Chapter 8

 

A late Sunday brunch at Marché Spy Hill had become a ritual for Claire and Meg in the couple of years since Sylvie St. Germain opened her small restaurant and gift emporium. As usual, the York Street favorite was packed, and people were lined up outside waiting to get into the best eatery in town. The weekend outing with her bestie was invariably the highlight of Claire’s week. Once in a while her mom would join them if she wasn’t working, and that made it even better.

Still, the fact that brunch was her weekly high point only illustrated how utterly arid her dating life continued to be. And how could that fact not be on her mind this morning after Ry’s kisses rocked her world last night? She’d managed maybe three hours sleep with all the tossing and turning, fighting regret that she hadn’t leapt at the chance to be with him. She knew she’d made the right decision in pulling back. But her bed had never felt lonelier.

“Enough stalling,” Meg said. “Tell me all about how it went last night. I bet our favorite hermit was f…uh, freaking blown away by all the extra TLC you laid on.”

Meg cast a worried glance at Father Daniel, the parish priest, who was seated at the next table and was chatting with the town mayor. While Father Daniel had been known to use salty language himself on occasion, he couldn’t abide a public F-bomb from a parishioner.

“I think you’re okay,” Claire said drily. “You caught yourself in time.”

Meg leaned closer. “Well, thank the blessed saints for that. Okay, so what happened?”

Claire had mentally rehearsed her lines. “Oh, he joked that I should have warned him that such top-drawer service was part of the company’s basic package.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “As if. Come on, girlfriend, spill.”

Claire was spared when Sylvie came through the kitchen’s swinging doors and headed straight for their table.

“Bonjour, Claire. Ça va bien, Meg?” Sylvie beamed. “Everything is good, yes?”

“Très, très bon, comme toujours,” Claire replied in the rusty high school French that Sylvie was helping her slowly improve.

“I think she means the eggs benedict are the bomb,” Meg said. “And hey, this croque totally rocks too.”

Sylvie laughed, clapping her hands against her cute pink apron. It was covered with sketches of Paris landmarks. “Bon. That makes me very happy.”

“How’s Mrs. O’Casey doing lately?” Claire asked. “I haven’t seen her around town for a while.”

Sylvie’s bright smile faded. “Ah, the same as always, ma chérie. Her vertigo comes and goes, and when it comes, it’s very, very awful.”

“Well, you’re a saint to help out as much as you do, Sylvie,” Meg said. “How many women would take such good care of her asshat ex-boyfriend’s mother?”

Sylvie blushed at the praise. “She is my friend. Friends take care of friends, asshat sons or no.”

“Well put,” Claire said, giving her a fist bump.

“Speaking of friends, how are things with Mr. Hottie Hockey Player?” Sylvie gave her a dramatic wink. “What is the English expression—inquiring minds want to know?”

Great. Did the whole town think she and Ry had become an item? That kind of gossip she did not need.

She gave a casual shrug. “I just look after the man’s house when he’s gone.”

Sylvie wagged her index finger. “Claire, Claire.”

Claire sighed. “Okay, Madam Prosecutor, I do have one little tidbit of news. I managed to convince him to help out with the festival. With the music program in particular.”

“Merveilleux!” Sylvie grinned. “I think I might just have to join this committee too.”

“Only if you’re tired of living,” Meg said. “That boy is all Claire’s.”

“You two are brutal,” Claire said, rolling her eyes.

“Ah, I was just being a little bit naughty,” Sylvie said. “All for fun. Claire has no competition from me. Jamais. No way, José.”

Claire patted Sylvie’s arm. “Meg was just being silly. Truly, there is nothing going on between Ry Griffin and me.”

“Well, that is a very great shame. You could use a lovely man in your life, Claire,” Sylvie said. “You are too alone, all the time.”

Tell me about it.

Fortunately, she was spared the need to talk anymore about it when Sylvie said she had to get back to the busy kitchen and left.

“Hell, between those boobs and that gorgeous accent, Ry wouldn’t know what hit him if Sylvie ever did set her sights on him,” Meg said.

“True, but she’s also just about the nicest person in town, so he should be so lucky. Present company excepted, of course.”

“Of course. Now, stop dodging and tell me more about what happened with our boy.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Nope.”

Claire gave her a mock glare. “You’re a pain in the butt, you know that?”

Meg grinned.

“Okay, okay. If you must know, we were talking out on the bluffs when out of the blue he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. And I mean really kissed me.”

Meg gave a little crow of laughter. “Well, I’m not too surprised, what with that little welcome home you prepared…”

“Oh, come on.”

Her friend held up a hand. “Hey, you did everything but turn down the bedcovers. I’m just sayin’.”

Claire had to admit she might have gone a little far, doing a fair bit more than she normally did for clients. But she truly hadn’t meant the welcome to be a prelude to seduction. She’d just wanted to do something a little special for Ry. In retrospect, what a mistake that was. All she could do now was hope her bad judgment didn’t screw them over.

“So was the kiss totally hot? It had to be, right? Because, damn, that guy is so hot.”

Claire managed a smile. “Hot? Actually, I think heavenly would be the best word. But of course I broke it off.”

Meg raised incredulous eyebrows. “Why? Did somebody put a gun to your head?”

“I guess my common sense did.”

“But Ryder Griffin is obviously hot for you. There are how many million women who’d happily change places with you right now?”

“You really think I should just jump into bed with him and to hell with the consequences?” Incredibly, a big part of her thought she should do exactly that.

Meg reached across the table and took her hand. “Claire Maddox, we’ve known each other a very long time. I’ve always been able to tell how you feel about a guy, and you’ve been the same with me. So I really do know how you feel about Ry, and I also know that the thought of getting involved with him scares the bejeebers out of you.”

“Yeah, aside from the whole client thing, one extended stay at the Heartbreak Hotel was enough for me.” Claire tried to sound wry and not pathetic. “Honestly, I’m not sure I could take it again.”

Meg scowled. “That was a long time ago, and like I said, if I ever run into that shithead professor who screwed you over, I’ll wring his scrawny neck.”

In her second year of art school, Claire had fallen hard for one of her teachers, a late-thirties Brit with enough charm and professional cachet to sweep her off her feet. It was a classic case of a small town girl falling for a worldly older man who, as she later learned, had displayed a certain historical propensity for bedding students and then dumping them at the end of the academic year. Sad to say she’d been one of them.

“But you’re not a naïve undergrad anymore,” Meg said. “And you deserve to have some fun. If you were to go into something with Ry with your eyes wide open…”

Claire grimaced. “You know that kind of thing doesn’t work for me. I’d just end up feeling miserable about myself.”

Meg sat back with a sigh. “I guess I’m playing devil’s advocate. I just wish you didn’t always have to put walls around yourself when it comes to guys.”

“Ry Griffin is hardly just any guy. He’s not one of the local bros who would be decent no matter what happened. Something with him could turn into a complete disaster.”

She’d known from the moment he smiled and handed her that pipe wrench that he could be big trouble. And she so wanted to be done with trouble.

“In that case, finish those eggs and do your best to forget about him,” Meg said, forking more croque into her mouth. “He’ll just be a client, like everyone else. And if you want, I can always take over that assignment for you.”

Claire vaguely nodded. Forget Ry Griffin? Easier said than done.

* * *

He should have asked Claire for directions last night, but things had gone sideways fast after he kissed her. She’d blown out of his place like her sweet little ass was on fire and obviously hadn’t thought about logistics like that either. Fortunately, the community center would be easy enough to find in a one-horse town like Spy Hill.

As he cruised past the Blueberry Lane Artisan Co-op, he took a quick glance at her rented apartment. Artist, musician, singer, concierge, dog trainer—there didn’t seem to be much Claire couldn’t do. Plus she was pretty, sexy, and sweet. It was batshit crazy that she was still unattached.

Three blocks past the Red Dory, he saw a sign for the community center that had an arrow pointing to his left. He turned and went a block north to find the center’s paved lot.  He quickly parked his Harley there.

Inside the entrance there was some kind of honor wall, the brick covered with a couple of dozen photographs of town mayors and other dignitaries. There’d been a similar wall at the community center in the Minnesota town where he’d grown up. He’d spent the biggest part of his youth in that center’s hockey arena and basketball court, and he couldn’t help getting a not entirely pleasant sense of déjà vu as he walked through this place.

Just ahead, another set of double doors was wide open, revealing a large, multi-purpose space with basketball hoops and a curtained stage at one end. Voices led him further on to a couple of small meeting rooms. He stopped and glanced in the doorway of the one where voices were coming from. Claire looked up at him from her seat halfway down one side of the table.

“Come in, Ry. Welcome to the committee. We’re so glad to have you join us.” She pointed to the only empty chair—the one almost directly opposite her. Her smile wobbled a bit, as if she was nervous.

Most of the other people offered him words of welcome as he made his way around to his seat, dropping his helmet on a side table before sitting down at the conference table. A gray-haired man in the next chair, dressed somberly in a dark suit and tie, shook hands and introduced himself as Conrad McCutcheon. Maybe he was the local undertaker. Ry found it hard to imagine anyone else dressing like that on a sunny, hot afternoon.

Claire quickly made the introductions. There were eleven other people besides them, and they ranged in age from late teens to maybe late seventies. The majority were seniors. In contrast to the gray set, there was a cute girl in her mid-twenties who was seated right next to him, along with a rugged looking, thirtyish guy down at the end of the table. Ry nodded as each person was introduced, but his gaze kept returning to Claire. It was the first time he’d seen her wearing glasses, so that was a bit of a surprise. Along with her pinned up hair, the dark-framed glasses gave her a bit of a schoolmarm look.

A very hot schoolmarm.

After determining that she was the only one looking at him, he grinned and gave her a quick wink. Hey, we’re cool. Don’t turn last night into a problem.

She blinked and then lowered her gaze.

“Okay, let’s get started,” McCutcheon said in a voice that sounded steeped in whiskey and cigarettes. “We’re pleased to have Ryder join us today.” He turned slightly to give Ry a smile. “Claire’s a pretty persuasive gal, isn’t she?”

“To say the least,” Ry said.

“Yes, well, God bless her for it. Folks, Ryder is going to help Claire and Cassidy with the music program. They tell me it’s going to be bigger and better than ever this year.”

Cassidy LaRue was the cute, dark-haired girl on Ry’s left. She gave him a friendly nod.

“Thanks to Claire,” McCutcheon continued, “the music part of the festival has really turned into something grand. She volunteers for everything and keeps people on their toes and smiling. We truly couldn’t do it without her.”

Wow. The small town sweetheart description was clearly bang-on when it came to Claire. It was yet more confirmation that he needed to avoid screwing things up with her. The locals would probably pound the crap out of him and then dump him out of a lobster boat with a trap full of bricks tied to his leg.

Claire blushed a deep shade of pink, looking both bashful and cute as hell. “You’re exaggerating, Conrad. But thank you for those very kind words.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” McCutcheon said. “Now then, let’s start with the youth softball tournament. Some of you already know that Chester gave me the bad news last week that he has to drop out as our organizer. He’s going under the knife on Wednesday for his heart, and he’s going to have a long recovery. So we need to find somebody to take over that job.”

“What’s left to do?” Claire asked. “I understand that all the teams have been lined up already.”

“Yes, but we only have two umpires, so we need two more. The main thing, really, is that somebody needs to be there to take charge during that weekend. To be on site and make sure everything runs tickety-boo.”

“That’s a really important job,” she said, looking straight at Ry.

“Indeed. Anybody here willing to take that on?” McCutcheon asked. “I know you’ve all got plenty on your plates…”

Nobody spoke up. Claire still stared at Ry, and now he saw what looked like a plea in her eyes.

Crap. He felt like he owed her after last night’s screw-up.

“I guess I could handle that,” he said. “If Claire thinks it wouldn’t interfere with my responsibilities on the music side.”

Actually, helping kids out with the softball tourney sounded okay. He loved baseball and sometimes wished he could have pursued the game with the same time and energy he’d devoted to hockey. But he’d come from small-town Minnesota where hockey was undisputed king. And then there’d been his father, for whom his son’s destiny had been carved in stone from day one—more specifically the day Ry had first grabbed hold of the sawed-off hockey stick his old man had thrust into his small, gloved hands.

Claire brightened right up. “I’m sure we’ll be able to work things out.”

When she rewarded him with a dazzling smile, warmth spread through his chest, making him feel ridiculously good. It was yet another warning that Claire posed serious a danger to his peace of mind.

Those warnings just seemed to keep piling up. It was about damn time he started listening to them.