Her mother chuckled. “The men in your life mean well.”
“Yeah, well, they can mean well and trust me to make my own good decisions at the same time.”
They rounded a corner to see Holden standing in the middle of the hall.
Clara frowned. He was pale, and he was looking at a patient room that had machines beeping loudly as if it held someone important to him.
She rushed forward and touched his arm, only for him to flinch before looking down at her.
Her frown deepened. “Holden. Are you okay?”
“Clara.” He shifted his gaze to her mother. “Pam.”
Clara’s attention moved to the room, which held half a dozen hospital staff, before one of the nurses closed the door.
“Do you know the person in there?” Clara asked gently.
He shook his head. “No, I—” Then he stopped, the fear from moments ago intensifying as he seemed to focus on her. “What areyoudoing here? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Mom needed some routine blood tests.”
Relief washed over his features.
“Holden…why are you here?” Clara asked.
He cleared his throat. “I’m meeting Briar to give her the quote for her kitchen.”
Something stabbed at her chest. Something she absolutely did not like and would not admit to. She shouldn’t care that he was meeting Briar, a beautiful, ridiculously fit nurse. It had nothing to do with her.
He ran fingers through his hair. “I should get to her.”
“Okay.” Clara’s single word came out quietly.
Holden gave them each a small smile before rounding the corner. She looked at her mother, who appeared deep in thought.
“He wasn’t okay,” Clara said softly.
“No, he wasn’t. I suspect he spent a lot of time in hospitals with his mother and now they’re not his favorite places.”
Was that true? His face had gone white because he remembered his mother?
How much of his life did her loss really affect? Something told her it was more than he ever let on.
CHAPTER 7
Clara’s legs hurt. Was it embarrassing if she limped across the parking lot to the bar? Itfeltembarrassing.
“Are you okay?”
Man, even Indie noticed. “Why do you ask?”
“You’re walking…funny.”
It wasthatobvious. “Sunday’s run is still killing me. I forced myself to finish the five miles.”
It was Wednesday. Three days had passed since the run and her legs were still hurting. In fact, there’d been three more running club sessions since the first, and at each one, she’d pushed herself to finish, so she’d just been in a permanent state of pain.
When did it start getting easier?
