had been one of the easiest he’d done. There was no need for an estimate. Not anymore. He’d pulled numbers off the furnace and called the manufacturer. The so-called old furnace had been installed six years before, which was plenty new when they were expected to last a good twenty years. When Ethan arrived, they’d gone through and tested everything, cleaned it up, and Claire was good to go.
And gone.
He wasn’t sure where she’d headed off to, and he knew he shouldn’t care. In fact, he should have been grateful there would be no awkward good-bye. Instead, he packed his stuff while Ethan wrote up the service ticket. Before he left, he put a banana on Stanley’s window sill and checked the fire, which as far as he knew hadn’t been re-lit that morning.
“Nice place,” Ethan said. He’d been oddly quiet.
“Yeah, it is.” And that was all Liam said, which probably meant he, too, was oddly quiet. Which was fine. Ethan would respect that.
Or so Liam had thought.
He took a long last look around the lodge before he closed the door on those few surreal days of life with Claire. Doing so hurt, but there weren’t any decisions to be made. No regrets to ponder. Just…done.
With that thought nevertheless heavy in his mind, he put his stuff in the back of the truck and strapped the snowboard on top of it while Ethan stowed what was left of the equipment. Approximately thirty seconds after Ethan fired up the pickup and the doors were shut, he gave Liam a look.
“So what happened?”
Liam sighed and turned the hot air vent so it didn’t blow in his face. “What have you heard?”
“Not a word from you,” Ethan said pointedly.
“For the record, I really don’t want to talk about this. And so I won’t have to, I’ll say this: Sawyer bet me I couldn’t hang onto the Runaway Bride, and I was dumb enough to not immediately hang up on him.”
“Wait a minute. The Runaway Bride? Claire…something.”
“Stevens.” Liam was surprised Sawyer hadn’t relayed that piece of information.
Ethan gave him a puzzled look. “That’s not the name I just wrote on that paperwork.”
“No, it’s not.” Liam sighed and eased back in the seat, wishing he had a hat to pull over his eyes. He trusted Ethan to get them off the mountain in one piece. Mostly. “That’s her television name. She came up here for some anonymity, so needless to say, she left that name in the city. The attention was driving her nuts.”
“I imagine. Every time I have to field a phone call from a teenage girl looking for you before I’ve even had my coffee, I want to hop on the next plane to wherever Rue is and stay there.”
Ethan’s fiancé, Rue, traveled for work, which was putting it mildly. “Where is she now?”
“Hopefully somewhere over the Atlantic,” Ethan said, sounding suddenly light. Elated. “I’m meeting her plane tonight. She had a long layover in London that she spent with her brother.”
“Pretty smart for the two of you to actually spend some time on the same continent before the wedding,” Liam said dryly. Rue was an award-winning conservation photographer who’d made a fast name for herself. The downside was that she was always off in remote places, many of which Liam hadn’t heard of until she was boarding a plane in each respective direction. He didn’t know how Ethan slept at night, knowing she was off the coast of fucking Yemen in Socotra taking pictures of those dragon’s blood trees, or north of the Arctic Circle in some remote Norwegian village, but Ethan was quite literally the happiest Liam had ever seen him.
Which made that knowing look he was giving him twice as annoying as it needed to be.
“What?” Liam snapped.
“Maybe you need to talk to Crosby. Find out the next step in the just slept with a client playbook.” He shook his head in mock defeat. “If we had an HR department, they’d quit. En masse.”
Liam didn’t say anything. Crosby had met his wife on a service call.
Liam most fucking certainly had not.
Ethan hit the brakes, earning a dirty look from Liam.
“What? Was I supposed to plow over that rabbit? It probably had a family.”
Wordlessly, Liam closed his eyes again. He didn’t need to see the mountain or the snow or really anything but the inside of his apartment back in the city.
“You afraid if you’re not single, the phone calls will stop?” Ethan asked.
Liam snorted. “I’d marry you if I thought it would make the calls stop.”
Ethan shot him a knowing look. “You didn’t exactly deny sleeping with her. And I didn’t say a word about marriage.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ethan, I don’t want to marry her. I’ve known her days.” Truck cabs were too damned small. Maybe he should ditch his wrecked one and trade up for a crew cab. A loud, noisy four-door that required absolutely no proximity and would always be heard over the sound of a chainsaw.
“Maybe you’ve noticed,” Ethan said, “us Chase men get swept off our feet pretty much on day one. When it’s the right person, that is.”
“And maybe you’ve noticed,” Liam shot back, “my feet are still firmly on the floorboard.” Then he realized he had one ankle sitting on the opposite knee and jerked his foot to the floor mat. The last thing Ethan needed was to make a point, however idiotic.
Ethan just shook his head and grinned.
It was going to be a long ride home, and Ethan clearly wasn’t going to shut up, so Liam changed the subject. “How are the wedding plans coming?” Ethan and Rue were getting married in the spring, and Liam had a feeling it wouldn’t be at the church on the corner. “Am I going to need a passport?”
Liam had been joking, but Ethan nodded. “Yep, you might want to get on that.”
Was he serious? “Are we just shutting down the business for your wedding?”
“Just for a couple of days.”
Liam swore.
“Hey, Mom and Dad could use the vacation, and I don’t know how else we were going to force them to take one.”
“Good point.” He sighed. “She doesn’t snowboard. Or ski. She can’t even ride in a sleigh without disaster striking.”
“Who, Mom?”
Liam rolled his eyes. “No, asshole. Claire.”
Ethan choked on a laugh. “What kind of disaster struck on a sleigh?”
“The horse apparently found the harness bells as annoying as the rest of us and went home early, after which I publicly outed her as the Runaway Bride. We had a thirty-minute walk back.”
“Okay, so disaster struck. I believe you now. Has she spoken to you yet?”
“Yeah. She forgave me for that.” Multiple times, but Liam didn’t throw that part out there.
“So what did it?”
“She overheard me telling Sawyer I’d nailed her, that I wasn’t sure if that meant I’d lost or won the bet, and I couldn’t wait to get home.” Liam said every word with his eyes closed.
“Shit, man. You’re screwed.”
Well and truly.
Because he missed her already, and there was no way of undoing any of it. Not the bet. Not the sex. Not the smashed truck or the hot chocolate or the tree that fell. Twice. There was no going back and no moving ahead.
There was just nothing but her.
And she was gone.