She looked at him, and he shrugged his shoulders, holding back a smile.
Clara opened the envelope and pulled out a card. The outside had daisies on it, but no words. She glanced up at Dawson again, but he kept his expression stoic.
Opening the card, she started to read.
Dear Clara,
I thought you’d like one more letter delivered to your red mailbox. I just wanted you to know how amazing you are. You inspire me every day.
Love, Dawson
She wouldn’t cry. The card was sweet, but not a tear-jerker, right? She exhaled and met his gaze. “Thank you,” she said, but it came out as a whisper.
“You’re welcome.” His words were simple, his smile sincere.
They stood there for a moment, looking at each other, Clara holding the card, and Dawson holding the mailbox.
“Do you want me to put this in the truck?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Clara said, trying to come to her senses.
She waited while Dawson put the mailbox in the truck. He brought the tool kit with him as they walked up to the house. The realtor said her key would still work, yet it was a strange sensation to open the front door.
The musty smell hit her first as she stepped inside. Everything was dim due to the pulled blinds and curtains—curtains she remembered her grandma making. All the furniture had been removed, donated or put into storage.
Dawson came inside and stood next to her, not moving farther into the house than she had gone.
“It feels so empty,” Clara said, turning to Dawson. “I mean, not just because all the furniture is gone, but because my grandma’s no longer here.”
He nodded. “You and your grandma are what made it a home. Without you, it’s just a building.”
“Exactly.” She started to walk around the living room. There were markings on the walls from where her grandma had hung pictures. The carpet was still indented from the couch and coffee table. Dawson remained by the door, his free hand in his pocket as he watched her examine everything.
“The kitchen was my favorite place in this house,” she said, moving to the adjacent room. “Come see it.”
Dawson followed.
Even though the kitchen table and chairs were gone, the kitchen looked nearly how she remembered it. She’d always loved the small glass knobs on the cupboards. She turned to Dawson. “Would it be weird if I took off the knobs from the cupboards?”
He lifted a brow. “Do you have plans for them?”
“Well, when I get a place of my own, I’ll put them on the cupboards.”
“I like it,” he said. “Do you want me to get started?” He held up the tool kit.
“If there’s more than one screwdriver, I can help as well.”
So they spent the next twenty minutes taking off all the knobs from the cupboards and drawers.
Once the knobs were in a pile on the counter, Clara led Dawson through the rest of the house. When she came to her grandma’s bedroom, she stared at the empty space. “One summer we painted her room violet,” Clara said. “I was about twelve, and I told her I wanted to paint her room for her birthday.”
“How long did she keep it violet?” Dawson asked, coming into the room and looking around.
“About a year,” Clara said with a laugh. “My grandma was a good sport, but I knew she didn’t love it. So the next summer, we went for taupe.”
Dawson turned to face her. “What color is your bedroom?”
“Come and see,” Clara said, grabbing his hand.
Holding his hand felt natural, and she didn’t let go. He didn’t pull away either.
When they stepped into her room, Dawson chuckled. “Yellow. I should have known it wouldn’t be a neutral color.”
Clara turned to face him, their hands still linked. “Yellow can totally be neutral.”
He lifted his brows. “I’m sure you have a good argument for it, so I’ll concede early.”
She smiled. “You’re such a gentleman.”
His eyes searched hers. “Always,” he said in a soft voice.
And that’s when she knew she couldn’t keep him at arms’ length anymore. She didn’t know how he would react, but she wanted to find out. Still holding his hand, she lifted up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth.
He didn’t move for a second. But then he rested his other hand on her waist and kissed her back. It was gentle, tentative, and not intense like the previous kisses they’d shared. He was letting her take the lead.
Then he broke off and gazed at her. “Are you sure, Clara?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “I’m sure.”
He released her hand and pulled her fully into his arms, then lifted her up against him as his mouth sought hers again. She wrapped her arms about his neck and threaded her fingers into his hair, holding on as if she’d found an oasis. Which she had. Everything about this man was warm and solid. Safe. And she didn’t want to let go.
When they both broke off to catch their breath, and Dawson set her down, she kept her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry, Dawson. I’m sorry for bouncing all over with my emotions.”
“Don’t ever apologize for telling me how you feel,” he said. “Even if it hurts, I want to know.” He smoothed the hair back from her face, then kissed her forehead, holding her close. “Do you want anything from this room?”
Clara drew away from him, linking their fingers again as she scanned the room she’d slept in most of her life. The yellow walls had been bright and cheery and had served her well. She’d had a happy childhood, and that was all she could ask for. “No. Unless I take the closet door.”
Dawson chuckled and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “I have room in the bed of my truck.”
“Oh, I do want the mirror in the bathroom,” she said. “It was my great-grandmother’s—at least, that’s what my grandma told me.”
“Sounds good,” he said.
They moved to the bathroom in the hallway. The house was small, and there was only one bathroom. Clara flipped on the light and stepped aside so Dawson could look at how it was mounted.
“I think it lifts right off a couple of brackets in the wall,” he said.
“You’re quite the handyman,” Clara said in a teasing tone.
Dawson looked over his shoulder and flashed her a grin. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that to me.”
“What if I want to?”
He turned and leaned toward her. “Then I won’t stop you.”
She couldn’t help herself. She kissed him again, then playfully pushed against his chest. “Get to work, handyman.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smirked as he grasped both sides of the mirror and lifted it off the brackets.
“This thing is a lot heavier than I expected,” he said. “We should seatbelt it into the truck.”
“I’ll get the doors.” She led the way down the hall and opened the front door of the house. Then they made their way to the truck, and she opened the rear passenger door.
Dawson set the mirror on the back seat and secured it with the seatbelt. Then they carried out the knobs.
Once that was done, Clara said, “Well, I think that’s it.”
He scanned her face. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll lock up, and then we can go get lunch before we go to the closing.”
Dawson leaned against the truck, his hands in his pockets, as he waited for her to lock the door. She went back in the house one last time. This was it . . . the last time she’d see the inside of her home. There were so many memories she hoped she’d never forget. She smiled to herself, thinking of the new one she’d created kissing Dawson in these rooms.
She thought of how almost every time she’d left the house, her grandma had said, “Say you love me,” and Clara had responded, “Love you, Grandma.”
She brushed back the tears that had escaped, and took a couple of deep breaths. Then said, “Love you, Grandma,” to the empty house. She closed her eyes an
d imagined her grandma responding.
Then Clara walked out of the house and locked the door for the last time. She took a deep breath and turned to see Dawson waiting for her. That sight steadied her, and she walked toward him.
She might be leaving her past, but she had a great future to move forward to.
“Go,” Jeff told Dawson over the phone. “Just get it over with.”
Dawson scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I know, and I’m going.” A few minutes later, he hung up with Jeff and gazed out his living room window. There wasn’t much to see—a parking lot, then beyond that, the road he needed to be driving on right now.
He was picking up Clara and taking her to his parents’ house for dinner. It would be the first time they’d all met. Ironic, really, that he was nervous now, because before they were dating, he’d invited her to meet them twice. First the symphony, then the barbeque.
Dawson exhaled. Everything had become more complicated lately, because he was in love with Clara. But he didn’t know if he should tell her. It had only been a few weeks since she’d closed on her grandparents’ house. And even though they’d spent almost every night having dinner together, mostly at his place, and she wasn’t holding back in the affection department, he sometimes felt that things were still fragile. He didn’t want to jeopardize anything.
She was trusting him, and that was important to him right now.
He grabbed his keys and cell phone from the kitchen counter. He’d made it a habit to turn off his phone Saturday afternoons and evenings—and he found that it wasn’t as stressful to do as he’d thought. He could always catch up Sunday morning if he needed to.
Once in his truck, he made the short drive to Clara’s apartment. They lived close now, but that might change soon. She’d been looking at one of the newer Pine Valley developments lately and had talked about building a house. This was good news, because it meant that she was looking at Pine Valley as a permanent thing.
He pulled up to her apartment complex, and before he could turn off the truck and get out, she came out of her door. Was he that late? He looked at the clock on the dash to see that he was fifteen minutes later than when he’d said he’d pick her up.
She waved as she approached and jumped into the passenger seat. “Cold feet?” she asked with a smile.
“No.”
“I can tell when you’re nervous, Dawson.” She leaned across the seat and slid a hand behind his neck.
He leaned in for a kiss. “How?”
“You’re late,” she said, then kissed him. She drew away too fast. “You’re the last person to procrastinate anything, but if you’re nervous, then you’re late.”
“Okay, I’ll admit it,” he said. “I’m nervous about what you’ll think of my mom.”
“You’re not worried about what she’ll think of me?” Clara asked, her blue eyes widening as she teased him.
“I already know she’ll love you,” he said. “Once all the preliminaries are over.”
Clara laughed and turned to clip on her seatbelt. “Then let’s get to those preliminaries.”
Dawson pulled out of the parking lot, then reached for Clara’s hand. “Did I tell you that you’re amazing?”
She squeezed his hand. “Once or twice.”
When they pulled up to his parents’ house, he saw his mom’s silhouette in the living room window.
He jumped out of the truck and walked around to open Clara’s door. He took her hand securely in his and walked her up the front walk. Then he turned the doorknob and knocked as he pushed it open.
“We’re here,” he called out.
His mom appeared almost instantly, followed by his dad. They were both all smiles, and Dawson let himself relax just a little.
“Welcome,” his mom said, stepping forward and embracing Clara. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
Dawson was surprised at the warm welcome, but his mom had always been a hugger, something that had annoyed Romy. She’d eventually trained his mom to stop hugging her when they met. Dawson was glad Clara didn’t have such qualms.
Clara hugged his mom back, then shook his dad’s hand.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Clara said, moving back to Dawson’s side, where they linked hands again. “Dawson told me not to bring anything, but I must say that I feel guilty coming empty-handed.”
His mom’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re our guest, and I had everything around anyway. Besides, I wouldn’t exactly say you’re empty-handed.” Her gaze went pointedly to their linked hands.
Dawson wanted to groan.
Clara only laughed. “Very true, Mrs. Harris. Dawson is quite the handful.”
His mom laughed too.
Dawson stared. What was going on? His mom and Clara were cracking jokes about him within seconds of meeting each other?
“Come with me, Clara,” his mom said, glancing at Dawson, then motioning for Clara to follow. “Dawson says you’re a whiz in the kitchen, and I have something to ask you. We’ll let the men catch up on whatever it is they need to catch up on.”
Clara immediately released Dawson’s hand, as if she were trying to get away from him.
The two women left the entryway and disappeared around the corner, with his mom asking Clara about the differences between some spices he wasn’t familiar with.
“Well, son,” his dad said, clearing his throat. “I guess it’s just us until the dinner comes out of the oven.”
Dawson met his dad’s gaze.
“What’s going on in there?” he asked.
His dad smiled. “Let’s sit down and let the women get to know each other.”
So Dawson sat on one of his mother’s blue-and-white-striped couches in the front room while his dad talked about some accounting snafu at work. But Dawson could barely focus on the conversation and wondered how Clara was doing. Finally, he stood. “Sorry to cut you off, Dad, but I’m going to go see if Mom needs any help.”
His dad rose to his feet too. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”
When Dawson walked into the kitchen, he found his mom and Clara not cooking. Not even close. They were sitting at the counter next to each other, looking at a picture album.
Dawson came up behind them to see that this particular album was of his baby years. “Really, Mom?” he said. “My baby album?”
She ignored him. “He loved the park,” she told Clara as she tapped a long nail against a picture of Dawson sitting on a teeter totter. “I used to have to drag him out of the park crying.”
“Mom,” Dawson said again, but to no effect.
The timer went off on the oven. Neither of the women moved. “I guess I’ll get that.” Dawson walked around the counter. He glanced back and caught Clara’s smile. Okay, so maybe this would all be worth it in the end. He’d never imagined that his mom and girlfriend would team up together. He grabbed hot pads and opened the oven. It looked like his mom had made some sort of chicken casserole.
Since the table was already set in the dining room, he carried the casserole over to the dining table and set it down. “Anyone hungry?” he asked.
The women were still involved in their conversation, but his dad said, “I’m hungry.”
“Great,” Dawson said, narrowing his gaze and focusing on Clara, hoping she could feel it.
“We can finish looking at this after dinner,” Clara said, rising. “Thanks for sharing it with me, Mrs. Harris.”
“Oh, call me Nadine.” His mom patted Clara’s arm. “You sit by Dawson.” She looked at him and winked.
Dawson was floored. He was thrilled, no question, but he almost wondered if this was some sort of trap. His parents had never taken to Romy like this.
Clara offered to dish up the casserole onto everyone’s plates. She also said that she’d love to invite everyone over to Dawson’s condo for dinner next week. “It’s only fair that we find a way to thank you for your hospitality tonight.”
“It’s not hospitality,” his mom said. “We�
��re family.”
Dawson looked from his mom to Clara. Was he in a science fiction Netflix series and he was just about to find out that his mom was a robot? It seemed his mom was now completely over the fact that Dawson would never date Paula Smith. He swallowed his first bite of the casserole. It wasn’t half bad, but it was nothing like Clara’s cooking.
The meal continued, and Dawson noticed Clara seemed to enjoy every bite of her meal. She even complimented his mom on it, which they both laughed about.
“No, really, it’s good,” Clara said.
His mom gave Clara a triumphant smile. Then his mom said, “Dawson tells us you like to read. Apparently you’ve been able to convince him to read a book or two instead of always being on his phone.”
Clara’s cheeks pinked, which Dawson worried about—was she embarrassed by his mom’s comments?
“Well, we’ve read four of the same books so far,” Clara said. “And I just might let Dawson choose the next one, as long as it’s not a law book.”
His mom smiled. “I agree, and I think that it’s nice for Dawson to expand his horizons a little. Did he tell you about my book club?”
“He did, in fact,” Clara said. “It sounds interesting, yet intimidating at the same time.”
“Oh, it’s great fun,” his mom said. “You should come. We’d love to have you. Although it’s for women only. Sorry, Dawson.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” he said, then winked at Clara.
From there, the conversation centered around his mom’s book club, which his mom kept encouraging Clara to attend.
“I’ll think about it,” Clara said at last, after taking a sip of her lemonade. “Since Dawson and I are reading the same books, you could say I’m already in a two-person book club.”
“Oh, what are you reading?” his mom asked.
And the conversation between his mom and Clara continued. Dawson and his dad didn’t really stand a chance, unless they were occasionally asked for their opinions. But all Dawson was really required to do was offer a nod or give an “um-hum” once in a while.
Say You Love Me Page 15
