Claire

By Friday, I was the best kind of tired. My legs ached from standing all day, and my mind was mostly settled from analyzing students and their thoughts.

Grateful, I dialed Mary on my Bluetooth while pulling out of the staff lot.

“What’s up?” Mary answered on the first ring.

“I wanted to say thanks…honestly, this week has been a game changer. I needed this.”

“Eh, cut the emotional BS, Claire. I needed a teacher, and you did it. I still wish you hadn’t.”

I pulled my car into the lot of the local coffee shop—a blessing and a vice. My plan was to forgo dinner, get a giant vanilla-ish whatever and an even larger icing-covered pastry, and spend my Friday night reading on my back porch with Smitty.

“For whatever it’s worth, Mar, I appreciate it. I like working. It’s good for me.”

I didn’t mention my student—Abbie with an ie—or my time with Aiken. Under no circumstances did I utter a word about my plans to stay in by myself on Friday night.

“Well, for whatever it’s worth, I’d rather you pick your sorry ass up and go to Tahiti. Get the hell out of here, fast and furious, without a glance back. But that’s me.”

My car was dinging, reminding me to check the backseat, as I turned the engine off, yet Mary’s words were clear as always—go live.

“I think I hear one of your kids yelling for you…probably needs something important like help flushing the toilet.”

“You don’t have to make an excuse. I love you. I’m glad you’re happy to be back. But what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t speak my mind?”

“A good one?”

She cackled. “You’re funny. Go do your thing. Talk later.”

She hung up before I could say bye. As I swung my sandaled feet out of my car to go get coffee, I came toe-to-toe with a pair of heavy boots. Startled, I threw my head back to see who was there and ended up smacking the top of it into the doorframe. “Ouch.” My hand met my scalp, trying to massage away the sudden soreness. A sea of blue filled my vision, and the pain was instantly forgotten.

“Claire, you okay?”

I nodded, still rubbing the back of my head. “What are you doing here, Aiken? And what kind of shoes are you wearing in the middle of the summer? It’s hot as hell.”

He leaned down, on his haunches, and I couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t one bit strained or pained or anything. His forearms rested on his quads, and he stared right at me.

“You mean my shitkickers?”

Both our gazes fell down.

“Yeah, your shit…kickers.” I nodded toward the obscenities in question.

“I don’t know. I kind of missed them, so I stuck ’em on to go see the dairy farm and left them on to hit the store. Felt like home.”

God, he’s so cute.

“And you decided to get coffee in them?”

He stuck his hand out, presumably to help me out of the car. Surprisingly, I didn’t resist, and my fingers tangled with his.

At first, I hoped he didn’t let go. Then, I wished for other parts of ours to tangle.

Or not.

“Promise not to get mad?” His fingers squeezed mine. One pump, two, a third.

I felt my eyebrows lift. “Do I have to?”

“I saw you pull in. Don’t get mad. I wasn’t following you. I was getting gas, and when you pulled in…I couldn’t resist.”

“Oh.”

“You getting a coffee? Come on, my treat.”

Our hands still together in front of us, I tried to pull away, but he held tighter. I took all of him in. From his messy hair to his blue eyes to his loose white tee and khaki cargo shorts. Muscular legs, gorgeous forearms, the dusting of hair along his skin, and, of course, his shitkickers, he was irresistible.

We were like a standardized test question.

Question: What item doesn’t belong?

Answer: Me.

“You don’t have to do that. Get me a coffee, I mean.”

“Let’s go, Claire. I have a truck full of groceries, and I want to butter you up with coffee in hopes you’ll let me make you dinner.” He kept my hand close as he led me toward the coffee shop.

My hand felt empty when he let go to get the door. Cold air blasted me in the face, his other hand finding my lower back, heating me once again, and ushering me inside.

“Hi! What can I get you today?” A chipper blonde in braids stared at us from behind the register. She looked like she belonged with Aiken, while I didn’t.

Aiken took the initiative. “A large coffee for me, room for cream, and whatever she’s having.”

I suspected he was a ladies-first kind of guy, but he also realized we’d be here all day if he waited for me to order.

“I’ll have an extra-large vanilla latte, three pumps, two percent milk, no whip.” I rattled off my order minus the pastry.

“Name for the cup?”

“Claire.”

“Sounds delish.” He pinched my side lightly, teasing me, his eyes crinkled and his mouth turned up.

“It is, I’ll have you know.”

“Come on.” He led me to the coffee bar and doused his coffee in cream and sugar.

“Is that even coffee anymore?”

Just then, the barista called my name and handed me my drink.

“I hardly think you can talk.” He clinked his coffee cup into mine. “Cheers. Now, let’s talk about dinner. I was thinking I’d grill, and you could let Smitty run around my yard while you lounge in one of my chairs with some wine.”

He tugged open the door, and we were back out in the heat.

“Aiken, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I don’t want pity.” I stopped in my tracks and sucked down a gulp of vanilla and coffee.

“Good thing, I don’t do pity. So, how does that sound?”

“Aik—”

“No excuses, Claire. We’re doing it. You deserve it, and frankly, so do I. Last week, I tried to go out in this godforsaken college town, and let me tell you…it sucked. I need a woman, a real woman, not a placeholder.”

He didn’t give me a chance to respond or even finish saying his name. His hand found my lower back and guided me toward my car. “I’ll follow you back. Enjoy your coffee, and take care of Smitty. See you over at my place soon.”

“Can I get a word in?”

He leaned onto my doorjamb, his bicep protruding from his shirt, distracting me from my entire train of thought.

The only thing distracting me more was his kindness.

His gentleness.

His boldness.

A lot of things, I guessed, were distracting me.

“Not if it’s negative,” he interrupted my inner monologue.

I shook my head.

“Thank you. That’s it.”

This received a quick chin dip and a wink, before he slammed the door and saluted me. I don’t know what rattled more—the car door or my heart.

I was in a huge heap of a mess, and I was too old for that kind of shit.

Or a guy who wore shitkickers.