“I thought living in such a small space would have made you more of a minimalist,” Tess complained as she set another box in the living room of the house.

“I read The Joy of Cleaning up. I only keep what gives me joy,” Claire returned, pushing a box into the corner.

“Then you must be ecstatic,” Tess groaned, arching her back to ease out a kink. “Isn’t that book supposed to make you throw things away?”

“No. It’s about caring for the things you have. And I care deeply about all this stuff.”

“You need to read it again. I think you missed the basic concept.”

Claire bopped her sister on the head with a pillow and they both laughed.

Nik chuckled at the give and take between the two. They’d been at it from the moment Tess and their mother came into Claire’s apartment. He flashed back to a memory he had of them — years ago — walking down the street, holding hands and laughing. Two sisters who enjoyed each other’s company. Then, as now, he was jealous of their easy relationship as siblings.

And once again he felt a surge of anger that his mother had taken that away from him.

“So where do you want this?” he asked, carrying a box into the room.

“Can you set it on the kitchen counter?” Claire asked. “There’s spices and utensils in that box I might need.”

“Can do.” He carried it back through the arched entryway into the kitchen. Against Claire’s strong protests, Tess had unpacked one of the boxes and put the same decorative tablecloth on the table as Claire had in her apartment and put the same plant on it as well. She’d hung a few prints on the walls and set some of Claire’s knickknacks on the empty shelves. Before her mother, who was also helping with the move, left she had hung curtains on the rods of the bay window and set pictures on it stating that they needed to make the place homey.

Much as Nik hated to admit it, they had made the house cozier and inviting.

“Hey, just wanted to say thanks for all your help.”

Nik turned to see Tess, hands on her hips, smiling at him. She walked over to the table, straightened the cloth and looked around. “I know that Claire couldn’t buy this house, but I want to say, from my family, that we’re thankful you’re letting her and Emma stay here a while.”

He wanted to ask her to define “a while”. Her mother had said close to the same thing to him when she left earlier.

He said nothing, but he would have to discuss this with Claire once everyone was gone. If it wasn’t for the fact that the equipment he’d lined up wouldn’t arrive for a couple of weeks, he’d be tearing the house down right now. But he also needed to know Claire would have a place to stay before that happened.

“I’m glad to help,” Nik said.

Tess lingered a moment, and Nik sensed she wanted to say something more. So he waited.

“I was chatting with Emma just a few moments ago,” Tess said. She looked directly at him now, as if challenging him. “You may as well know she’s been dropping heavy hints about what kind of father you would make. I hope you haven’t encouraged her.”

Anger was his first reaction. How could she think that when he had done nothing, said nothing?

But behind that came a lingering admiration for a sister who was only looking out for her sister and her niece.

“I have said nothing to her,” was all he could come up with.

Tess didn’t seem convinced.

“Look, I’ve got my own plans and they don’t involve Emma or Claire. As soon as I can get this house torn down and my new building up, I’m out of here.”

He said the words with more conviction than he felt. Sitting beside Claire at the baseball practice, watching his sister interact with the kids and with Emma had felt, for lack of a better word, right. He felt as if he were slowly being drawn into a place of belonging.

At the practice Cory had waved to him a couple of times and so had Emma. Allen Andrews had stopped by to ask him a few questions and one of the clerks from the grocery store he went to had also said hello.

“I’m sure you also understand how important this house is to Claire,” Tess said.

Nik felt like he was being pushed into a corner, so he simply said nothing.

“I just want to give you permission not to feel too guilty about buying it,” Tess said. “In spite of her tough as nails attitude, she’s a sentimental softy. I’ve seen her cry over coffee commercials. And she has an idealized view of this house.” Tess looked away from him, fiddling with a flap on the box she had set on the table. “Look, I’ve probably said too much. But I wanted to let you know we’re all okay with this. You owning the house.”

Nik wasn’t sure what was expected of him, so he went with another vague smile.

“But there’s something else I need to mention to you. As a protective auntie, I want to warn you that Emma is a romantic as well. So… just… please… be careful with her too.”

Nik wanted to reassure her he would be.

But as the words were ready to come out, he hesitated. He was growing fond of Emma. She was a sweet, spunky girl, and she made him laugh. Something that he hadn’t experienced for a very long time.

However, he understood what Tess was intimating.

“I absolutely will be,” he assured her, holding her gaze. He was about to leave, but something she said about Claire’s version of the house stuck with him. “You grew up in this house, too? How do you feel about it?”

Tess looked around the kitchen then shrugged. “I’m not as sentimental as Claire is, but then the boundaries of my life have fallen into pleasant places lately. I don’t feel like I need to return to some special place in my life to find peace because I’m happy right now.” She returned his look. “A lot of stuff in my past has been resolved, or I’m at least working through it. Claire, however, still struggles with issues from the past and from her ex.” She stopped there.

“Her ex?” Nik asked. Claire had alluded to her ex-husband but only in the vaguest terms. “What issues is she struggling with?”

Tess sliced her hand in the air between them. “I don’t want to say too much about that. Why do you want to know?”

He held her penetrating gaze then said, “Just curious.” He knew it was a brush off and he also knew Tess didn’t believe him.

“Just be careful with them,” she said, giving him a cautious smile.

“I will,” he said.

But as she left, he wandered to the doorway, and watched Claire stack up the boxes containing what she had salvaged from her apartment. She was in profile to him and she looked at the stairs, a half-smile playing around her mouth.

He turned away and set the box he held onto the counter, his emotions battling with the happiness he saw on her face. How she felt about this house shouldn’t matter.

But even as he ripped open the box to set its contents on the counter, Claire’s happiness sifted around his own feelings. Tapped lightly at his plans, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

* * *

“Thanks for fixing that for me,” Claire said, glancing over at Nik. He stepped down from the kitchen chair he had dragged into the middle of the room and dropped the screwdriver into a toolbox he had carried into the house.

“Gladly done,” he said.

“Of course, the irony of you repairing something in a house you’ll be tearing down isn’t lost on me.” Nik heard the forced lightness in her tone and wished it didn’t bother him.

“Having a smoke detector go off at midnight for no reason affects me, too,” he said with a shrug.

“Makes sense.” Claire gave him a careful smile, as if sensing his pretext.

These little connections had become more frequent lately. From both of them. Covert glances and quick greetings as they passed each other in the yard held more weight than they had before. It was a connection he knew he shouldn’t encourage but couldn’t stop himself from making.

So, when she called him to ask him to fix the smoke detector, he’d been far too happy to oblige.

“I made coffee, did you want some?” she asked. “Emma baked some cookies she wanted to give to you but didn’t have time to bring them over.”

“Where is she now?”

“Sleeping. She had a busy day at school and went to a birthday party afterwards. She was beat.”

He felt a tinge of regret. He would have liked to have seen Emma.

He mentally shook off his reaction, his head fighting with his heart. He was becoming too attached to that young girl and, even worse, her mother.

Things were shifting between him and Claire and moving to a nebulous place where they could reach an emotional tipping point. He knew he should leave, but the thought of returning to his empty trailer held no appeal.

“Sure. That sounds good.” He looked for a place to sit by the table, but the chairs all held clothes and assorted items.

“Sorry about the mess. Emma’s been digging around for some of her toys. We can go sit in the living room if that’s okay.”

“Fine by me.” He preferred the living room anyway. Less drama had happened there than in this kitchen.

Claire picked up a tray and he let her go ahead of him.

Music was playing in the background and the lights were turned low. An afghan was draped over the back of the couch and the coffee table held a plant. Despite the boxes stacked along one wall, the room looked and felt cozy and welcoming.

“I know it looks like I’m settling in for the long haul,” Claire said, apologetic as she set the tray on the low coffee table. “But my mom and sister insisted that I make the place look homey.”

“Fine by me,” Nik said, lowering himself to the couch opposite the easy chair he guessed was the one Claire sat in. A throw lay over its back and the table beside it held an assortment of books.

Either her or her family had also strung curtains on the abandoned curtain rods and hung up a few pictures.

She poured him his coffee then sat down in her chair, curling her feet up under her. Her hair hung loose, spilling over her shoulders, gleaming in the half-light of the room.

They were quiet for a moment, as if unsure what to say.

Nik wanted to ask about her plans, but he didn’t want to pressure her and he guessed she didn’t want to hear about his plans.

“Does Emma enjoy playing baseball?” he finally asked, thankful to find an easy discussion topic.

Claire tilted her hand in a gesture of uncertainty. “Not really. She doesn’t feel like she’s very good at it.”

“It’s not a pre-cursor to the big leagues,” he joked, settling back in his chair.

“No. But she is a perfectionist. Curse of being an oldest or in her case, an only, child.”

“You sound like you know what that’s like. Are you the oldest?”

Claire took a sip of her coffee. “Yep. And I’m also a perfectionist. But what I’ve struggled the hardest with is being a people pleaser. I heard that was an oldest child’s thing too. Did you have that problem?”

“I like things done a certain way,” he admitted. “As far as being a people pleaser, I think that was always part of my makeup.”

A memory of sitting upstairs, struggling with his math homework; carefully erasing mistakes so he wouldn’t waste paper. Needing to get everything just perfect. Blended through the fear of being punished if he didn’t get it right was an innate desire to earn some kind of praise from either his foster mother or father.

He never did.

“It’s a hard thing to get rid of. The people pleasing as well as the perfectionist part,” she said.

“Funny, I never pegged you for a people pleaser,” Nik replied

“Oh, I’ve had my struggles there. I think I spent most of my life trying to make my mother happy. That got harder to do as I got older and then there was the whole unwed mother thing I dropped on her.” Claire shrugged, her smile was a bit forced and Nik heard a faint note of pain in her voice. “But the perfectionist part. Yeah. That’s totally me. When I set up the coffee shop, Tess kept telling me I should relax. That good enough was good enough.”

“But good is the enemy of best,” Nik returned, quoting one of his beloved foster mother’s favorite maxims.

“Right?” She flashed him a smile—one much less superficial than the last; it reached her eyes. “Tess likes to deal with things as they come but I need a plan. We agree to disagree.”

“You and Tess get along really well, don’t you?”

Claire smiled again. “I’m thankful that we’re back together in the same town. She’s my sister but she’s also my best friend.”

“I remember that about the two of you.”

“What do you mean, you remember?”

“I saw you two out and about once in a while.”

“I thought you never went to school?” This netted him a puzzled frown.

“No. But sometimes I’d sneak out of the house. Walk around town. I’d see you and your sister together. I remember one time especially.” He stopped there, realizing how that sounded. Like he had been stalking them.

“When was that?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I’d like to know,” she pressed.

He thought for a moment, but figured he had nothing to lose by telling her. “It was in the park. Tess was walking on a narrow ledge and you were holding her hand, steadying her, warning her to be careful. Then she fell and landed on you. I thought for sure you would be angry, and she would be crying but you were both lying on the grass, laughing your heads off.” He smiled at the memory of the girls lying side by side, helpless with giggles, laughing up at the sky. “It was neat to see.”

“We did have a lot of fun together,” Claire said, cradling her mug.

“You were lucky to have such a good relationship with your sister.”

“You had siblings when you lived here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. The foster family I lived with had two of their own kids. A girl my age and a boy a year younger.”

“Were they foster kids as well?”

“No. They were the Baleys’ natural kids.”

“And also homeschooled?”

“Yup.”

“And you didn’t get along with them?”

Nik took another sip of coffee, buying time as other memories invaded, trying to find a way to explain that wouldn't make him sound like he felt sorry for himself. “I wouldn’t say we didn’t get along, I just didn’t spend much time with them.”

Her frown showed her puzzlement. “How could you not? You lived in the same house.”

“I spent a lot of time in my room.”

“Ah. A recluse.”

“Not often by choice.” The words jumped out before he could stop them. Claire set her coffee cup down and leaned forward, her face puzzled.

“What are you saying?” She asked the question in a soft tone.

Nik wanted to stop there. He knew going back to that time would bring out emotions he couldn’t control. He blamed it on the house. On being here and the mood it projected.

“That was in the past,” he said, struggling to sound casual.

“Maybe, but I believe it’s seeping into your present,” Claire said.

Nik clenched his fist as he wrestled the memories back into submission.

Then to his surprise and dismay, Claire was sitting beside him, her hand on his shoulder.

“What happened here?” She asked. “You told me once you didn’t have happy memories here, but I think it’s worse than that.”

He drew in a shuddering breath as frustration and anger surged through him. He couldn’t tell her everything. “You wouldn’t understand. You with your perfect life and your perfect family,” he managed.

“My family is far from perfect. And my life is far from perfect. I’m living in someone else’s house, the single mother of a six-year-old daughter. I would hardly call that a fairytale ending.”

Nik felt ashamed. “You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

But she kept her hand where it was, and much as he knew he should pull away it had been so long since someone had tried to connect with him, had shown him even an ounce of sympathy, and he didn’t want to move.

“So, what happened here?” she insisted.

Nik wove his fingers together, his hands so tight his knuckles turned white as pictures crowded to the forefront of his mind, clamoring to be released. Maybe it would help if he dumped them. Maybe.

“When I first moved in with the Baley family, I was about eight years old.”

“But Cory said you were adopted out when you were four,” she said.

“I was. But that adoption failed. And I got put into the foster system. That’s how I ended up with the Baleys.”

“That must’ve been so difficult for you.”

“It was hard. Especially when I found out that the first couple who adopted me hoped taking in a child would fix a marriage that was falling apart. Guess it didn’t work.” He tried to inject a light tone into his voice, hoping he could show her he was over that. “Anyhow, I got into the Baley family when they lived in Lethbridge. It was okay at first. Then my foster father lost his job and we moved here. They insisted on home-schooling me and their children and that’s when I found out how dysfunctional my foster parents actually were. It went okay at first, but slowly the cracks started showing. Nothing I did was ever good enough, I was a waste of time, I wasn’t their kid, they weren’t getting paid enough to take care of me.” His knee bounced again, and he pushed his elbow down on it to stop it. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He had to get over this.

“You said you spent a lot of time in your bedroom. Was that because you were sent there?”

She asked her questions quietly, gently probing. He wanted to resist, but then he looked into her eyes. The sympathy he saw there bothered him. He didn’t like a woman feeling sorry for him.

And yet, at the same time, he saw concern.

“Were they abusive?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“Emotionally and physically.” He ground the words out, wishing he could distance himself from that time.

“Why?”

Why indeed?

“I don’t know, but nothing I ever did was good enough. No matter how hard I tried. And after a while, I stopped trying. And that’s when things got really bad. I mouthed off to them. At first they would yell back, send me to my room. But things escalated each time.” He sucked in a long, slow breath, struggling to slow down the pounding of his heart. He closed his eyes but that only made it worse. Again, he could feel the sting of a callused hand across his cheek. How his head would snap back when his foster father hit him extra hard. A boot to the shins and, if he fell down, an extra one to his ribs. “Things got physical.”

“And all of this was happening while you lived here? Oh, Nik. I’m sorry. We never knew.”

“No one knew. Rick was always very careful not to create bruises in places that would show. And if he did, off to my room I went until they healed. They had many ways of controlling me. Food was a big one. I spent so many years in this house hungry…” His voice trembled, and he fought the weakness into submission. He should stop now. He didn’t want to go back into that darkness, but it was as if the words he’d held back so long demanded release. “I tried to run away a couple of times, but I always got caught and brought back here. Which started off another cycle of abuse and pain and hunger. Those little hidey-holes your daughter loves so much were, to me, a place of fear and terror. I’d be locked in there sometimes for days at a time.”

Claire’s hand tightened on his shoulder as the words spilled out. He struggled with the mixture of anger and even worse, sorrow. As a child he had shed enough tears and he wouldn't let that happen again. Not in front of Claire.

“I wish we’d known,” she agreed. “I wish we’d known what you were going through. I used to come by this house just to look at my old home, and sometimes I’d see you sitting on the deck. Should’ve come and talked to you. I should have been a better neighbor. I should have been a better Christian.”

“How were you to know?” To his dismay the question came out through an ever-thickening throat. He swallowed and swallowed again. “No one knew what was going on in this house. Not even the cops who brought me back here every time. Or the social worker the few times that poor overworked woman would come for a visit.”

“And you had nowhere to turn.”

This sympathy in her voice was his undoing. A sob crawled up his throat followed by another. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his hands tighter as his shoulders shook with silent grief. He hadn’t cried since he ended up in Rebecca Huizinga’s home and he didn’t want to now. Not in front of this woman who was growing more appealing to him.

“Oh Nik,” Claire said. “What you have had to deal with is unspeakable. I’m so sorry we didn’t help you. I’m so sorry we didn’t pay attention.”

And then her arms were around him, holding him close.

He wanted to push her back; he wasn’t a child anymore. He was a man, and he didn’t need sympathy from a woman.

But he didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Her comfort filled the empty places in him that he’d tried to fill with more work, more holidays, more of whatever he thought would make the ache of it go away.

It never did.

He slipped his arms around her, swallowing his grief.

Then, to his dismay, she brushed a kiss over his cheek.

And another sob slipped past his reserve. He struggled to fight it into submission but the hunger in him yearned for the closeness Claire offered. Comfort he was now receiving from this amazing and wonderful woman.

He pressed his hands against his face, still fighting but the sobs came faster now. And she held him even closer. Pictures flashed through his mind, each creating more pain and anguish. His mother leaving him, the Jensen’s leaving him, his foster father beating him. He couldn’t let the memories win but the pain took over and the tears flowed.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally fought the sorrow into submission.

He tried to pull back from Claire as he regained control.

But she wouldn’t let him move away. She cradled his face in her hands her eyes gentle on him. “I wish I could tell you how sorry I am. I apologize that we did not help you. That you had to suffer this all alone.”

Nik held her gaze, heard the sincerity in her voice, her hands gentle on his face. He felt as if he should man up, take control but other emotions flitted over her face. She was about to remove her hands when he caught them in his own, curling his fingers through hers.

“Like I said, how were you to know if the people who were supposed to protect me didn’t? Wouldn’t?” He swallowed, drawing in a shaky breath, thankful his emotions were falling back into line.

She looked at their interlocked hands. “I understand why this house doesn’t make you happy.”

Her admission surprised him but also validated his feelings and his plans.

“So, you know why I have to get rid of it?”

“Maybe.” She lifted her eyes to his and he could see pain in them. “But I remember laughter and fun and joy and a family that enjoyed being together. It was a good home for me and my family. It was the best place I ever lived in. That happened in this house too.”

“I need to move on,” he said quietly, struggling with his conflicting emotions. “And I don’t think I can do that until this place is gone.”

“But it’s just a building,” she replied.

“I could say the same to you.”

She blinked again, and, to his surprise, dislodged a tear.

Now it was his turn to comfort her as he held her face and thumbed the tear away. But he let his hand linger, stroking her face. His breath quickened as their eyes held and then he didn’t want to talk anymore.

All the lingering glances they had shared the past few weeks, the memories he had harbored of her, the attraction he knew was growing blended in this moment.

He leaned closer, their breath mingling for a heartbeat.

Stifling doubts, second thoughts and warnings, he gave in to his yearnings, leaned in closer and kissed her.

Her lips were warm and soft and inviting. He slipped his arms around her, drawing her closer as their kiss deepened. She wrapped her arms around his, her mouth moving over his.

Her fingers caressed his face, slipping over his cheeks, his chin, as if memorizing his features.

Too quickly she drew back but kept her forehead pressed against his, her eyes downcast. He couldn’t make out her features and didn’t want to catch her reaction. But she didn’t move out of his embrace.

And he wasn’t apologizing for his impulse.

It felt right to have her in his arms, her slight body pressed against his. It felt like they were both exactly where they were should be.

Her breath feathered over his mouth and while he wanted to kiss her again, he also sensed she needed a moment to absorb what had just happened.

So did he.

Then she slowly leaned back in his embrace, a question in the depths of her eyes.

Curbing his own questions about what they were doing and where they were going, he kissed her again.

When he leaned back on the couch she came with him, curling up against him, one arm around him, her hand resting on his chest. He laid his cheek against her hair, releasing a long held, deep sigh. He closed his eyes, shutting out the house, letting the classical music Claire had playing on the stereo soothe the harsh feelings. Letting him simply enjoy holding this amazing woman in his arms.

Her fingers made circles on his chest, their gentle movement easing away the tension that always gripped him when he came in the house.

“I’m glad you did that,” she said, her voice soft, a gentle murmur. “Kissed me.”

“I am too.” He pressed a light kiss on her head and eased out another sigh. “Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

“What do you mean, ‘a long time?’” She pulled back at that, frowning in her puzzlement. “You’ve only been here a couple of weeks.”

“This time around.” He fingered a strand of hair away from her face, wondering what she would think when he told her. “I would see you in town, like that time I saw you with Tess. I liked watching you biking around town. You always looked so carefree and happy.”

“I was biking to get out of the house. My parents were probably fighting, and I wanted to be free. So I’d come and either bike or walk past this place.”

“I remember that. There were lots of times I’d be in my room in this house, sitting at my desk. I was supposed to be working and I would see you stop on the sidewalk and look at the house.”

“That means you were staying in either my mom’s sewing room or my dad’s study. Those are the only rooms that look out over the street.”

“It was the one on the north end of the house.”

“My mom’s sewing room then. It was tiny.” And then her face grew serious. “And it had a couple of cubby holes in it. The ones that Emma loves hiding in.”

He nodded, his heart starting up again.

“Were you locked in them?”

He gave her another nod.

Claire closed her eyes, as if she didn’t want to acknowledge that.

He wanted to comfort her. To assure her that those events were another part of his life.

But that would be hypocritical.

Breaking down in her arms had released an army of memories, marching through his brain, relentless. Take no prisoners.

He wanted them gone.

And he knew the only way that would happen was if he razed this house to the ground. Burying the memories and destroying the place they dwelled.

Once that was done, he could finally be released from that humiliating and painful part of his past.

* * *

A door slammed upstairs, and Claire jumped away from Nik.

“I think that’s Emma,” Claire said, her voice trembling with the emotions that still raced through her.

She got up, smoothing her hair, struggling with a guilt she didn’t want to feel.

“Mommy,” Emma called out. “I’m thirsty.”

“Just stay up there. I’ll bring you some water,” Claire returned hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. She shot Nik a warning glance. But his head was down, and she hesitated, wondering what he was thinking.

As she walked past him to the kitchen, she blamed her impulse on loneliness, and the fact that a man had broken down in front of her. Had shown weakness. Had shed tears.

That had never happened to her before. And even though she had felt sad for him, that emotion shifted to a whole different one as he kissed her.

She pressed her hands to her heated cheeks, then opened a packing box on the table and pulled a glass out. She hadn’t wanted to put too many things in the cupboard, knowing she would have to pack up again once she found a place to stay. Though it had only been a couple of days, living out of the boxes was getting boring. And a stark reminder of how tenuous her life was. No house to buy, no apartment to return to. The future was a foggy place of uncertainty.

She fought down a beat of fear as she filled Emma’s glass from a pitcher in the fridge.

Dear Lord, please let me trust in you. Please let me know you are watching over us. Help me to trust you will get us through this.

Her parents had always taught her to bring everything to God in prayer. This was how she got through those dark days after Andy left her high and dry with a three-month-old baby and she had to find a way to make it on her own. But lately it seemed even her prayers were agitated, creating more ambivalence than comfort.

She took a deep breath and turned.

“I always get thirsty when I’m lying in bed,” Claire heard Emma say.

The little stinker had come downstairs anyways.

Claire walked into the living room and sure enough there was Emma, perched on the edge of the coffee table, her hands on her hips in her I’m-so-cool pose.

“I heard Mr. Nik talking, and I wanted to say hello,” Emma said, her eyes wide, the picture of innocence.

“Well, you’ve said hello, now I want you to scoot back upstairs,” Claire said, her tone firm.

“Are you coming to the church picnic on Saturday?” Emma asked, ignoring her mother, eyes focused on Nik.

It was as if she knew she held power and was wielding it.

“I didn’t know there was a church picnic,” Nik said. He leaned back in his seat, one ankle rested on his knee, looking surprisingly comfortable considering what had just happened. He was smiling.

“It will be so fun,” Emma said. “We’re having races, and contests. I baked some cookies for it, even.”

“Oh, and here I thought they were for me,” Nik said with a laugh.

“Yes, they were for you, but they were also for the picnic.” Emma’s quick recovery was admirable and before Claire could reprimand her, Emma continued, shooting a pleading look Claire’s way. “I really want Mr. Nik to come to the picnic. All the other kids will bring their dads and I don’t have a dad.”

And here we go again. It was time to stop that line of conversation.

“Here’s your drink and then it’s bedtime, missy,” Claire warned.

“But I’m not tired,” Emma whined. “Can we play a game?” Before Claire could protest, Emma ran to another packing box and lifted the flaps. She pulled another box out and brought it back to the coffee table, setting it down. “I like playing Chinese checkers, and I just learned how to do it. I’m not very good at it, so you can help me.”

She was doing this on purpose, Claire realized. Pushing back in front of Nik; forcing Claire’s hand. Short of grabbing Emma by the arm and dragging her up the stairs, Claire was stuck. And after what Nik had just told her, she wasn’t using physical force on her daughter.

“We can play one game,” Claire conceded. “But then you have to go back to bed.”

Emma’s grin went from ear to ear. Claire knew she had lost some authority, but she wasn’t engaging in public battle with her daughter.

Emma set the box on the table and lifted the lid, explaining the directions to Nik. She looked up at Claire, “You can just put my glass of water beside me,” she said.

“Yes, boss.” Claire rolled her eyes and set it down then knelt beside her daughter resting her elbows on the table and looking directly at Emma. “Just one game, remember?” she warned. She was giving in, but sensed Emma knew not to push back too hard.

Emma agreed and pulled the marbles out. She handed one pile to Nik, laid out one for herself and then gave her mother hers.

“I’ll just watch,” Claire said. Playing with the three of them would extend the game.

“Please, Mommy? We hardly ever get to play games together.” The pathos in her voice made it sound like Claire seldom did anything with her daughter. So, with a stifled sigh, she gave in. Again.

She blamed her slack discipline on the tangle of their lives the past few days. Hard to find a rhythm when you didn’t know which direction you were marching.

“You aren’t allowed to take my marble when you jump it like you do in checkers or chess,” Emma warned Nik.

“You know how to play chess?” Nik sounded impressed.

“It’s really easy,” Emma pronounced as she set the marbles out.

“We play our own version,” Claire said, catching Nik’s surprise.

“Ah. I see.” His surprise turned to a smile and once again she couldn't look away.

As their gaze lengthened her breath quickened and she felt as if her lips were still warm from his kiss.

“You can move first,” Emma said looking from Claire to Nik, breaking the moment.

“Of course,” Claire said, ignoring her daughter’s puzzled look and moving a marble out.

Soon the game was underway.

“This is so fun,” Emma crowed as she hopped over Nik’s marbles which, Claire suspected, he had laid out precisely for her. “I think I will win.”

“Which would be awesome,” Claire said, following Nik’s lead and setting Emma up. The sooner this game was over the sooner her daughter would be back in bed and not discussing dads and fathers in front of Nik.

“Why are you doing that?” Emma challenged her. “That move doesn’t make any sense.”

Looked like her daughter was on to her. “I’m going to jump over Nik’s marbles,” she said. “Your turn now.”

“Let’s see, let’s see.” Emma tapped her chin as she decided which move to make. Claire was about to encourage her to do something when Emma hopped her marble all the way across the board then smiled up at Nik. “So, Mr. Nik did you think about the church picnic? I think you should come. It’s a lot of fun.”

Claire should have known Emma wouldn’t let this go. “Mr. Nik probably has other plans,” she said, trying to catch Emma’s eye.

“Do you?” Emma asked him as she danced her marble across the board and into her home slot. “Have other plans?”

“I have a few things I need to organize the next few days,” Nik replied moving his marble.

Claire suppressed her panic, guessing the things he needed to organize had to do with the house.

“But you don’t have plans on Saturday?” Emma pressed.

“No. Not really.”

“You could totally come,” Emma crowed, clapping her hands. “The picnic is on Saturday and my mom is getting Aunty Tess to work in the cafe and Saturday is usually off for people.” Before Nik could reply Emma turned to Claire, her eyes wide. “Maybe Mr. Nik can buy your basket. That would be so cool. We could sit all together and eat it.” She spun back to Nik, a conversational dervish, Claire couldn’t stop. “I would love that. Last year my mommy and I sat by with my grandpa and gramma because my grandpa bought my mom’s basket and that wasn’t as much fun.”

“I think that’s enough about the picnic,” Claire interjected before her daughter could say anything else. “You’re making Mr. Nik uncomfortable.” Claire shot her daughter a stern glance. Thankfully, this time, Emma took the hint. She looked down, her smile fading.

“I just don’t want Billy Dansworth to poke fun of me again,” she mumbled.

“Billy pokes fun of everyone,” Claire said making her move. “And you should learn to ignore him.”

“But he’s so mean. The other day he told my friends at school that I didn’t have a dad because I was so ugly. I’m not ugly, am I?” This question was directed to Nik as if Emma knew what Claire’s response would be. Clearly, she needed a second opinion.

“I think you’re a fun girl who is very attractive,” Nik returned.

“Does that mean I’m pretty?”

“It means you’re pretty amazing,” Nik parried.

Claire had to chuckle at his deft responses.

“But I want to be pretty, pretty. You know, beautiful,” Emma said.

“My foster mother used to say that ‘grace is deceitful, and beauty is vain’. So, it’s really not important to be beautiful.”

Emma frowned as if trying to figure out what he was saying. “So what’s a foster mother? Is that different than a regular mother?”

Of all the things Nik had just told her, Claire did not think her daughter would land on that particular item. “A foster mother is someone who helps kids who don’t have a family,” Claire put in, sparing Nik the need to reply. “And you need to make a move missy.”

“You don’t have a family, Mr. Nik?” Emma’s frown deepened as she hopped her marble down the board.

Claire held in a groan. She thought she had helped Nik, instead she had created more questions for Emma.

“I actually do,” Nik said. “Your baseball coach, Cory, is my sister.”

“Did Miss Cory have a foster mother, too?”

At that Nik’s smile slid into a dark frown. “And now I’m making an epic jump,” he said, evading her question.

Clearly Emma had stepped into territory Nik didn’t want to discuss as he made his move.

“So did she?” Emma asked.

“We need to finish up this game,” Claire said, reaching over and giving her daughter’s arm a warning squeeze. “Bedtime isn’t going away.”

“Okay, but I still think I will win,” Emma said.

“I think so, too.” Claire gave her daughter a gentle smile, then stroked the arm she had just squeezed. “You’re a good player.”

“I know you guys let me win,” she said matter-of-factly as she moved her last marble into place. “And that’s okay. I like winning.”

“Isn’t that a fact.” Claire tempered her comment with another smile her daughter’s way. It seemed Emma was more perceptive than she gave her credit for.

“And if Mr. Nik comes to the church picnic than maybe you can finally win the three-legged race,” Emma said, gathering up the marbles. “Last year, you and Miss Cory were way behind and I don’t think Auntie Tess will be much help because she will probably want to race with Uncle Jace. So what should we do about that?”

Whatever would she do with this girl?

“Nothing at all,” Claire said, getting up and taking the game from her daughter. “And now the evening is over for you.”

Emma looked like she wanted to say something more, but this time Claire took her hand grasping it firmly in hers. “Say goodnight to Mr. Nik,” she said.

“Goodnight Mr. Nik,” Emma said, her voice subdued. “I sure hope you can come to the picnic.”

Claire tugged on Emma’s arm and escorted her upstairs. Thankfully Emma went along with no protest.

She tucked her daughter in and sat on the bed to give her a mini lecture about her behavior concerning Nik. Emma suddenly sat up and grabbed Claire by the neck. “I’m so sad, Mommy." She sniffled.

Claire wrapped her arms around her daughter, pulling her close. “What are you sad about, honey?”

“I don’t want to move out of the house.”

Neither do I.

“But it’s not our house, honey. It’s Mr. Nik’s now. And we’ll find another nice place to live.”

“But there won’t be a yard for Mooch to play in,” Emma complained. “And I don’t want to live in another apartment.”

Claire gently released Emma’s arms and sat back, still holding her daughter’s hands. “You know what’s the most important thing, don’t you?” Claire asked.

“That we love Jesus with all our heart?”

“Absolutely, that is the most important thing,” Claire said with a smile. “Do you know what’s the second most important thing?” she amended.

“That we love each other?”

“You got it. And because we love each other so much, it doesn’t matter where we live. We will always be together, you and me.”

“Will I ever get a dad?”

Claire bit back a sigh at her daughter’s persistence but kept her cool and kept her response simple.

“We have each other. We don’t need a dad to be happy.” Claire’s thoughts shifted back to Andy and the struggle she went through with him after they were married.

Lance had often spoken of his mother and how she dominated his life. How he struggled with the pain. Claire knew Andy had a difficult family life and she foolishly thought she could love the pain away. But he never got past it. Could never stop talking about it. If anything, he grew more bitter with each month they lived together.

Then came the day that he decided to leave. He confronted her, accusing her of being like his mother. Trying to dominate him. Tying him down. Told her how much he hated the feeling. That he needed to be free. He couldn’t let go of the pain and he couldn’t even begin to consider her and Emma’s needs.

And on the heels of that degrading memory came the few dates she did dare go on. Dates not repeated once the guys found out that she had a daughter. She knew those words and actions shouldn’t haunt or define her but they sunk into the pit that seemed to inhabit her life, that place of low self-esteem.

But there’s a man downstairs who kissed you. Who seems interested in you. Who is good with Emma.

A man who is leaving once he’s done here.

“I would still like a dad,” Emma said, pulling her hands away from Claire and folding them over her stomach. “And I will keep praying for one.”

That Claire couldn’t do anything about, and while a small part of her sometimes thought the same, she knew from experience that she and Emma were better off on their own.

* * *

Nik got up from the couch, restless, not sure what to make of what had just happened. Trying to sort Emma’s comments from his kiss. Trying to put it all in its proper place.

He had some breathing space to think about it now that Emma and Claire were gone.

Thinking of his breakdown in front of Claire made him squirm. How had he let that happen?

He pulled in a deep breath, old emotions battling with new. A memory of himself sitting in his room upstairs, arms wrapped around his knees, jaw clenched in a combination of fear and fury. Promising himself he would never cry again.

All it had taken was one beautiful woman and a heavy dose of tangible sympathy and his promise faded like frost in the sun.

Even now, after the storm of sorrow and the joy of kissing Claire, anger prowled at the edges of his consciousness like a dark, malevolent beast, waiting to pounce and dig its claws in him. He tried to shake it off. Tried to relive that glorious moment, holding Claire in his arms, feeling as if his world had found a calm and quiet center.

And now that woman was upstairs putting her child to bed in a house that haunted him.

He swallowed again, clenching and unclenching his fists as he looked around the living room. The boxes piled in one corner, the worn furniture, the soft lighting created a different atmosphere than the dank darkness he had always associated with this place. Even hearing Claire’s soft murmuring from upstairs as she put Emma to bed seemed to ease his bleak thoughts.

He knew he should go, but he wanted to wait until Claire came down the stairs, so he could say a proper goodbye.

And kiss her again?

He squeezed his eyes closed, still not sure where to put everything. How to sort it all out. He was getting involved with a woman who had the potential to throw his world upside down. To make him change his plans.

And why not?

The three words swirled through all the other words and emotions, shifting and rearranging them.

He shook his head. He had a plan and if there was one thing life had taught him it was to stick to your plans. Don’t let other people determine your life’s path. This had happened to him too many times.

Finally, he heard a door close and footsteps down the hall. As soon as Claire came down the stairs her eyes met his and the relief on her face was evident. As if she were wondering whether he would leave while she was gone.

“I thought I would stick around and say goodbye,” Nik said, slipping his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, not sure he trusted himself to get too close to Claire.

“I’m sorry about Emma and her comments. She’s been out of sorts lately.”

“Understandable. Your life has been tossed topsy-turvy the past few days.” As his had in the past few hours.

Claire slipped her fingers through her hair.

Nik took a breath. “I want to say I’m sorry—”

“Emma was just being—”

They spoke at the same time and when he saw the hurt retreat in her eyes, in how she wrapped her arms around her midsection. She must think he was apologizing for kissing her when he wanted to apologize for breaking down in her arms.

But as his senses overtook his emotions, he realized this might be a good thing. He needed to back off, create some space.

“Thanks again for fixing the smoke detector,” she said, her eyes fixed on her hands.

For a moment he wanted to cross the room. To explain.

However, maybe it was better this way.

Yet, as he left, closing the door behind him, walking toward his darkened, empty trailer, he couldn’t seem to convince himself that he should have said something.