Table of Contents
Title Page
Books by Rachel Blaufeld
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
Break Point
To See You
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
“Sometimes, I feel like I’m watching a movie…that it’s not really me, Claire Richards, getting this second chance at life.”
“Open your eyes, it’s you, and I’m damn glad it’s with me.” ~ Aiken
Single mom and college professor Claire Richards only wanted a few hours of me time to soak in her tub, read a book, and drink wine.
But tragedy struck, and Claire found herself with a lot more me time than she bargained for.
Three years later, Claire is still mourning her losses when Aiken Fordham—who looks young enough to be one of her college students—moves in next door.
Forcing Claire to face her fears, Aiken almost forgets his reason for moving to Small Town, Pennsylvania. Falling for the sexy, smart, and strong professor next door was never in the plan.
But now it is…until their future intersects with their pasts.
Stand Alone Titles
Break Point
To See You
Love at Center Court Series
Vérité
Dolce
The Electric Tunnel Series
Electrified
Smoldered
Tinged
Crossroads Series
Redemption Lane
Absolution Road
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This book is dedicated to all those who have ever suffered a broken heart.
May it be stitched back together and beat stronger than ever before.
To second and third chances…
“Ahhh,” I murmured to myself as I sank deep into my ivory clawfoot tub, a glass of red wine on the shelf, my Kindle resting on top of a towel on the floor. My calves relaxed for the first time in months. My neck graciously welcomed the foam pillow as I drank in the peace and tranquility of the moment.
Giddy I had the whole night to myself, I planned to enjoy the quiet, drink my fill of vino, and hog all the covers.
When was the last time I savored an hour to myself, let alone a whole night?
The last part was an every-night type of thing for me, but tonight I didn’t care.
This night was about me. I swished the lavender scented bubbles around my breasts and breathed in the moment. It was only about me…
Laurie, another mom, was set to pick up Abby and the other girls for a sleepover. With a large farmhouse and a full staff, she didn’t need to wrangle a few minutes to herself. She took her minutes as needed.
When my fingers looked like prunes, I dried off and took my trusted Kindle to bed. Snatching the wine bottle off my nightstand, I topped off my glass and fell into the pillows. The story, a sort of multicultural affair, complete with espionage and romance, captured my attention until my eyes drooped. I didn’t remember exactly when the book fell to my lap and my eyes closed fully, but I remembered being woken up.
My cell phone trilled on the nightstand, ringing into the empty room. It wasn’t Abby’s ringtone, and I considered turning over and ignoring it when it started going off again.
I swiped my finger without looking at the screen. “Hello?”
“Claire? Were you sleeping? I need you to get up. Claire!”
I recognized the voice as Laurie’s, strung out beyond belief, not her typical laid-back tone.
Immediately, I was in hypervigilant mom mode despite the wine in my system and the sleep in my eyes.
“Laurie? Is everything okay?”
A whimper came across the line, and then a sob.
“Laurie? What’s wrong? You’re scaring the shit out of me.”
By now I was sitting all the way up, my feet flung to the floor and feeling for my slippers.
“Turn on the TV. Channel five, hurry. There’s been an accident.” She hiccupped as I reached for the remote.
Claire
Almost three years later, June
“Almost home, Smitty,” I said to my dog through uneven breaths.
Of course, he already knew we were close to home. He was smarter than most humans. Definitely gentler and easier to talk to.
Not to mention, he’d been my only companion the last few years.
He looked up at the mention of his name, tongue hanging out, smiling like only a goofy yellow Labrador could, and I felt a smallish smile cross my face. It wasn’t up to my eyes, where sweat currently dripped, but it was better than not smiling at all—which was my typical state of affairs.
Lose the resting bitch face, Mary always said when she looked at me, telling me to smile so often she’d become a broken record. Smiling came easy when I was with Smitty or my students—the bright spots in my life.
I used the neck of my ratty T-shirt to wipe my eyes, my breath continuing to come in pants, my legs burning and my clothes drenched the way I liked it. I’d be tired enough to make it through another Saturday with nothing to do, no one to take care of, and no papers to grade. Mary, aka Dr. McCullough, the head of my department, who also happened to be my closest friend, had suggested I take the summer off teaching, even though I’d protested. I liked going to class—it guaranteed I had some type of human interaction—but she wouldn’t allow it. Told me it was time to take a breather, find life again, or whatever the hell that meant.
My life was buried in Rose Park Cemetery, row F, plot 305.
Life had once meant shuttling kids, rushing to class, grading papers in between soccer games on Sunday and remembering once being married to David—before he found a new life.
Now this was it.
My life.
Taking a long, sweat-inducing run was as good as it got.
Smitty jarred me from my negative thoughts, tugging on the leash and dragging me up the street, nearly pulling my shoulder out of its socket. “Whoa, boy.”
Stilling my feet and leaning over my knees, I watched a few beads of sweat roll into my cleavage as I caught my breath. “That’s a good boy.” I patted him on top of the head while he finally sat at my feet.
“Hey there.” The deep voice rang in my ears as I continued to watch sweat fall into my boobs. I debated not standing—I didn’t do deep voices that dripped with sex appeal. I even considered breaking back into a run, but I was a thirty-six-year-old woman, not a teenage girl, so I stood up tall and proud. “Hey there to you,” I whipped back. “Can
I help you? You seem to have nabbed the attention of my dog.”
I noticed a large moving truck blocking the driveway alongside mine and an equally large black pickup truck blocking my own driveway. Standing in front of me was an Adonis, a very young Adonis. Dark olive complexion, eyes glistening as blue as the Mediterranean (from what I’d seen in movies and online). Of course, he came complete with a wife-beater tank (they still called it that…I learned from my students) and mesh athletic shorts. He didn’t even try to hide his perusal of me, his eyes stopping for several beats on my heaving breasts.
My heartbeat quickened in a way it never did running. After years of being dormant, my body rumbled back to life from a lone (extra-long) glance from a much-younger dude.
I’d never felt more alive or passionate.
From a single look.
A smirk formed on his face. Maybe it was a smile. What the hell did I know? I barely knew what to do with the desire rushing through my veins.
My mind raced through possibilities as to what he could be doing here.
In front of me. On my street.
With all that dirty-blond mussed hair.
My brain finally settled on, He works for the moving company and needs to borrow a hammer or something.
His voice broke through my inner banter. “Sorry to snag you at a bad time.”
“Umm, it’s okay. I was just finishing my run. I live over there, the red brick one with the truck blocking the driveway.” I pointed to my house that was smallish but still too big for one person and one dog. I moved the back of my hand across my forehead, pushing a few errant hairs out of the way.
“Yeah, I know. I saw you go for a run on the day of my closing. Sorry about the truck. I’m going to move it in a sec. You have to get out right away?”
Closing? Get out?
“I’m Aiken, by the way. I bought the house next door to you. Aiken Fordham. Uh, do you want to grab a cold drink or something? You look thirsty…I have some waters in the cooler...right over there in my truck.” He cocked his thumb over his shoulder and smiled.
Confusion clattered around in my brain, a cold sweat collected under my arms—not from running—and a longing swirled in my belly. It was utter madness.
My breath felt short, but I managed to get out, “No, I’m fine. I’ll get one inside, and don’t worry about the driveway.”
After a deep breath, I added, “I don’t have anywhere to be, and I usually park on the street anyways. You bought the house?” I felt my wrinkles deepen. This kid could be my student, for all I knew, and now he was living next door—to me—in the prettiest house on the block.
“I did.”
I took in his house, painted yellow, perfect flower boxes attached to each window—they weren’t filled—and a bright red door. We’d all walked through the open house. It was the envy of the whole street, and now this young buck owned it.
I nodded and pointed at my dog. “This is Smitty.”
“Heyyy, boy.” He scratched my all-too-willing dog on the head. His tail went ballistic. Traitor. Here I was, trying to squelch any ridiculous feelings my new neighbor made me feel, and my dog welcomed him with open paws.
All the while, Aiken smiled at me like I wasn’t standing there, several decades older than he was, dripping sweat and stinking to high hell.
For a moment, I was appearing in my own rom-com, but this was me—Claire Richards—and there were zero rom-coms in my future.
Or my past, tbh (another acronym I sadly knew).
“I have to go get changed.”
For nothing.
“Nice meeting you.” I cut to the chase. If I didn’t, I pictured myself climbing this man, who didn’t even know my name, forcing myself on him, looking for some feeling I couldn’t even identify.
He gave me a little dip of his chin and let me pass. I tried to forget having to tug extra hard on Smitty’s leash as soon as I had to do it. On the long list of males in my life, even my dog was bored with me. Okay, maybe only one. My ex.
As I made my way up the three steps in front of my house, dreaming of having somewhere to be, forgetting the fact that I was barricaded in by his pickup truck, I heard him call, “Smitty’s mom!”
My chest clenched at a single word. Of course, I was technically Smitty’s mom, but I wasn’t a mom mom anymore, a scarlet letter I’d come to wear well.
A big body came up behind me, smoldering heat and all male emanating from it. “You have a name? Smitty’s mom?”
The second time he said that word, my heart stopped beating for one beat, then two. Grateful for the interruption to the pitter-patter he’d caused moments earlier, I took a long inhale and resolved to resist any further feelings when it came to Aiken.
Mom.
It was such a simple word, with only one meaning.
Mother of a child.
Dog moms were stupid.
People made fun of dog moms.
But real moms were real.
I shook my head, clearing any additional rampant thoughts, bent, and untied my key from my shoe.
“Come on, I don’t bite,” he said from behind me.
I simply said, “No worries. I have to go. That’s it.”
Aiken might have created a tornado of emotions inside me, but there was no reason to take it out on him.
With the door unlocked and the screen door propped open, I turned sideways. “I’m sure you’re very sweet. Kind too, but my life is sort of closed. I’d like to keep it that way. In fact, I kind of need to.”
Hurt flickered in his eyes, a small wave of doubt in a large sea of confidence. For one brief second, I felt my walls shifting.
I told myself not to care. Repeated my mantra. If you love it, it dies. First, David’s affections, then Abby. I didn’t need any more affirmations. I was the equivalent of a weed whacker when it came to love. “I don’t mean to be harsh…it’s just—”
“Okay, well, I’m right next door if you change your mind,” he interrupted. “Bye, Smitty.”
Thank God, who the hell knew what I was going to admit?
I quickly shut the door behind me, refusing to watch him walk away.
I’d had enough goodbyes, and I didn’t want any more hellos.
Claire
By Sunday, I was fried. I couldn’t spend one more second alone with my thoughts, so I grabbed my phone. “Mary, I need you to listen to me. You have to give me a class back. One freaking class, you hear me? I can’t do this, and I deserve to teach at least one class. I’m worthy of at least that for all the shit I’ve done for the department,” I rambled with false authority.
Overhearing splashing in the background, I realized I’d interrupted her Sunday with her family.
“Can’t do what exactly?”
“This. Nothing. Sitting around my house, staring into space, giving myself pedicures. It’s boring. I’m picking at my cuticles, peeking out my window, wasting away to nothing. Even my damn skin itches to do something.” I stared at my bare feet on the coffee table. My nails were a bright shade of pink, drying after being painted for the second time this weekend.
Through the phone, she yelled at Peter, her youngest, to leave his sister alone and then got back on the line. “Not nothing, you mean life. You can’t do life. Why the hell are you giving yourself pedicures? Go get one, take a spa day, treat yourself right. For once.”
“I don’t want to go for a spa day. Feels too frilly, too much. It’s girlie and luxurious. Whatever, I don’t know why I’m explaining myself to you. What I do know is I can’t seem to find a damn place for myself. I’m failing at nothing. You gotta give me something.”
“Not nothing. Life,” she repeated.
“Whatever you want to call it. Teaching is my life, and now I don’t have that. I’m drowning in nothingness.”
I got up to stand in front of my closed mini blinds, crunched my chin and neck to cradle the phone, and propped one slat open with my pointer finger. The pickup parked in Aiken’s driveway called to me. As if I
’d been spotted, I quickly moved away from the window and fell into my reading chair. Mary was quiet on the other end of the line, waiting for me to whine, or emote, or complain. She’d been through this before.
“Case in point,” I said, “you’re sitting by the pool, the sun is shining, and everyone I know is out playing tennis or running or mowing their lawn or taking in a round of golf. I’m spread out in my comfy chair with the blinds closed, drinking stale coffee. I need to come back to teach a class. My students need me. I need them. Please…”
“How long have we known each other?”
I rolled my eyes. She always went with this speech.
I hated you in the fifth grade because you had boobs. We double-dated for prom, I was in your wedding to David, and I was there when he walked out on you for the floozy. With no boobs, mind you…
I could’ve recited her speech in my sleep.
Her monologue continued. “I was there when Abby was born. I was there when Abby was taken.”
The rest sounded like the wah wah of the teacher in the Peanuts cartoons.
“I’m being here for you now. It’s been three years, Claire. Life’s a bullet train, passing you by like a withering, stagnant, dying tree on the side of the road.”
“Wow, don’t leave out any punches.” My voice was hoarse, tears threatening to spill. My eyes slammed shut. She wasn’t wrong.
“I can’t watch anymore. You’re a psychology professor, for God’s sake. You need to jolt yourself out of this. You can’t grieve forever. Please don’t cry,” she begged. “I don’t want to be harsh, but it’s time.”
“I want one class back. One summer class. Give me back Intro to Human Development, and I’ll try to do more...”
“Try to do what? Bury yourself in lesson plans, office hours, and grading papers? It’s summer session. These kids didn’t sign up for hell. They stayed on campus to take easy credits and live life...like you should be doing. One sec.” Without even bothering to mute the phone, she hollered, “Peter, take five. I told you to leave the girls be.”
Heart Stronger Page 1
