HT Scrappily HEA A15

by Travis, Haley

  I would never have expected to see Claire’s father coming toward me with his hand outstretched over the counter.

  “Shane, wonderful to see you again.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Cumberland. How can I help you?”

  “It’s Gerald, please.”

  “All right.”

  He has a firm handshake, and is staring me straight in the eye as if he’s here on a mission. I notice with a pang that his everyday suit is almost as sharp as my very best one.

  For half a second, I get a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. If he’s here to tell me to stop dating Claire, I’ll have to find a very polite way to shut him down immediately unless he has a damn good reason.

  No, there is nothing that will stop me from being with her at this point.

  “Glen mentioned this property the other day, and as a bit of a real estate tycoon, I had to take a look for myself,” he chuckles.

  My expression remains impassive. “How so?”

  “Well, you’ve got two-thirds of a giant city block here being completely underutilized.”

  “Sir, with respect, I believe I utilize my space quite well.”

  He nods, smiling with a slightly unnatural intensity as he casually runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Do you know this is an up and coming neighborhood?”

  “I do. Theoretically that should be good for business.”

  “True, but you could make an absolute fortune by selling this property and picking up something smaller in a quieter neighborhood.”

  My lips press together as I count to three so that I don’t lose my temper. It doesn’t help as much as it should.

  “Or of course,” he adds quickly, “you could make a small fortune by dividing the property and just selling part of it. You could keep this building, and sell off the parking lot. I know three condo developers who would jump on that chunk of land in a heartbeat.”

  If anyone tries to take my property from me, their hearts won’t be beating for long.

  But I have to be polite, for Claire’s sake.

  “That’s an intriguing thought, and I thank you for your interest. But I’m not going to sell off property that I’m actively using.”

  “Why don’t you just think it through?” Gerald says, looking around the shop with a narrow eyed expression I can’t pinpoint. He slides his card across the counter to me. “Maybe discuss it with Claire?”

  Something deep inside me snaps. Is he actually using his daughter to manipulate me? Why? So he can make money on a real estate deal?

  After a lifetime of stooping slightly and trying to downplay my size, I come around the counter and stretch up to my full height, feeling my shoulders expand to their maximum width. “How dare you,” I rasp, hearing a touch of darkness twinge my voice. Gerald actually jumps back nearly a foot.

  “How would you react if a stranger strolled in and told you to sell your house? I bet you’d be pretty pissed off.”

  Gerald takes a step back. “I didn’t mean anything by it…”

  “Yet you’re here trying to tell me what to do. Even when I tell you I’m not interested.”

  Although I haven’t moved an inch, Gerald steps back another foot.

  “I don’t need to be rich,” I said, lowering my voice. “I have far more than enough. I enjoy my work. I own the shop and this property. I also own my own home, a nice house near Parkland Avenue.”

  His eyebrows raise at that. Does he assume just because I have silver polish smudges on my jeans that I’m poor?

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says quietly. “I just can’t bear to see an incredible property not being used to its fullest potential when the market is just starting to take off in this neighborhood.”

  “It’s being used for its intended purpose. That’s enough for me.”

  Gerald nods, then reaches for the door handle, straightening up slightly. “Fine. Have a good day, Shane.”

  I watch as he gets into a glossy black SUV and drives away. Shuffling to the side room, I make a coffee and try to figure out what to do.

  Maybe Claire expects a certain kind of life and her dad is trying to warn me that I’d need a lot more money to keep her happy. Could Claire have sent him herself? Is the rest of her family that pushy?

  I just want Claire, not her whole damn family.

  But if she comes with so much baggage and expectations and stress that I have no idea how to handle, it's going to be difficult to keep her happy.

  My solitary life hasn’t prepared me for this in the slightest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ~ Claire ~

  It’s weird to see Shane standing in front of his truck when he picks me up after work Friday afternoon. Then my heart leaps with excitement as I wonder if it is some sort of surprise, if I am finally getting to see his house.

  “Hey,” I say as I step toward him. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m just driving you home so that we can have a talk,” he says flatly.

  That does not sound good. Especially with the way the temperature in his eyes has shifted from scorching to icy cold, as if someone had flipped a switch.

  He helps me into the truck, making sure to touch me as little as possible. As I strap on my seatbelt, I notice my hands are beginning to shake.

  Once Shane starts to drive, I ask, “Did I do something wrong?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Shane drives in silence to a parking lot just two blocks from my house, and cuts the engine. As he turns to face me, I notice that anger shifts his features in a very dramatic way.

  “Claire, why are you with me?”

  The question feels like a slap, and I’m not sure why.

  “I like you. Spending time with you. The way I feel when I’m around you.”

  “Is it a fling, or do you actually see this going somewhere?”

  “I thought…” I can’t read his eyes anymore. It’s like they’re suddenly written in a different language.

  Taking a slow breath to steady myself, I try to think clearly. “Shane, I want us to be together. Everything is going so well that I assumed you felt the same way.”

  “So you’re thinking somewhere down the line, the whole marriage, house, and kids thing?”

  I can feel my cheeks turning pink. Slipping off my seatbelt, I turn my knees to him on the seat. “Yes. That’s what I was thinking.”

  “Do you care if I’m not as rich as your parents?”

  Blinking hard, it’s driving me crazy that I still can’t make sense of the look in his eyes.

  “Not in the slightest. We both have jobs. We’ll be fine.”

  He nods slightly, but his fingers are drumming purposefully on the steering wheel. Even though he’s looking at me, he won’t turn his body towards mine, which I feel is a very bad sign.

  “Then why did you send your father to my shop to talk about making a fortune from selling the land?”

  Now it all makes sense.

  “I didn’t!” My head begins to swim. “I overheard Glen in the kitchen mentioning it to Dad but I was going to tell him to leave you alone. I just haven’t had a chance to yet.”

  “I’m not used to having people in my life. I don’t like it. I want you, Claire. But I don’t know what to think about your entire family up in my business as well.”

  I hate that this conversation is happening. I hate that my eyes are filling with tears. I hate that I don’t have a single idea of what I’m supposed to say.

  “I’m still getting calls from your mother’s friends,” he says quietly. “It feels like charity.”

  I try to sputter a laugh. “I assure you, that’s not it. These women just try to make their homes fancier than the others in their own weird little competition.”

  “This doesn't feel right,” he says, as his hands tighten into fists on the steering wheel. “Like you only want to be with me if I change.”

  He finally looks at me, with eyes of ice. “Having your father come into my shop today wa
s the first time someone has tried to make me feel small and stupid since grade school. If he doesn’t think I’m good enough for you, then I guess I’m not.”

  He stares into space down the hood of the truck, as my mind totally blanks. What on earth can I say to that?

  I grab my purse and shoulder bag, climbing carefully out of the truck while he sits frozen.

  “All I want is you,” I say once my feet are safely on the ground. “I don’t care about money. I don’t care about property. I like my life, I love my work, and I thought I was…”

  How can I be responsible for the actions of others?

  I shake my head, my hair falling into my face. “Shane, I’m sorry that my family sucks, but if you listen to them instead of listening to me, then we really don’t have a chance.”

  As I slam the truck door as hard as I can, I look up and finally understand the expression in his eyes. He’s horrified. His hand reaches out to me but I’ve already turned on my heel, stomping off toward my house.

  As I walk in the front door my phone is ringing but I ignore it, even though it’s Shane’s ringtone.

  It’s not until I starfish across my bed that I let myself really cry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ~ Shane ~

  It’s better that she understands sooner rather than later that I’m not going to entirely change for her. Or for her parents. Or her weird brother.

  I drive back to my house in a stupor. As I pull into my driveway, I actually groan out loud.

  “Mom, no offense, but what the hell are you doing here?” I ask, jumping out of the truck.

  She’s sitting in her car with the windows rolled down, singing along with the radio terribly. “If you just gave me a key, Scrappy, I could wait inside.”

  “I’m never giving you a key, because you don’t understand boundaries.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Really? What did you just call me?”

  She steps out of the car, then puts her hands on her hips, pinning me with one of those Mom stares. “I brought you dinner, you big lug.”

  “I’m not hungry.” I go to the front door, then pause, looking back over my shoulder. “And what if I hadn’t come home? What if I had a date tonight?”

  Mom’s mouth falls open as she straightens up with a giant bag of takeout in her hands. “I totally forgot about your little girlfriend.” She kicks the car door shut and comes rushing into the house behind me, immediately setting up shop in the kitchen.

  I land in the chair against the wall with a loud thud.

  “Jesus, Scrap– Shane, what’s gotten into you?”

  “I’m not talking about it.”

  The corner of her hot pink lipstick twitches up in a smirk. “Sure you’re not.”

  Everything is dull. Unreal. Even my favorite beef and broccoli lo mein is lackluster.

  “So how is Claire?” Mom asks, switching between mouthfuls of noodles and wine.

  “I’m not talking about it.”

  “Sure you’re not.” She continues to chat merrily about all of her friends as if I remember their names and every details of their lives. I swear, this woman lives in a soap opera.

  I finish dinner in a daze, getting up to rinse the plates before putting them in the dishwasher and packing up the leftovers.

  “Do you want these?” I ask.

  “No, why don’t you keep it for lunch tomorrow,” she says. “What do you have planned for the weekend?”

  Staring out the kitchen window, I know that the only thing I want to do is find Claire and hash things out. But if she’s not returning my calls, I’m going to have to give her a few days.

  Unless she talks to her parents.

  Unless her dad tells her that I was rude to him.

  Dammit.

  “Nothing. Housework, I guess.”

  “You could always consider opening the shop for a few hours Saturday afternoon,” she says, with a devilish twinkle in her eye. Damn, that woman loves getting me riled up.

  “We’re already open the first Saturday afternoon of every month. That’s enough.” I sit back down, feeling myself slouching hard.

  She shrugs. “The neighborhood is getting busier. People like to stroll around and shop. A lot of stores have their weekend on Sunday and Monday, so that they can be open Saturday.”

  “What do I care what other stores do?”

  Mom finishes her small glass of wine and looks around for the bottle, which I’ve already put away.

  “You have to follow the other stores in the neighborhood,” she explains, as if I don’t already know this. “I know how much you absolutely adore change.” Her lips purse as she tries not to laugh. “But the world keeps on spinning. We always have to find ways to adapt and evolve.”

  “I don’t want to evolve. My business is my business.”

  Mom’s blinding red manicure lands heavily on my shoulder. “Honey, keeping absolutely everything precisely the way he had it wouldn’t make him happy. Your dad always changed with the times. Adjusted. Went with the flow.”

  She hasn’t mentioned my father in a long time. It still feels like a punch to the gut, one I’m not ready for.

  “Mom, what would you do if I sold the shop?”

  To my absolute shock, her head falls back in laughter. “As long as you let me and my friends cruise through first to pilfer all of the antiques first, go right ahead.”

  “But the building doesn’t mean anything to you? The land?”

  She shrugs, shifting her bright orange cardigan. “There are a lot of great memories there. But it’s only a building. Time marches on.”

  She flattens her hands on the table, staring down at them. “Actually, with the neighborhood in an upswing, now really would be a good time to sell.”

  “How could you even think that?”

  “You brought it up. Hell, you could probably retire on that money.”

  I shake my head hard. “I won’t retire. If I’m not working, what would I do with myself?”

  “You could make a metal shop in the basement. Or you have that big backyard – you could build a shop back there. Do your own metal sculpture work. At least make some prototypes and stuff. Do something really creative.”

  I’ve never even thought the word ‘gobsmacked’ before, but here it is. I always assumed that Mom would want to keep Dad’s shop forever. That it was how we would keep his memory alive.

  Now I realize that I’ve been keeping him alive with every single metal piece I lay my hands on. Everything I repair the way he taught me. Everything I refinish. Everything I breathe new life into.

  Making my own things is a strange idea that I’m not quite comfortable with yet. I’ve fiddled with bits over the years, but have always been worried to devote my time completely to it.

  Just like I have been searching for any excuse not to devote myself to Claire completely.

  Dammit.

  Blinking, I’m on my feet before I make the decision to stand. “Mom, you’re brilliant.”

  “Of course I am. I raised you. But what do you mean?”

  I’m already halfway up the stairs. “I need to write some things down. I might be a while. Watch TV, or I’ll see you Sunday.”

  In the spare room that I’ve converted to an office, because I sure as hell never have guests, I grab some paper from the printer, and a pen from the drawer.

  Then I begin to laugh. Hard, deep guffaws that rumble up my spine.

  If Claire were here, she would point out that I needed a notebook right now, and didn’t have one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ~ Claire ~

  I am already two cups of tea into a stressful Monday morning, which means at least forty minutes have passed. Yet I’m not yet fully awake.

  Dad was at a golf tournament all weekend, and Mom was busy with various charity events. It’s been bliss having the house to myself, to research and work on my presentation, then swim and relax in the evenings.

  So naturally, my un-fabulous mood
is worsened when Glen walks in.

  “Remember the part where you don’t live here?” I grumble.

  “Remember the part where people of our standing don’t get involved with strange dirty fix-it men?”