Delivered with Love (15 page)

C
laire heard Geraldine's voice on the other side of her bedroom door. "Claire, dear, may I come in?"

She set the journal down on her nightstand, crossed the room, and opened the door.

"Michael and Sandy invited me out to dinner and to spend the night." Geraldine leaned on her walker and grinned. "It's so nice to be wanted. So, you have the evening to yourself."

She hoped her company wanted her too. "Thanks. Blake should be coming over soon. I'm making him dinner."

"I have candles in the top right-hand drawer in the kitchen. You're welcome to use them." Geraldine winked. "Can you help me get my bag packed, dear?"

"Yes, but first I have something for you." Claire opened her purse and took out her wallet. "Haley sent me money. Here's my first payment for the furniture." She handed Geraldine forty dollars.

"Are you sure you can part with it?" Geraldine tucked the money into the neckline of her dress.

Claire nodded. "Come on. I'll follow you. Let's get you packed."

She glanced at Michael and Sandy sitting comfortably in the family room. Her eyes met Michael's, and she quickly turned away. Why couldn't she look at the man without feeling vulnerable? She wondered what kind of relationship he shared with his daughter. A shiver ran through her. She couldn't imagine having him for a father. But then again, how would she know? Her father left before she could remember him.

Once Geraldine's bags were packed, Michael, Sandy and Geraldine took off. For the first time, Claire had the house to herself. She dimmed the lights and turned the radio to her favorite country station. She swayed to the music as she moved to the kitchen. The candles were right where Geraldine said they would be. She pulled out two red ones and set them in candleholders on the table. She opened the refrigerator and looked at the contents inside. She didn't want to admit to Blake she wasn't a good cook, especially after all the wonderful meals he'd been making, but she could barely boil water. When her mom was ill, she'd call for take-out and have dinner delivered to their door.

She
could
make a delicious sandwich. She pulled out the roast beef, provolone cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, wheat bread, and condiments. What would Blake think? Cold sandwiches by candlelight. That was an interesting combination. She whipped up the light supper, adding potato chips and carrots to each plate. As she poured the soft drinks, the doorbell rang.

The musky scent of Blake's cologne hit her before he walked into the house. Did he have to smell so good? With his damp hair combed back and his face clean-shaven, he had a way of making her knees grow weak. "Come in. It's you and me tonight." Her voice sounded eager.

Blake entered the house and looked around. "Where's your cute roommate?"

"I'm glad Geraldine is in her eighties, or I'd be jealous." Claire bit her lip. What was it about this man that made her speak her mind?

"Jealous, huh?" Blake teased.

Claire smiled and motioned to him to join her at the table." It's not steak . . ."

Blake followed her. "I'd enjoy eating cold cereal alone with you." Once they were seated, he held out his hand and bowed his head. The words of Blake's prayer soothed her spirit.

"There is something you should know about me . . . I can't cook."

Blake chuckled. "Geraldine warned me earlier."

"But I can make my first payment." Claire pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and laid them on the table. "I received a package from Haley today. She sent me money." She plucked a baby carrot off her plate and popped it into her mouth.

"Don't you need this money for living expenses?"

"I like to pay my debts. I'm sure it will take me a while to cover all that I owe you."

"The dinner is your first payment."

"It's nothing like what you fix."

"You can pay me another way. How about another neck massage?"

Claire's pulse quickened. She remembered the feel of Blake's skin against hers. She'd have to be careful. The last thing she needed was to complicate her life with a man who was too good for her. The women in her family didn't go for guys like him. Blake was confident, secure, and close to God—three things she was not. No, men who left their families or were alcoholics were what she was used to. At least, that's what happened to her mother and sister.

She needed to change the subject fast. "Haley sent a couple other things too." She swallowed a swig of her soda.

"Like what?" Blake appeared to be enjoying his sandwich— either that or he was starving after working on her car all day.

"A pair of red stilettos—"

"Hmmm. I'd like to see you in those!"

"Really?" Claire laughed.

"Why not?" Blake smiled.

"Now?"

"Sounds good to me."

Heart racing, Claire pushed her chair away from the table and went to her room. She took the heels out of the box and placed them on her feet. Now, if she could walk without falling on her face. With tentative steps, she rejoined Blake in the dining room.

He leaned forward and flashed her a smile. "Wow. Nice. How about I take you to dinner in those." The look in Blake's eyes sent chills down her spine. "Bella Roma after my four-day shift."

"Bella Roma?" Claire's eyes widened. She joined him back at the table.

"It's a quaint little Italian restaurant here in Capitola." He placed his hand on top of hers and brushed his thumb across her fingers.

The momentary excitement disappeared when she thought of her responsibility to Geraldine. Claire wrinkled her brow. "I don't feel comfortable leaving Geraldine alone."

"I think she'd be fine for an hour or two. I won't keep you out all night." He grinned and sat up straight. "How about we ask Nancy or Vivian to stay with her?"

Claire's heart fluttered. One thing she knew about Blake—he was persistent. He seemed to have everything figured out. "Bella Roma sounds wonderful." She was giving in and enjoying it. Claire glanced at her own half-eaten sandwich. She had lost her appetite. This man was making a path to her heart. It was exciting and disturbing.

"Did your sister send you anything else?" Blake took the last bite of his sandwich.

Claire wiped her hands with a napkin. "A journal."

"Sounds intriguing. Who from?"

"It's my mother's journal from 1972, after she received the letter." Claire kicked off her heels and retrieved the book from her bedroom.

She motioned Blake to join her on the couch. "Come, and I'll show you."

Blake sat down, resting his arm behind her.

Claire scooted closer to him. His nearness made her wish she had remembered to dab her neck with perfume. She opened the book and read. "I'm in love with Martin DeWitt—"

"Didn't you tell me you thought Michael Thompson wrote the letter?"

Claire closed the book and set it next to her on the couch. "I thought he did. It all made sense until this journal showed up. And now I don't know what to think. Why does Michael look as if he's hiding something? The way he dodged my question about the letter still makes me uncomfortable. And then, there's the picture frame. How come Geraldine has the same one?" She stood and paced the floor.

Blake rose from the couch. "Are you sure you're not making too much of all this?"

Claire's hands flew to her hips. "What do you mean?"

"Claire, you have your answer. Martin's name starts with the letter
M
and your mom says she was in love with him. It's time to move on with your life." Blake led her back to the couch. "She won't be forgotten."

"Don't you see, I can't quit. I need to understand this part of my mom's life." She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. "There is something more to this letter. I can feel it."

Blake pulled her close, tucking her head securely against his chest. "I know you miss your mom, but missing her is one thing, being obsessed with this letter is another." He let out a frustrated sigh.

His words stung. He didn't mean it—he couldn't. How could such a caring man be so unkind? Claire bolted upright. "You don't understand me at all." She stood, marched to the dining room table and blew out the candles. "You sound like Haley. 'Move on. Make friends. Go out on dates. Stop being stuck in the past.' Until you're in my shoes, don't judge me."

"Claire, I didn't mean to hurt you. I think Haley is right. It's time to move on." Blake came up beside her, placed both hands on her arms. "And I want to help you." He leaned in for a kiss.

Instinctively, Claire's hands shot up to his chest and pushed him away. A memory of her mother and one of her deadbeat boyfriends popped into her head. Claire dropped down on a dining room chair, unable to look Blake in the eye. He was not like those men Mom used to date. When Claire had turned sixteen, her mother swore off men altogether. "Friendship," she had said, "was the only way to go." Heat crept up Claire's neck to her cheeks. "Please leave."

"Come on, Claire . . ." He laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I said go!" A knot started in her throat and burned its way to her heart.

Blake walked to the door and turned the handle. "I'll make a reservation at Bella Roma for six o'clock on Saturday." He walked out to the landing and half-closed the door, then stuck his head back in. "Oh, and wear those red stilettos!" He smiled, then closed the door.

Persistent.
Claire exhaled. The man sure was persistent.

Claire lay in her bed with the comforter drawn up to her chin. The sun's rays shone through the window. She had tossed and turned most of the night, replaying the attempted kiss and the subsequent shove. How humiliating. She covered her eyes with a hand, forcing her thoughts to less embarrassing things.

Geraldine had called last night to tell her that she and Sandy would pick her up at eleven so she could help them find a "grandmother of the bride" dress for the wedding. Claire looked forward to spending time with Geraldine and Sandy. Michael's wife seemed like a nice woman, someone she'd want to get to know.

When was the last time she wore a dress? She couldn't remember. Wouldn't Blake be surprised to see her in a dress that matched her heels? That's if she decided to go on their date. Maybe Nancy had one she could borrow; they were about the same size.

The clock displayed ten o'clock. Way past time to get up. Pushing the blankets aside, Claire stretched, then stood and walked to the mirror. Her long wavy hair was askew, and her nose was pink from the previous day's walk on the beach. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, pulled her hair back in a ponytail, and dug in her closet for something to wear. She settled on her ivory pants and light blue sweater.

Once in the kitchen, she put a slice of four-grain bread in the toaster and pulled the honey from the cabinet. After she heated water in a mug, she dropped in a tea bag and brought her small breakfast to the table.

She ate in a trance without tasting her food. Her evening with Blake had been a disaster—from the meager dinner of cold sandwiches, arguing over the letter, to pushing him away when he tried to kiss her. Claire would be surprised if he showed up to take her to Bella Roma. Did she want him to? Even after the way he dismissed her interest in finding the writer of the letter? He'd been downright rude implying she was obsessed. Was she? She discarded the thought. The smell of her lemon tea brought her comfort as she drew the cup to her lips.

There was nothing wrong with wanting to meet someone from her mother's past. There had to be one man her mom dated who was decent. How else was she going to believe in love? Or keep the memories of her mother alive? As it was, she could barely remember the sound of her mother's voice. Martin DeWitt, huh? She grabbed the phone book from the cabinet above the table and was thumbing through it when a car horn startled her.

Sandy.
Grabbing her purse, she stuck a piece of gum in her mouth and locked the door behind her.

"Claire, hi. Come on in." Sandy called from the driver's side window of her Lexus. "I would've come to the door, but we're running late. Julia is waiting for us at the bridal shop."

Claire opened the door and stepped inside. The tan leather seats smelled new. "I like your car."

"Thank you. Michael got a great deal from a friend of his. "Sandy pulled out of the driveway and drove down the street. "The car's a few years old, but the previous owner took good care of it."

"How was your evening, Geraldine?" Claire reached forward and touched her shoulder.

"Fine. Just fine. I should ask the same of you, my dear. How's that handsome man of yours?"

"Blake is not my man." Claire squirmed in her seat. "But the candles were a nice touch. Thanks for warning him about my cooking."

"When Blake's kitchen is put back together, I'll teach you a thing or two. A man likes a woman who can cook." Geraldine held up a gnarled finger.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at Bridal Veil Fashions. After walking to the back of the store, Claire helped Geraldine sit in a chair as Julia entered the room in her wedding gown. She was stunning. The exquisite beaded bodice hugged her slender figure, and the cathedral train trailed elegantly behind. Claire hoped
she'd
have the chance someday to have a real wedding, not a rushed ceremony as her sister had had. Claire pushed her envious thoughts away. How could she be jealous of someone she barely knew?