He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Yeah. For now.”
“For Lily,” I said, not a question.
“For all of them,” he corrected.
A tiny warmth tugged at my chest, but I shut it down.
“Good,” I said. “She needs stability.”
Something like hurt flickered across his face, but he didn’t challenge me. He wouldn’t, not when I used that tone, the one that said a boundary was a boundary, no matter our history.
“I’m trying,” he murmured.
I nodded. Because despite everything, I believed him. Ethan had always tried. Just never hard enough when it came to us.
“I should get going,” I said, reaching for my bag.
He stepped aside automatically, giving me space. But when I walked past him, my arm brushed his lightly. Barely, just fabric on fabric.
And the contact shot through me like a spark. I hated that I felt it.
I hated that he did too, I could see it in the way his breath hitched, the way his eyes darkened for a fraction of a second.
But I kept moving. Because I was, older and hopefully wiser.
Even if my heart hadn’t quite remembered how to behave around him.
I stepped out into the hallway, closing the chapter of this moment with the quiet, certain click of my heels on the hardwood.
Whatever storm his presence brought with it…
I’d weather it.
I already had.
Chapter 14
Claire
My phone buzzed against the counter while I was packing away lesson plans, the screen lighting up with a message from Brandon. The sight of it softened my heart even before I answered.
“Claire,” his warm, steady voice filled my ear, a little breathless like he’d jogged to catch the call. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’m not gonna make it home on time tonight. Everything blew up at work, end-of-month reports, you know how it gets. But I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Tonight, once I get there… I’ll make sure you’re thoroughly satisfied before I’m done with you.”
There was a smile in his voice, shy but playful in that gentle way of his. I could almost picture the way he pushed a hand through his neatly kept brown hair when he flirted, still a little awkward about it, even after a year of dating.
“Love you, sweetheart,” he murmured quickly before the message clicked off.
I lowered the phone slowly, exhaling a long, tired breath. I stared at the quiet kitchen as the familiar mix of warmth and disappointment washed over me. I knew exactly what “caughtup at work” meant, Brandon buried behind spreadsheets, forgetting time existed until his stomach growled or his boss reminded him to go home.
I couldn’t fault him for that. Not really.
But my chest still dipped with that faint, stubborn ache I had learned to tuck away over the year. Plans often slid through my fingers like sand, birthdays pushed, dinners canceled, anniversaries overshadowed by late nights and deadlines. I had grown used to keeping expectations low so the fall didn’t hurt as much.
Still… Brandon’s predictability comforted me. His steadiness, his maturity. That quiet, dependable presence that didn’t sway with the wind. After a lifetime of passion that burned so fiercely it left only ash, his solid, thoughtful affection had been a kind of balm I hadn’t known I needed.
I imagined his tiny quirks that always made me smile, the way he carefully straightened paperwork on my table when he visited, the way he double-checked if my car needed fuel, the way he blinked slowly when thinking, as if rebooting his entire mind. He was handsome in a clean-cut way, brown eyes soft behind rectangular frames he only wore at home. A brunette with a kind face, an accountant who’d moved to town three years ago and knew none of the old stories, none of the whispers, none of the mistakes I carried like a scar.
With Brandon, I wasn’t the girl abandoned or humiliated. I was simply Claire, a woman he cared for.
