Nothing personal. God forbid.
Sometimes, she brushed past him at work and she wanted to scream with the frustration of being so close to him, yet so far away. The chasm between them widened each day. Claire tried to be strong, to tell herself she didn’t need Logan. Lots of women tackled single motherhood. She could do it too. Of course she could.
But she missed him.
She missed seeing genuine smiles lighting up his face, missed his devouring kisses, his arms around her at night. She missed laughing with him, sharing her baby with him. She missed, well, everything about him.
Logan, on the other hand, didn’t seem to miss her at all. It was as if he had an emotional on-off switch. He seemed perfectly happy with their relationship, or lack thereof. At her last doctor’s visit, Logan had watched the sonogram for all of fifteen seconds before excusing himself for a meeting he’d forgotten. As though any meeting could take precedence over the sight of his own child. Claire could still recall the look of naked pity on her doctor’s face at Logan’s hasty exit.
Somehow, the caring, considerate man he’d been in Maryland had disappeared in the harsh light of reality. King Monroe took his place. She didn’t think she could manage to peacefully coexist with him like this, pretending not to care at all. Pretending not to be hurt by his sudden defection.
“Knock knock.”
Claire started and turned to find Marcus hovering in the doorway of the kitchen. “Marcus.” She smiled, truly happy to see him. He had become a much-needed friend to her in the last few weeks. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I know.” He grinned, looking utterly gorgeous in faded jeans and a soft gray sweater that complemented the vibrancy of his green eyes. “You really should lock your doors, or you’ll have unwanted guests just inviting themselves inside.”
“Like you?” She couldn’t resist teasing him.
Marcus pressed a hand to his heart. “I’m wounded. Should I take that as a hint and drive all the way back to New York after I just drove four hours through weekend traffic to get here?” He consulted his watch. “I’m sure it’ll take me five hours to get back if I leave now, but that’s okay. I don’t mind long drives. Really.”
Claire was laughing so hard she was crying by the time he finished his melodramatic don’t-mind-me speech. “When you put it that way, I guess you can stay.”
“Big of you,” he murmured dryly, “especially since you invited me.”
She had invited him to an apple festival in a nearby town. Sophie and Trevor had invited her, and she hadn’t wanted to be the third wheel on the bicycle, so she’d asked Marcus to accompany them. He was a bit early, but she didn’t mind. She was grateful for the company.
“Can I get you something?” she asked, belatedly realizing she was still holding the refrigerator door wide open. “I was just about to sneak a snack.”
“Nothing, thanks.” He winked. “I’m saving myself for all that apple crisp and pie you promised would be waiting for me at the festival.”
“Suit yourself.” She whipped out a raspberry yogurt, grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer and sat down at the kitchen table with a happy sigh.
Her feet ached more and more each day and her stomach felt so large she knew she looked like Humpty Dumpty. But Claire didn’t mind so much, as long as she didn’t fall off any walls.
“Are you eating raspberry yogurt?” Marcus asked with disbelief as she dug in with typical zeal.
“Mmm-hmm.” She didn’t bother forming a coherent response. Her mouth was too full of delicious, gooey raspberry yogurt.
“Yep.” He nodded. “You’ve got to be pregnant. No one else could possibly like yogurt that much.”
“Mmm.” Claire scraped the bottom of the container, finished it off with record speed. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”
Marcus laughed. “Take it as an observation.”
Trevor and Sophie arrived then, holding hands and as nauseatingly in love as ever.
“No time to dawdle,” Sophie announced. “Put down that yogurt immediately, Claire. There’s pie to be eaten.”
“And dumplings,” Trevor added with a grin.
“Not to mention fritters,” added Marcus helpfully.
Claire laughed. “When you put it that way…”
“So, what do you think of Marcus?” Sophie asked Claire when the two of them were finally alone. They were perusing the various wares on display at the flea market segment of the festival, munching on hot apple crisp as they went. Trevor and Marcus had been enlisted to carry pumpkins back to Sophie’s car for the autumnal display she was planning on creating. Claire had lost count of how many gourds, pumpkins, and ears of decorative corn her sister had purchased. Half the stand, it had seemed like.
“Well?” Sophie demanded around a spoonful of apple crisp.
