She doesn't trust what’s creeping in through the walls of this house.
Or why she’s starting to wonder what it would feel like to stay just one more night.
Alone.
In his bed.
33
TheReal Thing
Clairestoodoverheropen suitcase, hair damp, towel long forgotten. She stared at her clothes like one of them might whisper the plan for the day.
“I have no idea what we’re doing,” she mumbled to herself, eyeing a pair of white shorts and a navy henley.
After a beat, she shrugged. “Might as well look cute and comfortable.”
She stepped into the shorts, tugged the top over her head, and checked her reflection. Not too much. Not trying too hard. Just... enough.
As she bent to zip the suitcase, she heard it.
“Have you been waiting for me like that?”
Claire glanced between her legs—and saw Jaxon leaning against the doorframe, grinning.
She smirked. “Not like this, but... whatever works.”
He crossed the room in three easy strides and kissed her, fingers grazing her waist.
“Morning,” he said. “How was yours?”
“Shower. Breakfast. Read the note you left about twenty-seven times. Thank you, by the way. That was... sweet.”
He started loosening his tie. “I try.”
She watched the way his fingers worked the knot. Effortless. Casual. Dangerous in that quiet way men are when they don’t even realize what they’re doing.
“So,” he asked, pulling the tie free, “what’s the plan?”
“I figured we could explore a little. I looked up a few things.”
Jaxon grabbed a pair of khaki shorts from his suitcase, tugged on his favorite t-shirt, and laced up his sneakers.
“Honestly, I’m good with whatever. Just happy to be out of dress clothes.”
They headed downstairs and made it through the lobby. But when Jaxon turned toward the sidewalk instead of the rental, Claire paused.
“We’re not driving?”
He shook his head. “It’s too nice out. Let’s walk. We’ll figure it out as we go.”
Claire fell into step beside him, the city unfolding ahead in afternoon light. As they passed glass storefronts and flower stands, she thought back to something he once told her.
“Touristy spots are fine. But if you want the soul of a city, go where the locals go.”
She smiled to herself, remembering the exact tone of his voice. Confident. Certain. Like he didn’t just explore places—he understood them.
Come to think of it… since they left for the airport, he hadn’t once pulled out his phone to look anything up. And yet, somehow, he always seemed to know where to go.
