Claire
Okay, fine. I woke up in a charitable mood.
You have a thirty-second window in which I am willing to hear you out. And I’m only giving you one last chance because you’re Daisy’s brother.
The clock starts now, Benadryl Boy.
I watch closely as Rowan pops awake and searches for his phone. The way he bobbles it around for a second before taking off a glove induces another good laugh, as does the look on his face when he finally reads my message. Panic sets in, and from there he drops his phone, spends another moment looking for it, pauses to put on his glasses, checks his watch and curses—something I know he doesn’t do often—and scrambles out of his truck and up the front steps.
I’m still snickering to myself when I calmly waltz over to open the front door.
“Sorry, time’s up,” I intone as I move to swing it closed, but Rowan steps forward and plants his foot in the opening.
“No,” he begs, sounding out of breath. “Please?”
I roll my eyes and stifle a smile, letting him in and gesturing toward the coffee maker. He stops to remove the other glove so he can properly greet the dogs, and I hate that I love how sweet he is to them. Then he slips off his shoes before shuffling into the kitchen.
“You really are a saint, you know that?” he mumbles as he fills up a mug and inhales deeply, but I don’t like the cough that follows.
“Tell me you didn’t give yourself pneumonia,tête dur,” I scold him as I go over and touch the back of my hand to his forehead, which feels a bit clammy for someone who spent the night out in the cold.
He gazes down at me and stifles another cough. “It’d be a poor penance, but I deserve it.”
I roll my eyes again. “You can cut the shit, Rowan. I’m a high school teacher, remember? I’m immune to cute and sappy.”
“That’s all I’ve got right now,” he says with a frown, reminding me of the Rowan I knew before. I turn away, because I’ve obviously never managed to build up a resistance to cuteness, or I’d never have lasted this long in the education field.
“Well, you’re gonna have to do better than a few pity coughs,” I lie as I pour myself a refill.
He sighs and puts his mug down to remove a layer, revealing a thick vest beneath his jacket. I realize he’s wearing his work clothesbeneath the insulation. Did he change in the car during the night, or did he actually come prepared to sleep in his truck?
“Any chance I can toss my shirt in the dryer while we talk? It’s a little wrinkled.” I nod, distracted by his hands as they work to peel away the vest. “I should probably just start wearing scrubs while I’m here,” he muses to himself.
“So anyway, I spent the night thinking about what I could possibly say to make up for holding back and not telling you the full truth, and I figured I could start by fessing up to something else embarrassing,” he continues, unbuttoning his shirt next.
“I’m listening,” I say. But I’m not. The way his collarbones look peeking out of the collar of his white undershirt reminds me too much of one of our last close encounters, when I didn’t hesitate to slide my hands over his chest to warm them up.
And warm me up, he did.
“… I basically ended up losing my lunch after the first live birth I attended in medical school,” Rowan explains, and I notice a pink tinge to his cheeks when I finally drag my eyes up to his face. It’s so cute that I want to blush, too, and I shuffle uncomfortably and tug on the ties of my robe again.
He holds up his dress shirt and gestures toward the laundry room, and I nod a little too quickly this time. “You should probably throw your pants in there, too,” I call out after him, then cringe when I hear how thirsty it sounds. “I mean, they looked a bit frumpy, so you might as well.”
He returns in his boxers and that T-shirt, and I take a big gulp of hot coffee, hoping it’ll divert my attention.
“Anything else you want to know, I’m an open book,” he says, grinning. “Like the time I was an altar server and almost took out the deacon with my overzealous thurible swinging. Or when I walked into an exam room to find my best friend’s baby sister and the guy who was responsible for getting her pregnant.”
I snort out a laugh that time. “Don’t you hate it when you get invested with someone, only to find out they’ve been lying to you the wholetime?”
He cringes. “Yes.”
I blink at him, and he sighs, obviously not expecting me to interrupt his spiel. “I was planning on offering up a few more of my most mortifying moments before transitioning into my apology, but I think all the rest of them have happened in front of you.”
“Let me guess, the worst one was having to admit to your sister that you almost had a one-night stand with her slutty work friend?”
“Claire.” He says my name on an exhale, his expression falling. “Please don’t talk about yourself that way.”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” I ask sardonically.
