Clover Creek (Sweet Southern Nights Book 1)

by Heather Michelle

  “I don’t think she ever got the black out of my favorite pink dress.”

  “No. I don’t think she did.”

  “Some days I wish I could go back there. To when nothing mattered but swinging on a tire.”

  Gram turned in her chair then leaned forward and placed her hands on top of my knees. “Oh, Claire Bear. The past is only good for counting blessings and learning lessons. The present is what you need to hold onto. Hold onto it with all you’ve got.”

  I had a feeling that Gram wanted to remind herself of that as much as she wanted to tell me. I didn’t know if she was aware of the dementia or not, but I wasn’t prepared to talk about it. So, I changed the subject.

  “I brought Golden Grahams and chocolate chips,” I said.

  “Campfire Caviar.” Gram’s face lit up. “Did you remember the marshmallows?”

  “And the white chocolate.”

  Gram stood and brushed her hands over the front of her light blue dress. “Well then, we’d better get started.”

  ***

  We spent the next half hour melting chocolate and dancing in the kitchen to Taylor Swift and Reba McIntyre. I spread the mix across a sheet of wax paper and Gram settled into her comfy chair while we waited for the chocolate to cool.

  “What on earth is that noise?” Gram asked when we turned the music off.

  I pulled the thick floral patterned curtains aside and peered out the window. Jayce was outside, near the fence. Scratch that. He was fixing the fence. Why was Jayce fixing Gram’s fence? Without his shirt on. Shirtless. And sweaty. And all man.

  The muscles in his back rippled every time he leaned forward to pick up a piece of wood from the stack on the ground. He pulled a measuring tape from his belt loop and marked measurements on one of the boards. Then he stuck the pencil between his teeth and wiped the sweat from his head with his forearm. His bicep flexed as he moved his Skilsaw through the piece of wood.

  I should look away. This was the kind of thing that would send most girls right to Sunday confession. Twice. Was I even breathing anymore? Maybe I should bring him a bottle of water. It was definitely hot out there…

  Jayce nailed the board in its place then looked up. Right. At. Me.

  I was totally busted. Guess it was time to grab that bottle of water. I pulled two from the fridge, you know, just in case.

  I handed him a bottle. “Thought you might be thirsty.” Completely nonchalant. Like he hadn’t just caught me with my hand in the cookie jar.

  “Thank you.” He took the bottle and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile before he twisted the cap and took a drink.

  I was so totally busted.

  Four big gulps and the bottle was empty. I handed him the second bottle. He twisted the cap then poured the cold water over the top of his head, closing his eyes when it ran down his face and neck. And chest. If I could be anything in the world at that moment, I wanted to be that bottle of water…

  “You sure you don’t want to just run through the sprinklers?” I teased him. “Because I can just flip the switch… ”

  Jayce laughed then tossed the empty bottles into a pile of scrap wood beside him. “Remember your Gram used to get so mad when we did that?” He held his hands on his hips and stood up straight. “You’re making a mess of my yard,” he said, mimicking my Gram’s tone.

  “She was always so worried about her yard.” I glanced at the forgotten flower beds and my heart sank. “So, what are you doing here anyway? And when did you become a handyman?”

  Jayce pulled his brows together and cocked his head. “Claire Cunningham. Is that doubt I hear in your voice?”

  “Never,” I replied, feigning offense. “Just curiosity.” I shrugged.

  “Well, it was one of your mother’s conditions. Since my father is the one who did this.” He waved his hand indicating the broken fence then pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and held it out in front of him. “And there’s a video for everything these days.”

  His father did this? Of course. The accident. It all made sense now. Jared being arrested, and my mother being so upset about the whole thing. Gram wasn’t in an accident. Jared was. At Gram’s house.

  “So, you’re leaving the fate of my Gram’s fence in the hands of a YouTube video?”

  “Oh, ye of little faith… ” He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth and shook his head.

  I laughed. “I just never pictured you as a do-it-yourselfer, that’s all.”

  His smile faded. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten who I am.”

  My breath caught in my throat as my eyes met his. “I haven’t forgotten a single thing about you, Jayce.”

  He took a step forward, closing the gap between us. A drop of water fell from his hair onto his cheek. I reached up to wipe it away and Jayce brought his hand on top of mine, holding it in place. My whole body buzzed. Traitor. His touch was gentle, but it seemed to demand so many things. Things I wasn’t sure I was ready for yet.

  “Have dinner with me. Please,” he said, and his voice wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cold day.

  I pulled my hand away and took a step back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Probably the dinner but mostly the touching.

  “It’s just dinner.”

  It wasn’t just dinner. We both knew better than that.

  “Jayce.”

  First the suds. Then the muscles. Now dinner. I wasn’t sure how much more I could handle. I was leaving tomorrow. Going back to my life away from Clover Creek, away from Jayce. Dinner was a horrible idea. No matter how right it felt, this had to stop.

  “Fine. We’ll eat at the B&B. I’m a guest. You’re a guest. We’ll just be two guests eating a meal together. People do that all the time at those places, right?” Jayce said.

  I giggled at his explanation. “I don’t think it works like that.”

  Jayce shrugged then grabbed another board from the stack. “I’ll be in the dining room at seven o’clock. In case you get hungry.”

  My mother pulled into the driveway with a honk. Saved by the horn.

  I looked down at my plain cotton tee and denim shorts and immediately shriveled in my mother’s presence. Her designer heels clicked against the concrete when she stepped out of her pristine white BMW. Her blonde hair was curled to perfection and her A-frame dress made her look delicate and feminine. She looked like she was ready for tea with the queen. Who dressed like that at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning?

  “Good morning, Claire,” she said. Then a shadow of annoyance crossed her face. “Jayce,” she said as she nodded in his direction. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Well, you did tell me to fix the fence,” he replied with a contagious grin. I was happy to see that my mother’s glowing personality didn’t seem to affect him.

  My mother’s eyes moved between me and Jayce, finally stopping on Jayce. “Yes, and I see you seem to have tuned out the rest.”

  I recognized that challenge in her tone. She tried to be subtle, but it was still there— like a thundercloud over a picnic. Hovering. Just waiting to ruin your day.

  I nudged Jayce with my shoulder then flashed him a wink. “It’s about time. I’ve been tuning her out for years,” I told him with a laugh.

  “Claire Olivia.”

  Oh, the middle name. I’d found the button. And I had slammed it with my palm. It felt good.

  I hooked my arm around my mom’s. “Lighten up, Mother. It was just a joke. Come inside. Jayce needs to get back to work.”

  “Why is Gram’s car out of the garage?” my mom asked as we walked arm-in-arm toward the front door.

  “Because I borrowed it.”

  The saw buzzed in the background and my mother tensed. “Seriously. Gram has neighbors. I don’t know why that boy doesn’t put a shirt on.”

  “Yes, Gram has neighbors. Jayce’s father is one of them. And it’s June in south Texas, Mom. My guess is he’s hot.” Jayce Sterling has always been hot. “And
stop saying that. He’s not a boy anymore.”

  I stole one more glance over my shoulder at shirtless Jayce before we walked inside. Nope. Definitely not a boy anymore.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jayce

  I smoothed the napkin in my lap then glanced at my watch for the third time. Five minutes past seven o’clock. She wasn’t coming. Her mother probably took her inside and reminded her of all the reasons she should stay away from me.

  “It smells delicious. You outdid yourself again, Mrs. Myra,” I said.

  Myra sat a basket of freshly baked garlic bread on the table, right in between a bowl of salad and a pan of lasagna.

  “You sure know how to make an old woman feel good, Jayce.” She broke out into a wide, open smile. “You want me to leave this here?” she asked, motioning her hand toward a pitcher of sweet tea.

  I glanced at my watch once more. Seven-o-six. A wave of disappointment ripped through me.

  “Yes, please,” Claire’s voice broke through the silence and calmed my anxious soul.

  Her hair was pulled up, leaving a few loose strands to soften her face. The pale, yellow dress she wore hugged her frame in all the right places. She looked so strong yet so delicate at the same time. Her cheeks flushed when she caught me staring at her. Who wouldn’t stare? Claire was perfect. I hurried around the table to pull out her chair. Mrs. Abraham grinned.

  “Thank you,” Claire said. She spread her napkin across her lap and inhaled the delicious scents of garlic and fresh tomato. “Wow. This smells so good.”

  “Don’t go putting the cart before the horse. Wait ‘til you taste it, then you can butter me up,” Mrs. Myra replied with a laugh. “Speaking of buttering up, I could really use a favor.”

  I grabbed Claire’s plate and filled it with salad and a breadstick.

  Claire coated her salad in dressing while Mrs. Myra poured us each a glass of tea. “You know we’d do anything for you, Mrs. Abraham,” Claire said.

  “I’m sure you remember the big Fourth of July festival we do every year,” Mrs. Myra started, then waited for us to nod before continuing. “Normally it’s not a big deal, but this year I just don’t have time. I was wondering if I could get you two to help.”

  A festival? I was not a party planner. However, Claire was good at just about everything.

  “Mrs. Abraham, I’m a school teacher. I wouldn’t even know where to start with planning a festival,” Claire argued.

  So, that’s what she’d been doing all this time. I’d imagined her to be a nurse or a doctor like her father. Teaching suited her. I bet she was great with children. I bet she’d be great with our children…

  Mrs. Myra clasped her hands together, and her face lit up like a proud parent. “A school teacher. That’s perfect. You must be great at planning.”

  Claire nearly choked on her food. She took a drink of tea to wash it down. “Planning class work, maybe. Planning parties? I’m flattered. I really am—”

  “Great. Then it’s all set. Oh, I just remembered. I have a guest checking in tomorrow, so I better be getting their room ready. You two enjoy your dinner. And leave the dishes to me this time.” She gave us a wink then walked away before we could argue.

  “Well, I guess we’re planning a festival,” Claire said with a chuckle.

  I took Claire’s salad plate and set it on the kitchen counter while she dished out the lasagna.

  “A teacher, huh?”

  “Yes. Fifth grade. In a town not much bigger than Clover Creek. Not nearly as glamourous as… whatever it is that you do in the big city.”

  “Who said anything about glamourous?” I set my fork down to take a bite of garlic bread.

  “You mean the rumors are false then?”

  “Depends on the rumors.”

  “So, you’re saying you don’t own a big fancy company or have a private jet?”

  “The company, yes. The plane is new. But it’s nowhere near glamourous. I work twelve, sometimes fifteen hours a day. And the woman who cuts my hair tells me I’m going gray.”

  Claire laughed. “I think someone’s just trying to keep your business.” Her smile faded, and she got a faraway, almost painful, look in her eyes. “Either that or she likes having her hands in your hair.”

  I leaned my head forward and motioned for her to take a look. “I’m serious. Come see for yourself.”

  She rolled her eyes but got up and stood next to me. Her scent hit me dead on, and I almost couldn’t think straight. Lavender and vanilla. Just like always.

  Claire leaned in and ran her fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes and relaxed in her touch. “You’re both crazy,” she said. Her hand paused at the base of my neck then jerked away as if I’d shocked her. “It’s still as brown as the day you were born.”

  “I was born bald.”

  “Lies. I’ve seen your baby pictures, remember?” She moved back to her seat on the other side of the table.

  “Your turn. Tell me more about these fifth graders.”

  Her sweet laugh rippled through the air. “Disgusting noises followed by jokes about disgusting noises and arguing over who sat next to the teacher last. Hardly glamourous.”

  “If our fifth-grade teacher looked anything like you, I’d have sat by her every day.”

  She let out a soft gasp then bit her lip. “Hey, there was nothing wrong with Mr. Langston,” she replied, shying away from my compliment. “If you like the whole pants-pulled-so-high-he-spoke-in-soprano look.”

  Mr. Langston wasn’t winning any fashion awards, but he let me and Claire sit next to each other the whole fifth-grade year. So, I had no complaints.

  Claire laid her napkin on her plate and pushed it to the side. She leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. “Seriously, though. I want to hear about this company of yours. I mean, Forbes magazine? I’m kind of fangirling right now.”

  So, she had kept up with me. The thought made my heart swell and sink at the same time. I imagined what she’d thought when she read or heard about my success. I left her to move on to something better. She couldn’t be further from the truth.

  I took a deep breath and steadied myself. It was time to tell her.

  I pushed my chair back from the table and stood. “Wait here. There’s something I want to show you.”

  She would either love it or hate it, but there was something Claire needed to know.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Claire

  I sat in silence, and a million thoughts raced through my mind. What was so important that Jayce had to leave in the middle of a conversation? Was it the fangirl comment? Maybe the Forbes thing was too much. Definitely stalker criteria. I probably should’ve kept that part to myself. Claire Cunningham, another victim of word vomit, dies a lonely death by humiliation.

  The seconds ticked past one-by-one until I almost started biting my nails. Might as well make them match the chipped polish on my toes. I stood to start cleaning the kitchen, anything to pass the time and keep me out of my own head. Then Jayce appeared at the end of the staircase with something clenched in his fist.

  “Hold out your arm,” he told me once he got close enough.

  “Are you going to shock me with something?”

  Jayce heaved a long breath and held his gaze steady. “Could you just trust me?” His voice was calm. Determined.

  The thing was, I did trust him. Even after all the reasons I’d told myself over the years that I shouldn’t. After all the pain and the heartbreak. I trusted him. Completely.

  I extended my arm to him and he wrapped his fingers around my wrist. His skin was smooth and cool against mine. My pulse pounded against his thumb, and an anxious current raced through my veins.

  He moved his hand— like there was a fire burning between us, and he felt it too. Then he took the object from his clenched fist and wrapped it around my wrist.

  “A bracelet?”

  Jayce took a deep, unsteady breath and stepped back. He stuffed his hands into the p
ockets of his jeans and leaned against the stair rail. “Do you remember the field behind the playground? The one with all the clover flowers?”

  Of course, I’d remembered. That’s where he made his promise, the one he broke when he left.

  Sometimes at recess, we’d walked to the back of the playground and sat by the trees. I picked the little white flowers, tying the stems together to make bracelets for me and Avery. Jayce read books. Some days, he would tell me about what he read, and I’d tell him about what happened on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Some days we just made fun of Mr. Langston. But one day, a day forever burned into my memory and etched in my heart, something changed. One day Jayce reached over and grabbed the flowers from my fingers. For a second, I’d thought he was gonna try to hold my hand. He started twisting the stems together until he made a little flower ring. He reached over and grabbed my hand, and my stomach flopped. I’d started to pull my hand away, but he stopped me. He smiled and slid the flower ring on the fourth finger of my left hand.

  “So, does this mean I’m your girlfriend now?”

  “This means you’re my girlfriend always.”

  “Promise?” I’d asked, giving him the death stare.

  “Promise.”

  Pain squeezed at my heart as memory after memory tore through my mind. I didn’t even notice that Jayce had moved. He stood right in front of me, reaching for my hand.

  “Look at the bracelet, Claire,” he said. His voice was firm, yet gentle.

  I looked at my wrist and swallowed the sob that rose in my throat. Jayce took my hand in his and lifted it between us.

  Tiny flowers. Clovers. Tied together and covered in a coat of silver.

  “You made this? For me?”

  “Yes.” His voice was barely above a whisper now. He cleared his throat and met my eyes. “Everything I’ve ever done has been for you.”