“Stubborn old what?” he asked quietly.
“Poop,” Claire blurted.
Dan arched an eyebrow. “Poop?”
“I’ve been around a lot of toddlers lately,” she muttered. She was acutely aware of his hand wrapped around her finger. Her heart was hammering with anticipation, which was stupid because nothing was going to happen.
“Why do you care?” he asked, his hand still wrapped around her finger.
“Because I like you.”
“What do you like?”
“You—”
“I mean about me.” His tone was flat, his expression hard. “What do you like about me?”
“I like that you look out for people, even if you pretend you don’t. I like that you have a rescue dog and that you have a sense of humor so dry it’s like living in the Sahara. I like that you’re neat, because I am too.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you mean, that’s it?” she demanded. “You’re asking me to bare my soul while you’re not telling me anything. Do youcare about me?” The second the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. Dan had never indicated that he cared about her. She’d just set herself up for a massive rejection.
“You’re completely exasperating,” Dan said. “And practically useless. You don’t even realize how entitled you are, although you think you do.”
“Right.” Her voice wobbled alarmingly. Yet another person was telling her what a waste of space she was. Why should she be surprised?
“And you work harder than anyone I’ve known,” Dan continued. “And you’re stronger than you realize. And you care about people, even grumpy old women like Eleanor Carwell.”
Claire managed a crooked smile. “She’s not that grumpy.”
“Not as grumpy as me?”
“Not by a long shot.”
He smiled then, the corner of his mouth lifting, and Claire had to keep herself from running into his arms. “So...”
“So I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he said, and with a grin she realized he meant the pub quiz.
At the quiz Eleanor Carwell flirted with him outrageously, practically cooing and making Claire laugh. Dan met her gaze once, his mouth curving in the tiniest of smiles, and for a second it felt like they were sharing an in joke, but maybe not. She was terrible at figuring relationships out. She’d never had to before; she’d simply done what she was told.
She thought of her first date with Hugh, how he’d come to the villa she’d been showing to a retired couple and told her he was taking her out to the best restaurant in the Algarve. It had been a statement, a command, and Claire hadn’t thought to protest. He’d taken her to a restaurant that had miniscule portions of artistically arranged seafood; Claire had always hated fish, but she’d eaten the scallops Hugh had ordered for her because that was what she did. She hadn’t protested when he’d insisted onordering for both of them, so why would she protest when he ordered something she didn’t like?
She’d been utterly spineless, an indifferent spectator of her own life, removed from everything going on around her. Thank God Hugh had gotten tired of her and insisted she go to rehab. At least he’d woken her up, jolted her out of her catatonic lethargy.
But being awake and alive was as hard as it was invigorating; she needed to act, and sometimes she wasn’t sure how.
A week slipped by, and May marched into June, the days chilly and gray and far from what Claire, after four years in Portugal, thought of as summer, although the residents of Hartley-by-the-Sea still went about in short sleeves and shorts. Life had eased into a pattern; she cleaned houses, worked in the shop, and wondered how to shift the status quo.
Andrew came back on the weekend and spent an inordinate amount of time at the Campbells’ house; Claire learned to sit down with Emily Hart and let her moan over a cup of tea. She even changed Riley and Rogan’s nappies; unfortunately, she put them on backwards.
Dan, Eleanor, and Lily came out for another pub quiz, and as a team they earned eleven points, their personal best so far.
And all the while Claire felt that something needed to shift, to change or hopefully to grow; she just didn’t know what or how. Then she came back from work on Friday and saw a car in the driveway of Four Gables, a sleek black Mercedes that sent a tremor of trepidation ricocheting through her. Her parents were home.
Chapter twenty-nine
Rachel
