SEVEN
CLARA
Wes staredat me with heavy brows as my heart thudded in my chest. With my shoulders squared, I didn’t move. If it was a battle of wills, Wes had never seen Clara Darling’s stubborn streak.
Finally, his shoulders dropped and he exhaled. “Fine.”
A giddy zip ripped through me.
Holy shit. He said yes.
My offer to help Wes had come from a genuine place. Anyone could see that he was suffering and too stubborn for his own good. All he needed was a little help getting on his feet—metaphorically, of course—and he’d be back to his old charming self.
It made sense to me why he wouldn’t want strange nurses living at his house. Not only was he trying to get his life back, but walking on eggshells around a stranger in your own home had to have been maddening.
Sure, I was only one degree away from being a stranger, but I’d technically known Wes all my life.
We were friends ... sort of.
He gripped the door and stepped aside to make room for me, leaving a wedge of cold air slicing between us. We just ... stoodthere. Me with my overstuffed luggage and manic smile, him with his exhausted eyes andWhat the hell have I done?energy.
The silence made me itchy. “So ... Do I sign a lease or just pay you in homemade dinners and witty banter?”
One of his brows lifted up. “No lease. No banter.” His voice was flat and rough around the edges. “Just ... come in.”
It wasn’t exactly the charmed, warm welcome I was used to. I told myself not to take it personally, but I still felt the sting anyway.
I reached for the first suitcase and dragged it across the threshold. He had moved to close the door when I stopped him with a hand to the wood.
“Hang on. There are a few more.” Heat crept up my cheeks as I scrambled back out to grab the other two overstuffed suitcases and muscled them into his house. By the time I got the third one over the lip of the doorway, I was breathless and sweating in my coat.
Wes’s eyes narrowed at how the zippers of my luggage bulged and strained to stay closed. “You said temporary, right?”
I blew a stray piece of hair out of my face with a huff. “Yeah. Of course.”
His wary gaze stayed locked on my overpacked suitcases.
“Oh ... that.” A nervous chuckle bubbled up. “A lot of this is for work. I model wedding dresses. There are only a few of my favorites here. The rest are still at my fiancé—ex-fiancé’s apartment. I haven’t gotten them yet but couldn’t leave without these ... I’m going to style a few to add to my portfolio and?—”
Wes stood silent, his eyebrows dangerously close to his hairline.
“I’m rambling. I’m sorry.” A lump lodged in my throat.
This was supposed to be a hypothetical offer. A “sure, I’ll help” that never made it off the dining room table. Now mysuitcases were in his foyer, and my stomach was doing Olympic-level backflips.
I cleared my throat. “Where can I put these?”
Wes shook his head. “Come on,” he said, the words coming out more like a sigh than an invitation.
I wrapped my fingers around the suitcase handles and followed him.
The door clicked shut behind us, and the quiet hit me first. Star Harbor’s main drag was only a few miles away, but out here, on the outskirts of town, it felt like we were in our own little world. No traffic, no chatter, just the faint sigh of wind through trees and the soft creak of his house settling.
I’d seen the place from the road, but stepping inside was something else entirely.
The living room opened right up into the kitchen, all warm wood and clean lines. Vaulted ceilings with exposed beams drew my eyes up, and built-in shelves flanked a stone fireplace like something out of a magazine. The kind where the family wears coordinated sweaters and drinks cocoa without spilling.
Except instead of cocoa there were empty Chinese take-out containers, a couple of crumpled napkins, and what might once have been a sock now fossilized under the coffee table.
