Guilt twinged through Clare. She hated letting people down, and she was religious about delivering to Wright's. There were people in town who'd had one of her cupcakes every day for the last five years for their afternoon sugar high. "I had work."
"Oh, I'm teasing, girl." Ophelia waved her off. "Day-old cupcakes don't bother me, and they can still help the spirit revive." Ophelia rested her palm on the table, balancing the pot of coffee on her hip, her hazel eyes focusing on Clare. "Now, listen to me, Clare. Norm and I have been watching you for the last fifteen years...well, we've been watching you for the last thirty-three, but it's those later ones that matter right now."
Clare glanced across the room and saw the ancient owner of Wright's studying them beneath the rim of his red hat. Always watching. Always vigilant. She smiled at him, and he gave her a nod.
"We've been waiting for the light to return to your eyes," Ophelia said, drawing Clare's attention back to her, "and we're tickled pink to see that it's come back."
Clare was surprised. Had her light been out for so long? Twelve hours ago, she would have denied it, but after her response to Griffin last night, she had no defense. Last night he'd brought her to life in a way she hadn't felt in a very, very long time. Maybe even fifteen years? Maybe longer? Oh, God, she hoped not.
"But a spark like that is fragile," Ophelia continued. "It can be snuffed out in a heartbeat when it's still so new. Griffin could be the one to either bring it to full flame, or knock it right out for good."
Clare stiffened. "He's a good man—"
"So he is. But sometimes, that's just not enough." Ophelia pushed the cupcake toward Clare just as Emma reached for it. "Be careful, Clare. If not for yourself, for your daughter. That girl of yours can go on only so long watching her mama's spirit fading away. You need to live, my dear. Don't go back to where you were, not ever again. Nurture that spark, and coax it back to life. Got it?"
"Yes, I got it." Clare's response got a skeptical sniff from Ophelia, but Norm called her away before Ophelia could press harder.
Clare stared after Ophelia as she shimmied up to Norm and nuzzled the old man endearingly, her heart sinking. "Was I that bad? I mean, I'm pretty happy, right?"
Emma put her arm around Clare's shoulder and squeezed. "Don't listen to her, Clare Bear. You're doing a great job with Katie."
"Am I?" She sighed, thinking about the night before. "Katie's fifteen, and she still sleeps in my bed several nights a week. She's started having nightmares about me dying and leaving her all alone."
Astrid looked surprised. "You never told us that before."
Emma nodded. "It makes sense. She lost her dad, and now she's hit puberty. Teens become aware of things they didn't notice before. You're her world, Clare."
"I know." Which was why she had to do right by her. Ophelia was totally correct. Clare had to make her daughter's world safe. But what was the answer? To retreat back to where she'd been in her safe, protected world? Or to start exploring the feelings that Griffin had stirred in her? To stoke the fire, as Ophelia might say.
Clare watched Ophelia sneak behind the counter and talk to Norm. He bent his head toward hers, and his wrinkled old hand held onto Ophelia's as they spoke. There was such beauty between them, a connection as old as the earth. A partnership where they talked about things together, shared their worries, helped each other with solutions.
Clare had watched them huddle up hundreds of times, and she had always thought it was sweet. But for the first time, watching them made her feel empty inside, because she realized now what she didn't have in her life. Last night, helping Griffin with his crisis about his daughter had felt good. She'd never had that kind of bond with a man, sharing burdens, understanding each other, connecting. Not even with Ed.
She'd never even thought about the lack of it in her life before. But now she was so achingly aware of it, of the hollowness in her chest. Clare realized then that the appeal of last night hadn't just been about the kissing.
It had been about the man himself. His mind. His heart. His fears. And, of course, the way he'd held her and kissed her and—
"Look who just walked in the door," Astrid whispered. "And he is looking mighty fine."
Clare turned sharply, and there he was.
The man himself.
Griffin gave Norm a cheerful salute as he stepped into Wright & Son. The old country store was bustling, and there were people everywhere. But this time, Griffin didn't feel overwhelmed. He was just in a damned good mood, and he grinned at a couple of locals discussing the best fishing spots on the lake as he headed toward the owner. "Good morning, Norm."
The grizzled old man tipped his hat back. "Things going well, I see."
"Oh, yeah." Griffin swept a New York Times off the counter and tucked it under his arm. "I had a great sleep last night. The best I've had in years."
Norm gave him a speculative look. "The Maine air will do that for a man. Nothing like the fresh scent of Mother Nature."
And the scent of a certain woman that had lingered on Griffin's pillows all night long. Last night was the most vivid that nightmare had ever been. Sleep was always a lost cause after that dream. But last night, Clare had soothed him. By the time she'd left, Griffin had been at peace and had decided to try sleeping again. He'd crashed hard and woken up feeling completely rejuvenated. Somehow, with her soft voice, earnest concern, and sensual kisses, Clare had chased away the demons brought on by his failed trip to River Junction to see his daughter.
Speaking of River Junction... Griffin contemplated the older man for a moment. A potential resource? "Hey, do you know anything about Dan Burwell?"
Norm nodded. "Sure do."
Griffin grinned at the news. It had been hard as hell to walk away from Dan last night without engaging, but he'd made the call that he needed to reassess his strategy. Now that he knew Norm had information about the man who'd supplanted him, Griffin was glad he'd followed his instincts to step back and regroup. The key to a successful war was good information, and now he was going to get it. "Well, what's he like? Tell me about him."
Norm tipped his head, studying him. "Known the guy for forty years."
Anticipation rushed through Griffin. This was what he needed. He leaned on the counter. "Talk to me."
Norm's gaze drifted over the busy store, and Griffin noticed that a line had formed behind him. There were already eight people in it. "Come back tonight after closing," Norm said. "We'll talk."
Griffin ground his jaw, frustrated by the delay, but he knew it would be worth the wait. One thing he'd learned in business was not to move too soon. He'd run into complications with Dan Burwell, and he would take the time to figure out the best approach. "What time do you close?"
Norm shrugged. "Whenever the last person leaves." He nodded past Griffin, dismissing him. "Morning, Patsy. You want to put that on your account?"
Griffin moved aside as a young woman with a baby on her hip stepped up to the counter. He glanced around the store, inspecting the crowds, and then he saw Clare, her blue eyes focused on him. She froze when he caught her gaze, and the rest of the store vanished instantly, and all that was left was the two of them.
There she was, the woman he'd dreamed about last night, sitting with two of her friends. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, a few strands hanging loosely around her face, tempting him to wrap those locks around his fingers and tug her over to him. She was wearing a loose peasant blouse and a long skirt that flowed decadently around her legs. He knew how soft her skin was below that casual top, and he knew what it felt like to have her legs wrapped around him. And he knew, with vivid clarity, exactly what it felt like to kiss her.
Griffin grinned, tossed money for the paper onto the counter, and headed right toward Clare.
Chapter 11
"Oh, he's coming over here," Clare whispered as Griffin began to work his way through the crowd toward them. She instinctively touched her hair to make sure it looked all right, then jerked her hand down. Hadn't
she already decided she wasn't going to get involved?
"Of course he is." Astrid watched him approach, her eyes gleaming in anticipation. "You teased him and left him hanging last night. No man can resist that kind of temptation."
Clare grabbed Emma's chair. "Move closer so he can't sit next to me—"
"What are you, thirteen years old?" Emma pushed her hand away. "That's way too obvious. Deal with it."
"Good morning, ladies," Griffin arrived at the table, a wide grin on his handsome face. The dimple was in full bloom today, and his eyes were bright and cheerful. He was wearing jeans and his hiking boots again, a white button down shirt, and a hip-length leather jacket that gave him just the right edge of sophistication and ruggedness. He was clean-shaven and looked ready to dominate the day.
He looked way fresher than Clare felt. She was guessing he hadn't spent the night in anguished debate over what direction their relationship should take. So unfair.
"Good morning." Astrid held out her hand, showcasing three inspirational bracelets that she'd finished only last week. "I'm Astrid Monroe. I share office space with Clare. Sorry I missed you the other day when you came by to sign the lease."
He gave her a firm handshake. "Griffin Friesé. Potential murderer, at your service."
Astrid grinned. "Always good to advertise. Word of mouth is the most powerful marketing tool."
"Yep, it sure is." He turned to Emma with a questioning look.
"Emma Larson." Emma gave him a thoroughly contemplative inspection. It wasn't quite as friendly as Astrid's had been, but she wasn't taking aim with a deadly weapon either, which was about all that would keep Clare safe from him right now, given the hum strumming through her body at his nearness. "It's nice to meet you, potentially," Emma said.
He flashed Emma a wicked grin. "I'm not as dangerous as my reputation, I promise."
A small smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "Danger is subjective."
"Excellent point." And then Griffin did what Clare had been both dreading and eagerly anticipating. He turned his full attention onto her. "Good morning, Clare."
She clutched her coffee cup. "Hi." There he was. Inches away. The man who had kissed her last night so thoroughly and so decadently that he'd awoken the woman she'd forgotten she was.
"Come sit." Astrid pulled a chair up between her and Emma. "It's girl time, but as long as you promise to put on lipstick, you can join us."
Clare waved her hands in protest. "No, I'm sure he has to go—"
"Thanks for the invite. I look great in lipstick." Ignoring Astrid's strategically placed chair, Griffin grabbed a seat from a nearby table, set it next to Clare and sat down. His shoulder brushed against hers, and he leaned his knee against hers beneath the table. "What's the topic today?" he asked.
Clare shifted casually in her seat to put some space between Griffin and herself. How could he have sat next to her like that, when there was an empty chair on the other side of the table? She didn't have to look around to know that people were watching.
But she looked around anyway.
Yes, people were watching. Surprise, that.
"Men. Sex. Dating. That kind of thing," Astrid said. "Typical girl talk."
Hello? Bring up men, sex and dating in front of Griffin? Clare kicked Astrid under the table, while Griffin burst out in a deep chuckle. "At eight on a Tuesday morning?" he asked. "What about work?"
"Not nearly as interesting," Astrid said. "Clare's an estate attorney. What's interesting about that?"
"She's also a cupcake phenom," Griffin said as Ophelia set a cup of coffee down in front of him with a wink. He nodded his appreciation at Ophelia as he continued to declare Clare's talents. "Her desserts are works of art." He set a proprietary arm across the back of her chair. "And incredibly delicious, as well."
"That's not work," Clare protested, but she could tell she was beaming from his remarks. She knew she had a special talent for cupcakes, but not everyone really understood how she poured her emotions into them. But Griffin seemed to, and that was a beautiful rarity. "Making cupcakes is pleasure, not work."
"It could be both," Griffin said. "Follow your passion, Clare."
Clare rolled her eyes at him. "We already went over this—"
"Oh!" Astrid smacked the table with a yelp. "I totally forgot to tell you. Harlan told me that The Bean Pot is for sale. You should buy it and turn it into a cupcake shop."
"What?" Clare burst out laughing. "You're kidding. A cupcake store in Birch Crossing? That's crazy."
"Oh...I love that idea," Emma said. "That would be amazing."
"What's the Bean Pot?" Griffin asked. "And who's Harlan?"
"Harlan's my brother, and he does some real estate work on the side. The Bean Pot used to be a coffee shop just down the street," Astrid said excitedly. "The owners retired to Florida about ten years ago, but they always come back up in the summer when the lake is packed with visitors. They called Harlan and said they didn't want to do it anymore, so they asked him to put it on the market."
"That would be so perfect," Emma chimed in. "That location is great. And there's a kitchen in back, because they used to make those really good coffee cakes there, remember?"
Clare did remember. "Didn't one of those end up in my hair when we were sixteen, because Pete Harmon asked me to the junior prom instead of Emma?"
"It wouldn't surprise me." Astrid leveled a finger at her. "You're a no-good, man-stealing 'ho, you know."
Clare burst out laughing at Griffin's shocked expression. "She only talks like that to those she loves. When she calls you a bastard, you know you belong."
Griffin grinned. "Well, damn, and to think I was angling for a more standard signal like, 'great guy,' or 'brilliant addition to our town,' or something that is clearly too mundane."
"I abhor the mundane," Astrid said cheerfully.
Griffin raised his coffee cup. "Amen to that, sister."
Astrid clicked her cup, and Emma added the same. "To abhorring the mundane," Emma said.
Griffin looked over at Clare. "You joining us?"
"I'm a trusts and estates attorney," she explained. "I can't afford to abhor the mundane."
Griffin locked his fingers around her wrist, placed her coffee cup in her hand and raised it up. "My darling, you could be a tax attorney in a black suit and glasses and you would be as far from the mundane as it is possible to get."
Clare couldn't stop the huge smile that spread over her face, or the warm gooey feeling that filled her belly. She wasn't sure if it was the endearment or the compliment, and she wasn't sure it mattered. The whole statement was simply melt-worthy.
"Oh, now, that's just really sweet," Astrid said.
"And correct," Emma said. "Clare Bear is not mundane."
"No," Griffin said. "She's not."
"You guys are crazy." Clare surveyed the three grinning faces, all of them holding up coffee cups. Even Emma was relaxed, and Clare realized that Griffin had won over both her friends. The man was a heroic rescuer of stranded teenagers, he was an amazing kisser, he was fire-starter to her hormones, and he could charm the girls over coffee and muffins.
"To cupcakes," Griffin said.
"To cupcakes," Emma and Astrid echoed. All three of them were beaming at her as if they knew some secret worth gloating over.
"They're just dessert," Clare protested.
"No," said Griffin. "They're passion."
"Oh..." Emma nodded. "He's right you know. Just like my art and Astrid's jewelry."
Astrid grinned and slid a key across the table toward her. "Harlan slipped me the key to the Bean Pot when I told him that you might be interested."
"I'm not interested." But Clare couldn't help but stare at the shiny silver key that looked like it had just been cut. It was sitting on the table so close, just waiting for her to pick it up. A sudden yearning pulsed through her. What if there was a way to make a living by doing what she loved? What if—
An envelope dropped on the table in front o
f her, and she looked up to see Jackson Reed standing behind Emma. "Morning, Clare. Here's Jeff's estimate for your roof." He gave her an apologetic shrug. "It's not as low as you were hoping for, but it's the best he'll offer. Let me know if you want to do it."
"Okay, thanks." Clare picked up the envelope with a resigned sigh. This was her life, this was her reality. Would a few cupcakes pay for her new roof? No chance. Was she going to force her daughter to sleep in the car so she could play in the kitchen? No, she wasn't. She was going to do her job and take care of her daughter. The Bean Pot would just have to go to someone else. "I'll look at the bid and get back to you."
"Sounds good." To her surprise, Jackson didn't leave. Instead, he nodded at Griffin, as if they knew each other. "Hey, Griff."
Griff? Griffin Friesé was so not a "Griff."
But Griffin shook Jackson's hand in one of those rough and tough handshakes between men who understood each other. "Morning, Jackson. Give my best to Trish."
Jackson's smile lit up his face. "Will do, my man. Will do." He nodded at the rest of them. "Take care, ladies. Be nice to Griffin. It's one against three at this table."
Astrid laughed. "I think he can take care of himself."
"Agreed." Jackson grinned at them all, then headed out the door toward his truck.
"How do you know Jackson and Trish?" Clare asked.
Griffin shrugged. "Small town. He's a good guy."
Clare smiled at his perceptiveness. "He is. Trish is wonderful, and he's so good to her."
Griffin got a thoughtful expression on his face as he watched Jackson get into his truck. "Yeah, I noticed that."
Emma pushed the key closer. "Take it, Clare. Just go take a peek at the store. That doesn't mean you have to do it."
"Trust me," Astrid said. "Turning your passion into your work is amazing. I'll even help you with the internet stuff. I bet you can get a serious online client base—"
"No." Clare folded the roof estimate in half and put it her purse. Yes, for a moment, she had been almost tempted. But she was too sane to get caught up in irresponsible fantasies. "Now isn't the right time. Maybe when Katie is done with college and—"
Unexpectedly Mine (Birch Crossing Book 1) Page 13
