Clover Creek (Sweet Southern Nights Book 1)

by Heather Michelle

  I looked over at Jayce, whose jaw tightened when his eyes reached the screen. “You gonna get that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not important.” His answers were short, and he refused to look at me.

  “It’s the wife, isn’t it?”

  Jayce closed his eyes and shook his head. He heaved a breath when he opened them again. He was embarrassed. Jayce Sterling, All-American quarterback and Valedictorian was losing his cool. I bit back a smile. This was way too much fun for me to stop. I couldn’t help myself. I reached forward and tapped the little green circle on the screen, accepting the call.

  Jayce shot me a look that said he regretted ever turning on the Bluetooth then pressed his lips together. I shrugged.

  “Jayce?” the female voice said through the speakers.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I’m here.”

  He squirmed in his seat. I had to pull my lips in to keep from giggling out loud.

  “Did you forget about dinner?”

  Dinner huh? I glanced at his hand on the steering wheel. No ring. So, Monica wasn’t the wife…

  He turned right at the next stop sign and began to slow down. My Gram’s house was at the end of the street, right in front of a big patch of woods. The Victorian-style home took up the whole cul-de-sac. Jayce grew up three houses away. As children, we were inseparable. Who was I kidding? Most of our lives we were inseparable. Right up until the day he walked away.

  “No. I’m sorry I didn’t call. Something came up,” Jayce explained as he pulled into the driveway. He was talking to Monica, but his mind was somewhere else. His eyes moved from the large oak tree in the front yard to the wooden fence to… The wooden fence. What the huh? The fence was… missing. Or at least a good chunk of it was.

  “I’ll call you later and explain,” Jayce said quickly before ending the call. He put the SUV in park and turned to face me. “We should probably talk about that.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re allowed to go to dinner, Jayce. You’re a grown man.”

  Laughter broke from his lips. “I was talking about the fence.”

  Right. The fence. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I really needed to stop thinking about this man as though the past thirteen years hadn’t happened.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jayce

  There it was. A crack in Claire’s wall. The call from Monica broke the barrier and gave me a way in.

  “Unless you would rather talk about my dinner plans,” I said through a smile. I couldn’t help it. Teasing her was way too much fun. I understood why she liked it so much when she did it to me.

  Claire opened the door and climbed out in a hurry. “I would rather just... not talk. Thank you for the ride. I need to go check on my Gram.” She closed the door and started up the sidewalk to the front door.

  And there went the wall again.

  I cut the engine and hopped out after her. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “No,” she yelled over her shoulder. Then she stopped to turn toward me. She closed her eyes for a beat and took in a breath. “I’m sorry. I just meant… you need to go get your dad. He’s waiting on you.”

  I wanted to tell her I was sorry. That the day I left her was the worst day of my life. I wanted to tell her she was more beautiful than ever, if that were even possible. I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to go in there alone, that I would be by her side. But she wouldn’t believe me. Besides, I’d given Abigail enough time to call the station and get the paperwork started. Claire was right. My father was probably waiting.

  “Yeah. I’m sure he is.” Her figure disappeared in the shadows of the oak tree’s branches as she walked toward the house. “I’ll see you later, Claire,” I called after her because I never had been able to tell her good-bye.

  She stopped just as she reached the bottom step of the wrap-around porch. “See ya.”

  She never could tell me good-bye, either.

  I started the engine and watched her walk up the steps. Tonight, I would make sure my dad was taken care of, and by tomorrow I would know exactly what to say to Claire. Tomorrow. The fishing trip. Bennett. I needed to call him.

  “Call Bennett,” I called out over the Bluetooth.

  “Okay. Calling Bennett,” the robotic female voice replied.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere cozy with a hot blonde right now?” Bennett said as soon as he answered. Whatever he chewed on made an obnoxious crunching sound through the phone.

  Yes, but not the blonde you’re thinking of…

  “Something came up.”

  Bennett finished crunching in my ear. “Dude. Tell me you’re not calling to cancel the trip.”

  “I’m in Clover Creek.”

  It sounded like Bennett licked his fingers. Did the guy have any manners at all? “Oh snap. Is it your dad? Is he okay?”

  “My dad is fine.”

  The passenger door opened, and Claire reached inside. “Sorry. I forgot my phone,” she explained.

  “Woaaaahhh. What was that? ‘Cause it kinda sounded like a hot blonde to me,” Bennett blurted over the speakers. “Look, if you don’t want to go fishing—”

  No filter. I rolled my eyes then glanced over at Claire, who stared at the touch screen as if it had grown arms and legs. “I’m in Clover Creek. And you’re on speaker.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  I was just about to apologize when Claire spoke up. “Bennett? As in Bennett Kane?”

  “What the—” Bennett piped in. His surprised voice sounded a lot like a twelve-year old going through puberty.

  “Language,” I warned.

  Claire threw her head back and laughed. I’d give her anything she ever wanted just to hear that laugh every day. “Oh, that’s definitely Bennett Kane,” she said. “It’s Claire. Sorry to interrupt your man-moment.”

  “Claire? Claire Cunningham? Holy sh—”

  “Dude,” I yelled. How Bennett ever landed a second date, or a first even, I would never know. The guy was barbaric. But in spite of his lack of any sort of common courtesy, he had a heart of gold. Anyone who knew him well enough would agree. I mouthed the word sorry to Claire so that Bennett wouldn’t hear. She shook her head and laughed again.

  She mouthed back, it’s okay, and smiled. The tension left. The air was light. And I wanted to stay there in the warmth of her smile forever. We shared a moment. At Bennett’s expense. But still… it was a moment. Man, I’d missed her.

  “I just needed to grab my phone. Good talking to you, Bennett. Night, Jayce.” She took the cell phone from the passenger seat and started to close the door.

  “Hey, Claire,” Bennett said before she was too far away.

  Claire poked her head back inside. “Yeah?”

  “If you ever wanna know how it feels to date a real man, give me a call.”

  She scrubbed her hand over her face and shook her head. “Goodnight, Bennett.”

  I watched as she walked the pathway to the front porch then again as she rang the doorbell and went inside. I wanted to sit in that driveway and wait for her to come back out. Maybe she forgot something else. Yeah, the chances of that were… none. She was gone. And all I could do was hope I’d see her tomorrow. So, I shifted into reverse and pulled out of the drive.

  “She gone?” Bennett whispered. Like if she weren’t gone, she wouldn’t hear him.

  “Yes. She’s gone.”

  “Claire Cunningham? What was that about?”

  “Long story. But trust me. It wasn’t planned.”

  “She sounded… happy. Did you talk to her? Did you tell her?”

  Leave it to Bennett to bring up the one thing I’d been trying to avoid since the minute I pulled up in front of the Cunningham’s house.

  “Seriously? No, Bennett. I didn’t tell her.”

  “So, you’re not there to see Claire? I thought you said your dad was okay.”

  The past wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. Not yet
. “He is. And no. I’ll explain later. I gotta go.”

  “Look Jayce, I know it’s not easy. And I know you’ve been hiding from this for thirteen years, but… you need to tell her. She deserves an explanation.” Bennett’s usual chipper tone was solemn and serious. It was rare, but I admired his concern.

  “I know.”

  She did deserve an explanation. And she would get one. I just didn’t know when.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire

  Why did everything feel so normal with Jayce? Why did it feel so right? What should have felt awkward and uncomfortable felt effortless and… nice. Really nice. It was as though time had stopped the day he went away and picked right back up the second I opened my parents’ front door.

  Only it hadn’t.

  Time had gone by and so had my life. I had so many questions for Jayce. Questions I wasn’t sure he would ever answer. I wasn’t sure I even really wanted him to. Was I ready for the truth?

  The wooden steps creaked underneath my feet when I walked onto the porch. I would worry about Jayce later, if I worried about him at all. My Gram needed me right now.

  I pressed the button and heard the doorbell chime a familiar song inside the house. A few seconds later, Annie opened the door and welcomed me inside. I didn’t even look back when I heard Jayce pulling out of the driveway.

  “How is she? Is she hurt?” I asked Annie while we walked from the foyer into the living room.

  The hardwood floors shined with a fresh coat of wax. As a kid —if a fifteen-year-old could still be counted as a kid— I could sock-skate across those floors like nobody’s business. If YouTube was around then, I’d have been famous, I know it. I was tempted to borrow a pair of Gram’s socks and see if I still had it in me. Yeah, that was probably too much right out of the gate. I should wait until I’d been back at least a day.

  “Hurt? No. She’s just a little on edge.” Annie’s chestnut brown hair fell over her shoulder in a long braid. She looked at me from beneath thick black eyelashes. Her outfit looked as though she’d just stepped off the runway in Milan. No wonder my mother had such a lady-crush on this girl. She was the daughter Abigail always wanted. Just standing next to her made me feel like one of those little troll dolls that people didn’t even bother putting clothes on. With a face like that and hair that refused to be tamed, who cared if they were naked? Nobody was looking anyway. Annie was Runway Barbie, and I was a naked, messy-haired troll doll.

  “On edge?” I questioned.

  “Yeah. You know… since the whole fence thing…”

  Right. I did notice the fence, but what did that have to do with my Gram’s accident? I was just about to ask when the sound of two hands clapping together derailed my train of thought.

  “Claire,” my Gram shouted from across the room. She sat next to the fireplace in an oversized chair with a blanket across her lap. When did my Gram get so small? The old reading chair seemed to swallow her whole. Her face lit up. “Oh, Claire Bear, I’m so glad you came. It’s been a mess of a day.”

  You’re telling me…

  I shot across the room, relieved to see that my Gram was okay. I was careful to sit on the edge of the chair before I wrapped my arms around her. The woman in the chair looked like my Gram. Only smaller than I’d remembered. She sounded like my Gram. And she called me by name. She wasn’t anything like the woman I’d met when I was five. She even seemed happy. Could my dad be wrong? Was this dementia? Did it come in different shapes and sizes? And if so, maybe my Gram had a mild case. Maybe she would be okay after all.

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner,” I said as I scooted a little closer. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Gram pulled back the blanket, letting me slide underneath. It wasn’t cold in here at all. As a matter of fact, Annie could change into Malibu Barbie and I’d stay naked, and we’d be just fine. But I wanted to be close to her. I’d missed crawling into that chair on Saturday mornings and talking about our dreams.

  My Gram was that grandma. She’d tied an apron around her waist and filled the entire house with the smell of fresh baked blackberry cobbler or mouth-watering pot roast. Her door was always open, and she never knew who would join her for Sunday dinner. Because she invited everyone. She sold produce from her own garden to the local grocery store and sang in the church choir. She always wore a smile and never met a stranger. No one… not one person… could ever hold a candle to my Gram.

  When I was little, my mother was a little overprotective. Okay, overprotective was an understatement. She dressed me in bubble wrap and performed background checks on my friends. Because seven-year-olds have these insane criminal records, right? Alright, maybe she didn’t actually do those things, but she might as well have. My grandma let me be the kid I never got to be anywhere else. She let me play outside. We went for walks in the park. I’d even gone to the woods behind my Gram’s house and picked blackberries on Saturday afternoons. I would go home with stained purple fingertips, and my mother would be so mad. She’d fuss and complain, but Gram’s answer was always the same, “Let the girl live.”

  Annie came back into the room with a cup of hot tea. She set it on the end table next to the chair and Gram leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Could you grab my purse, dear? I need to pay the housekeeper.”

  The housekeeper? It was after dark. Why was the housekeeper still here? I pulled the blanket off her legs and stood. Annie flashed me a shy smile then dropped her head. Ohhhhh.

  I pointed at Annie. “You mean Annie?” I asked my Gram.

  “Annie? Heaven’s no. I mean this young lady,” Gram replied, waving her hand in Annie’s direction. “Your mother keeps sending her over, and I keep having to pay her.”

  Annie smiled at Gram then nodded toward the kitchen. My heart dropped to my stomach. I hoped I didn’t look as sick as I felt. My Gram had no idea who Annie was. Annie. The girl who grew up right down the street. The girl who owned a boutique in Clover Creek for nearly seven years.

  “Gram, this is Annie. You know Annie.”

  Didn’t she? She had to. She looked so happy when I walked in. She looked so normal. I was sure my father had been wrong about the dementia. Why didn’t Gram know Annie?

  I tried my best to find the tiniest hint of recognition in my Gram’s eyes, but there was none. She looked back and forth between me and Annie, then around the room. She started fidgeting with the piping on the arm of the chair and moving her legs underneath the blanket.

  “It’s okay,” Annie said with a smile. “I’ll follow you to the kitchen.”

  I patted my Gram softly on the knee. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  A smile crossed my face just as a lone tear fell over my cheek. I cursed it and blinked back any more before they escaped. You’re not going to cry. I hadn’t let myself cry in years, and I wasn’t about to start. An hour ago, I was deciding what dress to wear to my parents’ house. Now, I’d reconsidered every decision I’d ever made not to come back home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jayce

  If I hadn’t woken up in a bed in room 212 of the Clover Creek B&B, I’d have sworn yesterday was nothing but a dream. The sun peeked in through the sheer white curtains, making the room as bright as my spirits. If it was a dream, I wanted to go back to sleep and live it all over again. Well, the part about Claire at least. The scent of bacon and eggs wafted all the way from the kitchen and up the stairs, right through the crack under the door, making my stomach rumble. Heaven.

  I dragged my feet across the hardwood floor into the bathroom. The evidence of a missed shave scratched the palms of my hands as I scrubbed them over my face then looked up in the mirror. Wow. My shirt was wrinkled from sleeping in it, and I could really use a tube of toothpaste. If I was going to spend the weekend mending fences —in more ways than one— I was going to have to get a change of clothes. I took another look in the mirror. And some soap.

  But first, coffee…

&n
bsp; “Good morning, Jayce. Did you get some rest?” Myra Abraham asked as she swirled her spoon around her ceramic coffee cup.

  I reached for the glass pot and poured myself a cup of coffee. “You have the best beds in the county, Mrs. Myra.”

  She set her cup on the counter then carried a bowl full of scrambled eggs to the slightly worn round table in the middle of the room. She set it right next to a full platter of bacon and a plate of homemade biscuits. I was used to Mrs. Myra cooking breakfast when I came, but the only time she brought out full platters was when she had more guests. I’d checked in so late last night, she didn’t have me sign the guest book. In the year I’d been staying at the B&B, I’d only seen other people there during the summer and on holidays. Mrs. Abraham had owned the B&B for as long as I could remember, and she never complained about business. So, I never pried.

  I pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table. “Full house last night?”

  Myra smiled over the rim of her cup then leaned one hip against an ornate wooden sideboard. “I haven’t had a full house since Edna Westbrook decided to have a family reunion.” She cooled the liquid with her breath then took a sip before continuing. “Did you know she has eight children?” She set the coffee cup on the sideboard. “Eight! And nineteen grandchildren,” she said as though she wouldn’t believe it if she hadn’t seen them for herself. I scooped a spoonful of eggs onto my plate but kept silent. Myra stared off into the distance for a second then shook her head and smiled —like she was shaking off a memory. “It was nice, though, hearing children’s laughter bouncing off these walls again.”

  I grabbed a biscuit and the jar of homemade apple butter. “Well, surely you didn’t make all this food just for me,” I teased in an attempt to steer her away from wherever her thoughts seemed to take her a moment ago.

  Myra picked up her coffee mug and chuckled. “Oh, heavens no—” Her words were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “I do have another guest…”