SIX
CLAIRE STOOD LOOKING AT THE stacks of boxes cluttering Luke’s usually pristine penthouse and blew out a frustrated breath. The movers really had packed everything. Piled in Luke’s white and glass place, most of what she owned looked like it came from a flea market. Some of it had. She loved old things – things with a story of their own, but what she thought had looked charming in her small apartment just looked messy in his.
Maybe she should unpack her clothes and get the movers back to take the rest of it away. Except there were things mixed in with the mess that she loved – a sewing cabinet that belonged to her mother and her Granny English’s cast iron skillet wearing the patina of decades of Sunday dinners.
Luke had his housekeeper Esmerelda clear out half of the enormous walk-in closet for her as well as the closet in the guest room. Claire had started by unpacking her clothes, but she didn’t have nearly enough to fill it. What she owned barely filled a third of the space. Luke had more shoes than she did, and for a man who didn’t seem unnecessarily clothes conscious, a lot more clothing as well.
He’d offered to help her move her things in, but she could tell the clutter made him uncomfortable, and honestly, she didn’t want his help. She wasn’t sure she was comfortable with any of it, and she needed the time alone to sort through her feelings. She couldn’t imagine how long it would take before it stopped feeling like Luke’s penthouse and started to feel like her home. And faced with the mountains of her things in the quiet of his space, she still wasn’t sure how any of it had happened.
She pressed the heel of her hand to the center of her forehead, rubbing at the crease she knew was there. Had she really moved in with a man who up until a few weeks ago she’d been sure could never commit to an adult relationship becausehe’d won a bet? What happened to making smarter choices and keeping her heart safe? It felt like she was right back to being bared to him all over again. The difference was this time he was bared too, which was almost as frightening. Having him trust her with all of him when she knew he’d never done anything like it before was overwhelming. She didn’t want to lose herself and she didn’t want to hurt him. Even more disconcerting, part of her that she’d kept hidden since she was a little girl wanted more than anything to have a chance at living happily ever after.
Maybe if she could get the mess around her sorted, she could make sense of the emotional mess inside her. She’d already taken more time than she could afford to deal with it. She needed to get back to the Ashton court job, and she wanted to get started on the new property on Chestnut Street. She’d simply have to muscle through and move on. Maybe once the boxes were gone and her things were settled, she’d feel settled too. Hopefully.
There was a soft knock on the door and then a petite older woman with salt and pepper hair entered. She smiled at Claire, and for a moment they stood smiling and looking at each other.
“Ms. English?” the woman finally asked in a softly accented voice. “I’m Esmeralda. Mr. Masters sent me to help you,” she said not waiting for Claire’s answer.
“Call me, Claire, please,” she said grateful to Luke for sending help and even more grateful to have someone to help her find some direction so she didn’t stand in the middle of the room staring at boxes for hours.
“I can start in here if you like,” said the older woman, heading toward the kitchen.
Unable to face the boxes in the living room, Claire followed Esmeralda into the kitchen. Luke didn’t cook. Up until that night with Eric, they’d eaten take out from Comme Ci more often than they’d eaten anything else. Since then, Claire had cooked a handful of times, with Luke helping or distracting her depending on his mood. It had been enough for her to know that, despite its lack of use, it was an incredibly well-equipped space.
Aside from the few pieces she had that had sentimental meaning, there wasn’t any reason for her to unpack her Ikea silverware or dishes. They’d look silly next to Luke’s things, but she didn’t want to get rid of them either. Not when everything was so new and unsettled. She’d told Luke she was going to hold onto her apartment. It made more sense to leave most of her things there. If she’d been thinking, she would have said that when he called the movers to box up her stuff.
But then if she’d been thinking, she wouldn’t have made a bet where the payoff was her moving in with him.
Esmeralda opened the first box and pulled out what looked like a paper-wrapped drinking glass.
“Wait,” said Claire and the other woman froze, looking worried. “Leave those boxed. He…we,” she corrected herself, feeling awkward. “Don’t need any more glasses.” She knew the housekeeper occasionally left prepared meals for Luke so she was sure she knew as well as anyone how well-equipped the kitchen was. “Could you help me look for some special dishes? I’m not sure which boxes they are in and they probably won’t look like much, but I’d like my grandma’s skillet, and there is a casserole dish. It’s red enamel and my mother’s Blue Willow platter. The rest can stay in the boxes.”
“Of course,” said Esmeralda, nodding and smiling. “Food tastes better when it’s made in the things that belonged to the people who loved us. I’ve got my abuelos tortilla press. It makes the best tortillas you’ve ever tasted.”
They started digging in the boxes, and an hour later, Claire had tucked the few pieces that were important to her into the cabinets, and with the housekeeper’s help, stacked the rest of the boxes marked kitchen next to the front door for the movers to take back to her apartment. It was inefficient and wasted effort as well as wasted money, but she felt more in control and better than she had since the boxes showed up at Luke’s place. Setting the last box of dishes beside the others, she turned to thank Esmeralda for the help and grabbed for the wall when the room started to spin.
“Are you okay, Claire?” asked the older woman, looking concerned.
“I’m fine. I probably just need to eat something.” She felt lightheaded, like she did when her blood sugar dropped if she forgot to eat, but she’d had a decent breakfast with Luke that morning and it was barely noon. Still, it wasn’t like it was the first time it had happened. She’d eat, and if that didn’t fix things, she could worry about what else it might be.
“I made Mr. Masters some chicken. I’ll get it for you.”
“Thanks, Esmeralda,” said Claire grateful again for the other woman’s help. “But only if you’ll eat with me.”
The other woman nodded her agreement before disappearing behind the door of the huge commercial-sized refrigerator, emerging a moment later with a Tupperware container and a bowl of salad. She put the food on Luke’s modern, plain white plates and they sat at the counter to eat.
“This is fantastic,” said Claire, suddenly ravenous. She speared a cherry tomato covered with a creamy refrigerator dressing and popped it into her mouth, almost groaning with pleasure as the sweet tart tang of tomato burst on her tongue. “Did you make the dressing, too?”
“Yes,” said the older woman, looking pleased. “It’s a homemade buttermilk ranch Mr. Masters said he liked.”
“Could you teach me?”
The housekeeper looked uncomfortable, and Claire noticed her glancing at her left hand. Maybe the older woman thought if things between Luke and her were serious, she might not have as secure a job. Surely she couldn’t imagine Claire was going to put her out of a housekeeping job, but cooking was different than cleaning, and some women – her mother had been one – used it as a way to show their love to their men.
Claire liked to make an occasional lasagna, but she’d rather show Luke she loved him naked and spread out like a feast for him in their bed. Their bed. She did love him. Moving in with him should be a good thing, an amazing thing, considering where they were a few weeks ago, but watching Esmeralda sneaking glances at her left hand and the conspicuous absence of a ring was only adding to her unease.
She trusted Luke completely with her safety. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d do anything he could, even things she didn’t want him to, to help her or make things easier for her. He might not always recognize it, but she knew he was a good man. But the damage to her heart was still raw, and even if she wanted to, she wasn’t sure she trusted him not to try to push her away again. Except if he did it this time, it would be so much harder because they were living together. Without any kind of commitment. So much for being a smart woman who made smart choices.
Claire wasn’t a prude. She and Luke were adults. If they wanted to live together, it wasn’t anyone’s business but theirs. Aside from half a semester in college, she’d never lived with a man, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t handle this. And if simply moving in with Luke had her this freaked, there was no way she was taking the next step. Even if he asked, which he hadn’t. And she sure as hell wasn’t making any more bets.
