She bit her lip. “Childhood stuff?”
I nodded slowly, my eyes dropping to the menu in front of me but not seeing the words. Instead I saw blood on Aaron’s shirt. Heard the sickening thump of a punch landed. Felt winded as I ran up the stairs to hide under the bed like my brother had told me to do. The familiar shame of it slammed into me like a fist—I’d escaped then. Who was I to prevent Aaron from escaping now?
“Hey.” Claire’s hand reached out and covered mine. “You OK?”
“I’m fine.” I cleared my throat, burying the shame somewhere I couldn’t feel it. “But yes. Our childhood was not good. And Aaron took the worst of it to protect me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been.”
“I don’t even want you to.”
The waitress came over and took our orders, then returned a moment later to pour more coffee. When we were alone again, Claire spoke quietly. “I don’t know what the answer is with your brother. But I do know that when you’re struggling with something inside, talking about it can help.”
“Yeah.” But I’d talked too much already. I needed to shut up.
She reached across the table and touched my wrist. “And I’m here for you. I know we just met, but I want to be your friend.”
“My friend, huh?” I stared at her fingers on my skin. Every time she touched me, my body warmed.
“Yes.” She looked nervous, pulling her hand back. “Is that OK?”
“Uh, sure.” Friend was fine, right? Friend was casual. Friend didn’t come with any expectations or pressure to be someone I wasn’t.
You could have fun with a friend, say goodbye at the end of the day, and not feel guilty that you weren’t sure when you’d hang out again.
Of course, friends didn’t usually have trouble keeping their hands to themselves the way Claire and I did, but I wouldn’t worry about that today.
“So,” I said. “Tell me what you’re thinking about for the kitchen floor.”
Twenty
Claire
* * *
It was a perfect day.
After breakfast we hit the tile store, and Theo was totally patient with me as I walked up and down each row, checking out everything they had to offer and comparing prices. Eventually we left with several samples, and I couldn’t wait to get home and see how they looked with the wood.
At the stoneworks warehouse, Theo introduced me to a former work acquaintance named Zack, who seemed surprised but glad to see him.
“You in town for long?” he asked, his feet planted wide, hands on his hips.
Theo shrugged. “I’m not really sure.”
“Thought maybe you bought a house or condo or something.”
“No, the stone is for Claire. She’s redoing her kitchen.”
“I’m just browsing today,” I explained. “Trying to get a feel for the choices.”
“Great. Well, go on back and let me know if you need help. And if you ever decide you want your old job back, we’d love to have you. This guy’s an amazing salesman,” Zack said to me. “The best.”
I smiled. “I believe it.” Another reason I loved today was because I was learning more about Theo, and after hearing about his painful childhood, it made more sense to me why he was so private. He probably had a hard time trusting people, especially people who were supposed to care. No wonder he never dated anyone.
Theo thanked Zack and clapped him on the shoulder before leading me into the cavernous warehouse full of giant stone slabs from all over the world. I was in awe.
“Look how beautiful this is!” I exclaimed, running my hand over a gorgeous slab of charcoal gray granite with swirling white veins and one slash of red. “A geological event forever captured in stone! A work of art done by Earth, thousands of years ago, and preserved here almost like a photograph!”
Theo laughed at my enthusiasm. “I never thought of stone as art. And I thought you wanted slate.”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet.” I turned in a slow circle, overwhelmed by all the choices. “God, I could be here all day.”
“Take your time.” Theo tucked his hands in his pockets. “I don’t have anywhere I need to be today, so I’m all yours.”
Something about the way he said it made me wonder if tomorrow would be a different story, but I brushed off the concern. Instead I gave him an impulsive kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. This means so much to me.”
“My pleasure. So do you just want to browse, or do you have a specific idea about what you’d like?”
I bit my lip and squinted at a piece of marble across the aisle. “I want it to look flowy.”
“Flowy?”
“Yes, I know it’s stone, but I want it to have movement. Flow. The pattern in it, I mean. Some of these are more static—the ones with flecks or spots. Others, like this one behind me, have veins reminiscent of water flowing. I like that.”
“Got it. Come with me.” As we walked, he explained that while slate was durable, non-porous, and stood up well to heat, it probably didn’t have the look I wanted. “Granite is higher maintenance for sure, but I think it’s going to be what you want. In terms of looks, it’s more striking, and has that quality of movement you’re looking for.”
“The pretty ones are always high maintenance, aren’t they?”