Chapter Twenty-Nine
After driving all over the campus area searching for Nick’s car, after texting again and again and leaving a half-dozen voice mails, she’d finally collapsed into bed just before dawn, still clutching her phone.
And this morning, still nothing.
Clara knew she hadn’t imagined him. Nick was here, in Eugene. But after seeing her kissing Doug, would he ever speak to her again? Had one night of bad sex cost her so dearly?
Then again, given what she’d learned about his past, maybe it was for the best.
After a fast, scalding shower, she drove to work arriving just before ten-thirty. This was the first time in ten years she’d arrived late. She parked in the alley and let herself in through the bookshop’s back door. Cheerful voices up front, including Harry’s raspy baritone. Too exhausted to fake a cheerful countenance, she slipped behind the screen and busied herself with the ever-growing pile of bills.
She opened up a spreadsheet which showed a sharp upward blip in sales on the day the picketers descended on the shop. But since then, the numbers remained stubbornly, depressingly low. No matter how many times she added up the figures, there was no escaping the painful conclusion: they were operating in the red. If this renovation didn’t draw more customers into the shop, she really would have to close its doors for good. The thought of losing her business, on top of the anxiety chewing on her guts all night, snarled her belly into a pulsing knot of nerves.
Coffee would help her focus. But to get it, she’d have to leave the safety of her office. She waited until she heard the tinkle of the doorway bell and the merry chatter of a mother with small children, then slipped on her sunglasses to hide her tear-swollen eyes. She quick-stepped toward the door like a celebrity avoiding the paparazzi.
“Good morning, Clara,” Harry called out.
She couldn’t face him yet. He knew her too well. He’d recognize her distress.
“Just getting a quick coffee,” she said, sailing past. “One for you, Harry?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Most of the seats sat empty in Arnie’s place. He set down the towel he was polishing the counter with and greeted her with a weary smile.
“Like a ghost town in here, isn’t it?” He picked up a to-go cup. “The usual?”
“Please.”
He rubbed his upper lip for a moment. “Actually, no. That’s not what you need.”
Surprised, she peered at him over the tops of her sunglasses.
“See, I thought so. Desperate times call for cappuccino.” He dumped a bag of beans into his grinder and pulled out a fresh portafilter for his espresso machine. “So, what’s eating you, Gorgeous, besides the usual money shit?”
“How can you…”
“Those puffy red eyes of yours. Unless you’re stoned.” He squinted at her. “Is that how you’re coping?”
“No.” She pulled off her sunglasses and sighed. “You’re right. It’s money and men.”
“A deadly combination, for sure.” He turned his back and set a large cup beneath the spigot. While the hot espresso dribbled out, he regarded her, his lips pursed. “So, which one?”
“The Greek one.”
Arnie grinned. “Oh, yes indeed. He is a delightful morsel. Done you wrong, did he?”
“Sort of.”
“Well, that bald fella seems mighty fond of you.”
She sighed. “He’s lovely, but somehow we just don’t…we don’t click, you know?”
He nodded. “Chemistry is a fickle bitch, isn’t she?” He set a large paper cup before her. “Cocoa?”
“Please.”
Arnie sprinkled a liberal dusting of cocoa powder onto the milk foam. His eyes flicked toward his front window. “Uh-oh.”
Clara turned, then froze.
He stood there on the sidewalk, his hand on the glass, looking—nauseated?
His dark eyes were hooded, puffy. His full lips hung slack, as if he were winded, and his broad chest rose and fell. But his gaze pinned her like a butterfly on a collector’s corkboard. She’d never seen him look so disheveled, so uncertain, so beautiful. She almost ran to him—almost, until she noticed the petite blonde at his elbow. Her young, young face turned up toward Nick, then to Clara, then back to Nick. She blinked her enormous blue eyes, pointed in Clara’s direction, and said something to him. His eyes never leaving Clara’s face, he nodded.
The doorbell tinkled, but it was the little blonde who entered the shop. Nick brought his fist to his mouth, then spun and strode away.
Clara’s heart, and her breakfast, climbed up her throat. The young woman walking toward her was in her early twenties, pretty, rosy-cheeked—and pregnant.
She held out her hand. Too stunned to think, Clara took it.
“Hi, Clara. I’m Lydia, Nick’s, um…” She threw a wide-eyed glance over her shoulder, but he was gone. “I was his grad assistant, the one who got him in trouble.”
She dropped the younger woman’s hand and stumbled backward, her eyes riveted on the hump beneath her blouse.
The blonde’s eyes widened even more. “Oh, no! No, no, no. He’s not the father.” She held up her left hand; a diamond twinkled from her ring finger.
Behind the counter, Arnie stifled a giggle.
“Nick asked me to come talk to you.”
“You came all the way from Berkeley?”
“I live in Portland now. Do you mind?” she glanced over her shoulder at the cushy armchairs near the front window. “I’m only six months along, but my feet get tired.”
Wordlessly, she followed Lydia. Arnie bustled over with Clara’s coffee. “A decaf for you?” he asked.
“A mint tea would be great, thanks.” The smile she tilted up at him was sweet, angelic, even. She turned back to Clara and sighed. “So I guess the secret’s out.”
Her mouth was so dry she had to force the words out. “Nick—he—seduced you?”
Lydia’s half-smile was wistful. “No, it was mutual.”
“But he was your teacher?”
“He had been.” She paused while Arnie set a steaming teapot and cup before them. “I was his graduate assistant when we—got together.” She filled her cup, dumped in a stream of sugar.
“Like Darcy?”
“You met her?”
“She’s the one who told me about you.”
Lydia’s laughter burst from her like a gunshot. “She’s a fine one to talk. She’s cut a swath through the anthro department.” She sipped her tea, then fixed her luminous blue eyes on Clara. “Look, I could tell you all about how Nick and I ended up in bed. What it boils down to is we were both brokenhearted and we sort of fell together. It was stupid, and we quickly realized it.”
“Were you in love with him?”
Lydia shifted in her chair, her gaze drifting back toward the window. “I wanted to think so, but pretty soon I had to admit it was just a rebound thing. I mean, he made it easy to pretend. He was so sweet, and so good in bed…”
A hot flush climbed Clara’s cheeks.
“But he was almost twice my age. And if people found out, we’d both be tainted forever. You know how it is. If you’re female and cute, people will say your achievements are due to that.” She tilted her chin defiantly. “I earned my grades. Nick had nothing to do with it.”
Her glare softened. “Anyway, I want you to know I’ve forgiven Nick, and I’ve forgiven myself. We both made a mistake. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life paying for it.”
She laid her hand over Clara’s. “Neither should he.” She squeezed. “And if anyone else asks me about our affair, I’ll deny it. Just so you know.”
“Why are you telling me, then?”
She fixed Clara with those luminous blue eyes. “Because Nick’s hurting. I still care about him. Not the way I did back then, but—he’s a good man.”
Clara sat there silently for a long moment, until a movement outside caught her eye. Nick stood at the window, watching them, his hands hanging slack at his sides. He seemed so—defeated.
“Well, go on.” Lydia poked her arm with her spoon. “He’s just going to stand there like a sad puppy until you talk to him. I’m going to finish my tea.”
Slowly, Clara rose. Slowly, she walked to the door, her heart fluttering like a ticking bomb.
He leaned beneath one of the sycamore trees lining the street. Her traitorous memory flashed back to the night when they’d first made love, when he’d pressed her up against a tree just like this one, half-mad with desire. She remembered his strong, warm hands roaming over her back, clutching her hips, his thumbs grazing her breasts as he pulled her tight against him. Now, his arms were crossed, his shoulders rounded, his gaze downcast.
This would be so much easier if she just slid her arms around him, pressed her cheek against his chest, and forgot this whole mess ever happened. But they had to wade through this part. She took a deep breath, forced her shoulders down and her chin up.
“So, you’re back.”
“Yes.”
He still didn’t meet her eye. In fact, he seemed much more interested in her shoes.
“For how long?”
“That has a lot to do with you.”
Finally, he lifted his eyes to hers. Longing and hurt swam in their dark depths. Her reserve wobbled, tugged by his powerful gravity.
But she stood her ground, crossed her arms. “I’m confused, Nick. I stay up all night, trying to reach you. I drive all over town, looking for you. You won’t talk to me, and then you send your girlfriend to plead your case?”
His eyes narrowed, his lips clamped into a tight line. “Are you in love with him?”
“No.” It was easy to say, because it was the truth. “But he’s my friend. I care about him.”
His sharp exhalation lifted her hair. “Okay. I don’t like it, but I respect your feelings.”
“So, how long, Nick?”
“A year, at least.” He inched closer.
“What about your summer class in Berkeley?”
“I quit.”
“You can do that?”
“I kind of had to.” His gaze flicked toward the café, where Lydia stood in the doorway. “Excuse me.”
He went to her, took both her hands, and spoke too softly for Clara to hear. The tenderness in his gaze stirred prickly feelings deep inside her, making her suddenly understand his point of view.
This pretty little woman had a piece of his heart, and Clara wanted all of it.
She blinked in surprise at the sudden intensity of her emotions.
He’s not mine. I have no right.
But there it was. It hurt her to watch him embrace Lydia.
“Nice to meet you, Clara.” Lydia waved, then strolled down the street and around the corner.
Nick watched her go, then turned back to Clara, closed the distance between them. He took her hand and gently tugged her to the wooden bench against her shop. She sat beside him, let him interlace his fingers with hers. A little thrill of warmth shot up her arm at the contact.
Determined to keep control, she fixed him with a tight stare. “So, where did you run off to last night?”
“Leo’s place.” He shifted to face her. “Clara, I’m sorry. That was childish of me. I should’ve called you first, let you know I was coming. But when I saw you kissing that guy…”
“His name is Doug.”
He shrugged. “My pride was hurt. And my heart. Seeing you look at him with love in your eyes, I just kind of—lost my mind.”
“And is it coming back to you now?”
“Slowly, I guess.” He chuckled. “Leo helped. He hides some wisdom under his scruffy exterior.”
“Hmm. How did he convince you?”
“He said, ‘Ask yourself: what does the other guy have that she wants?’”
She bit her lip, her mind going straight to Doug’s enormous endowment. Still, that wasn’t what she wanted. She ran her thumb over the back of his hand. “Doug is here, and you were far away. He really likes me. He’s kind, he’s funny, and he doesn’t have a scandal in his past.”
“That you know of.”
“Touché.” She leaned into his shoulder, enjoying his solid warmth. “So, where do we go from here?”
His long dark lashes lowered, and his voice dropped to a seductive rumble. “Your place? I don’t think you’d like Leo’s guest room. The sofa bed squeaks.”
A flash of irritation pushed her to her feet. “Nick, for God’s sake. Do you think you can just show up here with your bedroom eyes and—”
He stood, raised his palms in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. That was inappropriate. I’ll be good, I’ll be patient. I promise.” He held up two fingers, cocked his head. “Or is it three fingers for scout’s honor?”
The face and body of a Greek god, and funny too. She tried hard not to smile. She almost succeeded.
“Come on, Clara. Don’t be so hard on me. On yourself too.” He stepped closer, close enough to feel his warmth, the whisper of his breath against her cheek.
She clenched her fists.
He pointed at his chest, then at hers, his finger just an inch from her cleavage. “This thing between us, it’s powerful. You know it. We fit together, you and I.”
“How many other women have you fit together with lately?”
Nick held up his hands, fingers spread.
Ten?
“None, Clara. There is no other woman for me now.” He gently squeezed her shoulders. “You’re it.”
“I’m it? Are we playing tag?”
He released her, looked up at the sky, no doubt pleading with his father Zeus for intervention.
“Clara, you. Are. It. You are the woman for me. My mate. The one. You.” He poked her gently, right in the middle of her sternum. Warmth radiated from his touch like ripples in a pond.
She grasped his hand, tried to push it away, but he held her fingers, gentle but firm.
“Why should I believe you? We’ve only been together…”
“Only twice. But that’s enough to know.”
“What do you know, Nick?”
He bent his head until they were nose to nose, then enveloped her hand in both of his—warm, soft, seductive. Her resolve melted like butter on a hot stack of pancakes.
“Why are you afraid, Clara?”
“Why are you pushing so hard? You know what it’s like. You’ve been through this. Starting over with someone new, it’s…”
He squeezed her hand. “I do know. It’s hard, opening that door, finding the courage to step through. But I also know how much better life is since I stopped clinging to grief, since I opened my heart.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his forefinger. “Your heart is clenched like a fist, Clara. I remember that feeling so well.”
She cursed the tears spilling down her cheeks.
He wiped one away with his thumb. “You’ll never stop missing Jared, never stop loving him, but you can love again.”
“How do you know?” she whispered.
His gaze reached deep inside her, a gentle, insistent push.
“Because I loved Diana. And now I love you.”
Her face flushed, her heart hammered her ribs, her eyes widened—and she decided she was furious. Because only one other emotion could explain her body’s tumultuous reaction. Rage seemed the safer choice.
She pushed his hands away and hissed at him through clenched teeth, “How dare you?”
He stumbled backward, his mouth agape.
“Sex is not love, Nick. You don’t even know me. Telling me you love me just to get more sex, that’s just, just…cruel!”
“Clara, I’m not…”
“If you want to take a job here, I can’t stop you, but don’t you dare mess with my heart just to get what you want from me. Go find one of your—your student floozies.” She strode back toward the shop door, then turned to spit over her shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll find lots of them.”
“Clara, please!” He was hot on her heels—his nearness gave her a real understanding of the old cliché. “I have to see you again. Let me come back tonight. We can…”
“I have a date.”
It was a lie, but she didn’t care. She needed distance, time to think. She needed to talk this out with someone who wasn’t trying to seduce her.
She needed Jared. And the anniversary of his death was just two days away.