No Sweeter Love (Sweeter in the City Book 3) (8 page)

“Well, it was good seeing you, but I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a rush,” he explained, hoping that would be the end of that.

“Just here to pick up some pajamas,” Claire explained. “I’m afraid the ones I packed weren’t appropriate for such warm nights.”

Ethan was relieved to see Marcy’s demeanor change, and she squared her shoulders and strode purposefully to the back of the room, saying, “We have a wonderful lingerie selection.” She picked up something lacy and black, and Ethan felt Claire freeze beside him. Nearly tripping over her heels, he pushed her forward, sensing the resistance of her body against his fingertips that pressed deeper into her lower back.

“Well, actually, I was thinking  . . .” Claire’s hand extended in the direction of a matronly white cotton pajama set that may as well have had a turtleneck. Ethan’s hand shot up and snatched the nearest item off a hanger, thrusting it into her palm.

“Of this?” He grinned, catching the horror in her eyes. “But remember, red is your color, darling.”

Her cheeks turned the same shade as the lacy object he was clutching in his hand.

“But remember,
sweetheart
, we’re staying at your mother’s house.” With that, Claire wrestled the flimsy material from his hand and slid it back onto its hanger.

“Oh, well, I suppose that puts a cramp in things.” Marcy nodded sagely. “If it’s something you can be seen in at the breakfast table that you’re looking for, then you’ll probably stick with these.” She motioned to a rack of cotton pajama pants and shorts and matching T-shirts.

“Why didn’t you just pack something like this for the trip?” Ethan wondered aloud, but Claire just shot him a look.

“I told you, I get cold in air-conditioning, and I thought we were staying in a hotel. Besides, the ones I brought certainly came in handy last night, well, aside from the ninety-degree temperature.”

Ethan pretended to have serious input on the color and print selections, hoping that Marcy would catch the drift and walk away, but instead she lingered, just in his periphery, making his hands sweat and his heart speed up.
Don’t ask. Don’t mention anything. Just let it go
.

They managed to get to the counter with only some banal pleasantries about the shop’s offerings, and the weather, and the upcoming wedding, of course. The door was so close, it would only take two long strides to get through it, to be back on the street, to be free.

“My own cousin is getting married this weekend, too,” Marcy said, smiling. “Should be quite a weekend for us both.”

Ethan nodded, muttering something under his breath that showed he had heard, and turned to look out the window. The shops were opening, one by one, and people filled the sidewalks, sipping coffee in paper cups, wearing straw hats to block the sun. Weekends were always a busy time in Grey Harbor, with the tourists flocking from May through August. He supposed he was one of them himself now. There had been so much turnover since he’d last been here, and even more the time before. Life was changing, moving forward, so why was it that when he came back here, he always felt stuck in the past?

The women were talking about clothes and wedding reception dresses now, a safe subject, Ethan was pleased to note, but as Marcy handed over the paper bag containing Claire’s new, boring pajamas, she met his eye, and Ethan just knew, the way he always knew when the subject would be broached, because his sensitivity was on high, always on alert, the few times he dared to return.

“You’ll never guess who else is in town this weekend!” Marcy had a distinctive glint in her eyes.

His gritted his teeth, willing her to stop, but it was too late, the seed was planted, the notion formed, and the realization a cold grip on his heart.

Of all the dumb luck.

“Kimberly Listner.” She watched him carefully, gauging his reaction, and Ethan was careful to give none.

“What a coincidence,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye out for her then.” He’d do no such thing. “Claire,” he said, already moving toward the door, hoping she didn’t see the strain in his face and question him about it. “Shall we?”

Claire thanked Marcy and followed him to the door, and it wasn’t until the door was firmly closed behind them that Ethan felt his shoulders relax.

“Was that an old school friend?” Claire asked mildly, as they walked down the street.

Ethan kept his eyes straight ahead, afraid of what he would see if he looked anywhere else. “Something like that.”

Chapter Seven

“D
o I smell a cigarette?” Barbara sniffed the air, frowning. “I
told
Amelia not to smoke within twenty feet of this house.” She put more force into whipping the cream. Claire frowned as the liquid turned to soft peaks, remembering the way she and her mother would do the same thing each Christmas, when they made their annual trifle dessert.

She blinked and looked away before the tears could form. She missed her mother, but she was ashamed to realize she didn’t think of her as often as she should anymore. Not daily, at least, and not with the same pain that seemed to linger forever in those early months. Now, being here, in a family home, with so much love and laughter and even arguing, she couldn’t help but think of the old days, and a little part of her tore open again when she realized they were over.

Still, she thought, watching Ethan’s mother whip and stir and refer to her list of hors d’oeuvres, it was nice to remember those days, too. Nice to be reminded.

And nice to be here, she realized, feeling that twinge of guilt resurface. Ethan’s family may have their quirks, but there was something warm and familiar about that. Much like Ethan himself.

Barbara set down her whisk and sniffed again. She walked over to the window above the sink and clucked her tongue. “Yep. Thought so. Cigarettes. She knows how I feel about that.”

“I thought she quit,” remarked Milly, who had stopped into the kitchen to refill her glass of Chardonnay.

“Oh, she did, and I’m sure she will again, but you know how these things can be.” She gave Claire a wince as she moved the bowl to the side of the counter. “Weddings. They’re difficult for the broken-hearted.”

You could say that again
, thought Claire. She finished slicing one of the baguettes Barbara had warmed in the oven and arranged it on a cheese board, trying not to let herself think of Matt, or the woman he’d left her for. Was the ring still hidden away, in a coat pocket, or in a drawer? Or had he already proposed, already promised himself to some lucky, faceless woman by the vaguely referenced name of Heather, who Claire could never compare to?

She swallowed the lump in her throat and moved onto the second baguette.

She’d started dating Matt just before her mother had died. He hadn’t come to her funeral; Ethan had instead. It didn’t seem right, bringing Matt, when he was still a new and exciting and uncertain feature in her life. Ethan had driven her the six hours to her childhood home, with Hailey in the backseat, brought her cups of tea, and picked up dinner for her father and aunt each night. Hailey had stayed close, sharing her double bed the way they had when they were little, enjoying “princess sleepovers” where they giggled in the dark long after they were supposed to be asleep. Ethan slept on a pull-out couch in the basement’s rec room, but somehow, knowing he was there, two levels below, brought her some sense of peace.

Ethan had never met her mother, but somehow, she always felt he had in a way.

Matt had never asked much about her, and she hadn’t dwelled on the subject, saving that instead for those closest to her, separate from a budding romance.

Claire blinked. When had Matt become the person closest to her, then? Or had he never done so? Had she read it all wrong?

“Everything okay, hon?” Barbara set a hand on her wrist. Her green eyes were soft, much like Ethan’s, when Claire looked up, giving a brave smile.

She brushed a strand of hair from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Never better. In fact, I was just thinking that it’s been a long time since I’ve been in a house with so many family members under one roof. I’ve missed it.”

“Are you like Ethan in that you don’t get home much?” Barbara shook her head. “You young people are so busy.”

“St. Louis was home to me, but my father moved south about a year and a half ago, so it’s not the same.”
For so many reasons
, Claire thought, thinking of her childhood bedroom that her mother had stenciled on rainy day with yellow daisies, the bookshelf stacked with her dog-eared favorites, the toy box filled with joyful memories, now locked away in a storage unit.

“Do you have any family in Chicago?”

Claire nodded. “My cousin. I’m staying with her for the time being. I’m between jobs at the moment,” she explained, wondering if she should have mentioned that part, or if she’d unwittingly put a crack in Ethan’s well-crafted façade.

“Well, Ethan says you’re very talented. He’s been singing your praises.” She winked, and for some reason, Claire felt herself blush.

Nonsense
, she told herself firmly, reaching for the serrated knife and the cutting board. He was talking her up, adding to his fictitious story. It didn’t mean anything beyond that.

“Did you have a nice time in town this morning?” Barbara asked as she refilled the ice bucket.

“I did,” Claire said, frowning slightly when she thought of the change in Ethan’s demeanor after they’d left the clothing boutique. They’d gone to a few more antique shops, but Ethan didn’t seem to stop looking over his shoulder until he was back on the bike, peddling away from town. “Ethan showed me where he went to school. And the park.” That’s where they’d had lunch, eating sandwiches on a wooden bench, Ethan quieter than usual.

“He loved feeding those ducks when he was young.” Barbara’s smile turned wistful. “I can still remember the way his little face would fall when he’d get to the last piece of bread in the bag.” She laughed and slid on an oven mitt to pull a casserole bowl of crab and artichoke dip from the top rack. She closed the door with her hip, and carefully set the hot dish on an iron trivet. “Of course, that was a long time ago,” she added softly.

Claire noticed Barbara’s hands were shaking as she opened the top drawer to reach for a serving spoon. She searched her face, sensing that something was amiss, that there was more below the surface than anyone was letting on. Including Ethan.

“Your town is lovely,” Claire offered. “I love the cobblestone streets and the architecture. It’s small, but so quaint. I have to say that it’s nice to get out of the city,” she admitted, sighing.

“You know you’re always welcome to visit,” Barbara said hopefully.

Claire nodded and chewed her lip, remembering again that Ethan’s mother thought she was his girlfriend, that they were a couple, a package deal. In many ways they were, but not in the way Barbara so clearly hoped.

Once again, she couldn’t help thinking it would have been so much better to have never lied, to have come to Door County as they were—friends—and as they would remain.

A sudden image of Ethan in bed that morning flashed in her mind, and Claire blinked, pushing it back firmly as she added a sprig of grapes to the cheese platter and carried it into the living room, where all the other women were gathered.

“Not exactly a wild night, but I’m too old for that kind of thing,” remarked the bride, who couldn’t have been much older than Claire.

“What are the guys up to?” one of the older women asked, and Leslie snorted.

“Hitting the bars in town, of course,” she remarked and frowned at her carbonated grape juice before forcing a sip.

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?” Claire asked, taking the seat beside her on the couch.

“We’re keeping it a surprise,” Leslie replied. “But it would be nice to have another boy in the family to help balance things out.”

Claire laughed. Poor Ethan. Growing up in a house full of women couldn’t have been easy, but then she supposed it was . . .eye-opening. No wonder he wasn’t looking to settle down any time soon. He already had all the women he needed as permanent fixtures. Could she really blame him?

No. But she could worry about him. Especially with how distant he seemed today, how unhappy really. He hadn’t even wanted to go out with the guys tonight, and normally he’d love that type of thing. It wasn’t like Ethan to sit at home. Ethan liked to be on the go, on the move. Ethan didn’t stay still. He just kept moving forward.

She supposed she could learn a thing or two from him.

“So, Claire,” Barbara said, balancing her appetizer plate on her knees. “Tell us more about you. What do you and Ethan like to do in the city?”

This one was easy, Claire thought. “Oh, we go to movies, out for drinks. There’s this great wine bar we discovered a few—” She’d been about to say years. She licked her lips, and continued. “A few months ago. And we have our favorite restaurants.” She shrugged. “Of course, with Ethan’s job, he always gets the best reservations.”

Milly clucked her tongue. “He gets paid to party!”

“It’s not like that,” Claire clarified. “The magazine he writes for is really reputable. His column is one that most people read weekly. I know I do.”

“Well,” Barbara sighed. “It certainly is an interesting subject matter. Bars. Clubs. Concerts.”

“And restaurants,” Claire pointed out. She didn’t bother mentioning that someone else covered musical concerts for the magazine.

“I suppose it suits him,” Barbara remarked, seeming a little unconvinced. “It’s a good job for when you’re young, but when he settles down  . . .”

“
If
he settles down,” Amelia cried as she waltzed into the room and settled onto a loveseat.

Claire smiled uneasily. “Sometimes we just hang out at home and watch television. Boring stuff.”

“Fascinating,” Leslie said, her expression one of pure intrigue. Claire glanced self-consciously around the room. Sure enough, heads tipped in thought as they stared at her, as if waiting for her to say something more.

“And do you spend the night at his home?” Milly asked, pursing her lips like a little bird.

Claire’s heart began to drum as the heat rose in her cheeks, and she wrestled with what to say, what would be the realistic answer to such a probing question, when Amelia shot her aunt a look of scorn and cried, “Aunt Milly! This is Ethan we’re talking about!”

“Yes, but I didn’t know if it was different, what with Claire being his actual girlfriend and all. I may be old, but I’m not naïve, dear. For all we know, they’re living together!”

A simultaneous gasp went up around the room and all eyes stared at her. The silence crackled as Claire gripped her wine glass until she feared it might shatter in her hands.

“No,” she finally said, happy to be honest. “We don’t live together.” She didn’t mention that she’d considered it, though, given her current living situation and all.

She frowned, thinking of the call from Hailey she still hadn’t returned. It was easier to avoid her somehow, until she’d figured out what she was going to do. Or what she was going to say when they eventually talked.

“You must excuse the interrogation,” Barbara said, giving her a conspiratorial smile. “It’s just that Ethan hasn’t dated anyone seriously in so long.”

So long
? Claire frowned.

“No,” Milly added sagely. “Not since—”

Barbara cleared her throat, and Milly reddened a bit in the cheeks before immediately cramming her mouth with a mini quiche.

“Let’s just say that Ethan hasn’t brought anyone home in a while,” Leslie said mildly.

“There’s more to life than dating,” Amelia said a little hostilely.

“I’m so thrilled to hear you say that!” Barbara beamed, and Amelia shot her an angry look.

“Yes, what is it that you do again, Amelia?” Claire asked, eager to interfere at the slightest hint of conflict that seemed to keep brewing to the surface.

“Oh, I’m between jobs at the moment,” Amelia said, skirting her eyes to the left.

The room fell silent, and Claire feared she had touched upon yet another touchy subject. She reached for her wine, taking a small sip because she felt the need to keep her wits about her, lest she slip and admit that she and Ethan weren’t actually, technically, madly in love. Perhaps she should hint that there was trouble in paradise so that they all wouldn’t be so shocked when things ended? Or perhaps, given Ethan’s track record, they already saw her fate, before Claire, well,
girlfriend
Claire, saw it for herself.

She suddenly felt a little sorry for the fake Claire, sitting here, meeting her boyfriend’s family for the first time, somehow none the wiser that her beloved boyfriend was known to play the field and that she didn’t really stand a chance.

She frowned. That fake Claire felt an awful lot like real Claire. When she’d been with Matt.

“It takes time to meet that special someone,” one of the younger cousins encouraged, and Amelia gave a derisive snort in return.

Before anyone else could say something, Amelia stood up and left the room through the back screen door, leaving the rest of the room in silence. Barbara reached for her glass of wine, shaking her head in dismay.

“I’d run after her, but I don’t think that’s what she wants,” she said sadly. “She needs to sort this through on her own.”

“Still not over Will, I see,” remarked Milly, as she wedged a piece of cheddar into her mouth.

“Some people aren’t easy to forget, I suppose. But I do wish she’d take after her brother and move on,” Barbara said, casting a glance in Claire’s direction.

Claire reached for her wine glass and pretended not to have heard the comment as she discussed potential baby names with Leslie, who was all too happy to share her thoughts on the subject. But as she listened to Ethan’s sister go through her list, struggling over recent popularity versus tradition, Claire couldn’t help but keep an ear out for Barbara’s conversation, and she wondered, more than idly, just what she had meant when she said that Ethan had moved on.