Unexpectedly Mine (Birch Crossing Book 1) Page 25

  Clare was glowing tonight, Griffin decided. There was no other way to describe her. Maybe it was the dark beams and the lake view of the quaint little restaurant perched on the northern point of the lake. Maybe it was the intimate table for two. Maybe it was the brightly colored, mismatched dishes and glasses that befitted the casual restaurant. Maybe it was the open flame grill roasting some mouth-watering steaks. Or maybe, it was just him, seeing her exactly as she really was.

  He didn't know what it was, but the moment they'd arrived at the Finch Grill and been seated in the corner by the fire as he'd requested, the burden in Clare's eyes had appeared to subside. She'd been animated and happy, telling him about Eppie and her mother. The story had touched a chord in his heart he hadn't realized he had. "You never talked about your mom before."

  "I know." Clare filched an olive from his plate with a mischievous expression. "It's hard to talk about her. I always felt that I was letting her down."

  "How?"

  "You know. Thirty-three. Unmarried. A house that's falling apart. I didn't give Katie the family my mom wanted her to have. My mom was the daughter of a minister and she was very conservative. Having her daughter married and pregnant at age eighteen was not what she'd had in mind. We had words over it, right until the day she died."

  Griffin took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. "She was worried for you. It wasn't disappointment."

  "I never understood that until today." She smiled, and the peace on her face touched him. "But after talking to Eppie, and hearing this cantankerous, judgmental old lady tell me, with total honesty, that my mom would be proud of me..." She shrugged. "All these fears I'd been holding for so long just kind of fell off me."

  Griffin smiled. "Good. You deserve to be free of that burden." He leaned forward. "But you also need to know that it doesn't actually matter what your mom would think. You're an amazing woman and that doesn't change if someone disagrees with you."

  She picked up her wine, the rosy tint of it sparkling with the reflection of the fire. "I know, but sometimes I think they're saying it because they're right." She took a sip. "Sometimes, I think the people in your life know you better than you know yourself."

  Griffin shook his head. "No way. They only know what they want you to be. That's not the same thing—" His phone rang and he glanced down. "It's Brooke."

  Clare clapped her hands in delight. "Answer it."

  His heart racing, he hit 'Send' and put the phone to his ear. "Brookie?"

  "It's Hillary."

  "Oh." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. He was not in the mood for her grief and judgment tonight, not that he ever was, of course. "Hill, I'm at dinner—"

  "Brooke told me you said no to changing her name."

  Griffin drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. "Of course I'm not going to let her. She's my daughter."

  "Oh, come on, Griffin! She's not your daughter anymore. I'm not sure she ever was, not in the way that really matters."

  His grip tightened on the phone, trying to remember Norm's advice that Hillary wasn't necessarily reflecting Brooke's point of view, no matter what she claimed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You were never there for her. Not ever. And the only reason you want her now is because you want to stake your claim of ownership on her. That's not what being a father is. Let her go, Griffin, for all of our sakes."

  Griffin scowled, tired of the judgment. "No chance, Hillary. Don't call me again." Then he hung up his phone and tossed it on the table. He saw Clare watching him and he grimaced. "Sorry about that." He leaned forward and took her hand, trying to get back in the frame of mind he'd been in. "Tonight is about us."

  Clare cocked her head. "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Of course. Anything." Griffin concentrated on the softness of her hand, the gentleness of her touch, and his hostility began to fade. "You chase away my demons," he commented.

  She smiled. "Good."

  "Yeah." Yes, it was good.

  "Why do Brooke and Hillary say you were the one who abandoned them? Did you really leave them?"

  Griffin sat back as their server placed their salads before them, tension roiling through him at her question. Hell. He didn't want Hillary to overshadow the evening with Clare. "It doesn't matter. Tonight is about us."

  Clare smiled a thank you at the server, then picked up her fork. "It does matter. I want to know."

  Resistance darkened his mood. "What? So you can judge me?"

  She gave him a placid look. "I let a potential murderer into my home. I would think that would be sufficient proof that I think you're a good guy despite all the rumors." She laid her hand on his forearm and squeezed gently. "Relax, Griffin. It's me."

  He let out his breath. "Yeah, okay." This was the woman who'd given herself to him last night, the woman who'd thrown herself into his arms to welcome him home. And suddenly, he wanted her to know. He wanted someone to know what had happened, someone who might actually believe him. "I thought everything was fine," he said. "Life was the same as it had always been. I was working long hours, yeah, but I was making good money and Hillary was spending it happily."

  Clare rubbed his arm, watching him with warmth evident on her face.

  "Things got a little crazy at work. One of my directors was funneling off funds, and we had to bring in the police and sue him. It was a real hassle." He shrugged. "I was late a lot. I was stressed. It happens."

  "Of course it does." She wove her fingers between his and squeezed. "So, what happened then?"

  "I don't know." He toyed with his salad, revisiting that moment. "I still don't understand. It was a Thursday night, and I was supposed to go to a show at Brooke's school, and I missed it, but I called ahead, and she was like yeah, whatever. When I got home at midnight, the house was empty."

  Clare raised her brows. "She'd taken all the furniture?"

  "No, no, the furniture was still there. Everything was still there, except when I walked in..." He paused recalling that moment. "I stepped inside, and I knew something was wrong, that something bad had happened. I dropped my briefcase and sprinted upstairs to the bedrooms, shouting for Brooke and Hillary. They weren't there. I was panicked, terrified when I found their empty beds. I thought someone had kidnapped them. I knew they weren't just out. I could feel the difference. Their presence was gone." His heart began to pound again, just like it had that night. "I ran through the house, shouting for them, searching everywhere, but they were gone. I called the police, I called the neighbors. I couldn't even breathe."

  Clare inched her chair closer, and hugged his hand to her heart.

  "So, I was standing there in the kitchen, and I was leaning over the sink, trying to catch my breath while I waited for the police to arrive, and then I saw it. A note. She'd left me a note. She'd scrawled it on a piece of printer paper. Huge letters, taking up the whole page." He'd stared blankly at it for what felt like an eternity, not understanding the words, not comprehending the meaning, just numb with shock. "It said she was leaving me. That was it. Nothing else."

  Clare grasped the front of his shirt and tugged lightly. "Come here."

  He allowed her to pull him toward her, and was surprised when she kissed him, right there in front of dozens of patrons. And he knew, in that moment, that she wasn't going to judge him, and a lead weight fell from his shoulders. By the time she finished, his tension had eased. "How do you do that?" he asked.

  She smiled. "I'm a woman. I'm naturally hard-wired to provide comfort to people in need."

  "Not all women have that talent."

  Her smile faded as she studied him. "During that brief time I was married to Ed," she said. "He was always working on his acting, trying to improve, trying to find local gigs. He always missed dinner, he was never around, and even if he was there, he wouldn't ever talk to me." She laid her hand on Griffin's cheek. "Not like you, Griffin. When you're with me, you are completely present in the moment. You notice me, you listen to me, and you care. You make
me feel treasured."

  He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "You deserve to feel like that."

  "Thank you." She watched him closely, and he sensed she was measuring her words. "But with Ed, even while he was living with us, he wasn't connected to us. He left us long before he drove away."

  Griffin narrowed his eyes. "What's your point?"

  "My point is that I think it's possible that you weren't emotionally present for Hillary and Brooke the way you are for me and Katie." She held up her hand to silence his protest. "You weren't there physically, either, and the combination maybe created a feeling that you had left, even if you technically still lived there."

  "I didn't leave! I was working my ass off for them!" He pulled his hand free of hers. "You're like them, judging me—"

  "No, no, no." She tried to take his hand again, but he didn't let her. "I'm just trying to help you get your daughter back. Don't you get it? You can't just demand her back or say you love her. You have to actually feel her in your heart, the way you do with me and Katie! You did abandon them, but you don't have to be like that anymore." She set her hand on his shoulder. "You are the man you want to be, but you won't get your daughter back until you let her into your heart. It's not about the money, Griffin. It's about the connection."

  Griffin glared at her. "You're interfering where you aren't welcome."

  Clare scowled back at him, and she took her hand off his shoulder. "So? What's your point?"

  "My point? My point is that I want you to back off. I'm done being judged."

  Clare glared at him. "Did it ever occur to you that I might be pushing at you not because I'm judging you, but because I'm tired of you judging yourself? Because I see this amazing man whose heart is breaking because he doesn't understand how wonderful he is? For God's sake, Griffin, not everyone who yells at you is your enemy. Some of them shout at you out of love!"

  "That's crap! You don't yell at people you love."

  "Oh! You drive me mad!" She shoved her chair back and threw her napkin on the table. "Forget it. I can't deal with you on top of Katie. Doesn't anyone understand love around here? I'm trying! Doesn't anyone get that?" Tears filled her eyes, and she whirled away and raced for the door.

  Oh, shit. The hurt on her face told him the truth: that she did believe in him and she did think he was worthy of his daughter. Shit. He'd totally overreacted and hurt her. "Clare!" Griffin leapt up and gave chase, catching up just as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. He caught her hand. "Clare—"

  She spun toward him and yanked her hand free. "Leave me alone!" Her fists were clenched, and her eyes were flashing fire, but the anguish in her voice and the tears streaming down her cheeks eviscerated him.

  "I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry, Clare."

  "You're a jerk! I was just trying to help."

  "I know, I know. I'm an ass." He held up his hands in surrender. "A complete jerk."

  She sniffled. "That's my point. You're not an ass. You just act like one sometimes."

  He smiled. "I know. I understand that now." He held out his arms. "Come here."

  She folded her arms over her chest. "I'm still mad at you."

  "And you should be." He took her wrist and tugged her so she fell into him. He immediately wrapped her up in his arms and hugged her. Really, really hugged her. Not the reluctant, impatient hug he used to give Hillary, but the kind of embrace where their bodies meshed, and his soul wrapped around hers to protect her and keep her safe. "I'm so sorry, Clare. I really am."

  She sighed, and then she softened her body, melting into his. When she finally wrapped her arms around his waist, he knew he hadn't blown it. Clare had forgiven him, and it felt amazing.

  For a long moment, they just stood there, holding each other, and it was a perfect moment. Griffin had no urge to end it, no desire to get to work, no calling to move on, and no drive to be productive. He was content to simply hold her.

  "Do you think they took away our salads?" Clare finally asked.

  "I doubt it. I haven't paid and my phone is still on the table." He pulled back so he could look at her. Tears streaked her cheeks, and she looked exhausted. "What happened with Katie today?"

  She shook her head. "Never mind. I'm too tired."

  He kissed her lightly. "That's what I'm here for. Sometimes it doesn't go away until you talk about it." He took her hand. "Come on. We'll give it a three minute limit, and then there's no more heavy discussion tonight, okay? We'll just discuss how beautiful you are, how great your cupcakes are—" He frowned at the flash of pain on Clare's face "What did I say? Something about the cupcakes?"

  "Nothing." She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked, in an intimate gesture that made him want to sweep her up in his arms and cradle her.

  "There's no chance I'm going to believe you that there's nothing wrong." He held open the door for her. "I won't give up until you tell me."

  "Maybe you really are a pain in the ass." She wrinkled her nose at him.

  He laughed. "Probably, but I have it on good authority that I'm still a great guy even when I'm being an ass." He guided her across the dining room, to where the waiter was standing over their table wringing his hands. Griffin jerked his chin at him, and the waiter nodded with visible relief and vanished back into the kitchen.

  Griffin pulled out Clare's chair and helped her sit. Then he took his seat, moved it closer to hers, and then took her hand again. "Now, tell me. Cupcakes first."

  "It's nothing." Clare picked up her fork and fiddled with her salad. "It's just that Astrid told me at lunch today that there is an offer on that place she thinks I should buy for a cupcake store."

  Griffin studied her. "You want to buy it?"

  "No." She finally looked at him. "No, I wasn't going to buy it. But I felt a little sad. Like I don't want it, but I don't want anyone else to have it either."

  "Clare, maybe you should think about it—"

  "No." She shook her fork gently at him. "I don't want to talk about any of this stuff anymore tonight. My life is always about dealing with one problem after another. Tonight, I want to simply be with you." She gave him a small smile. "You take away the chaos and bring peace into my heart. I need that tonight. Can we do that?"

  He cupped the back of her head and drew her close to him. "Yes, we can." He kissed her again. Her lips were soft and welcoming, and he felt the turmoil within him cede to a feeling of peace and rightfulness. "I want it, too."

  "Okay, then." She smiled.

  He set her wine glass into her hand and picked up his own. "To the most beautiful woman in the world, who makes my life better simply by being in it." He tapped his glass against hers. "To Clare."

  To the woman he was going to have to leave tomorrow.

  "I can't believe you blindfolded me," Clare laughed as she heard Griffin open the door of the truck. After dinner, he'd announced he had a surprise for her, blindfolded her with a tee shirt he'd apparently brought along for that purpose, and put her in his truck. "You're crazy."

  "It wouldn't be a surprise if you knew where we were, would it?" He took her hand. "Step down, carefully. I've got you if you fall."

  "I'm not going to fall," she teased, though she was happy to let him guide her. "I didn't have that much wine at dinner."

  "You didn't? Damn. I was hoping to get you drunk so I could take advantage of you later on."

  Feeling a little giddy, Clare giggled as Griffin wrapped his arm around her waist, keeping her solidly against him. "I'm not that kind of girl. There will be no hanky panky tonight." She certainly hoped that was a complete lie. To spend another night in Griffin's arms would be a beautiful gift she would treasure forever.

  "Yeah, well, we'll stop at Norm's and get some of Birch's Best and then we'll see how long you can resist me. Come on." He swept her up into his arms. "Allow me."

  Clare locked her arms around his neck. "Where are we?" She didn't hear any water, so he must not have brought them to the lake. What romantic spot had
Griffin found to cap off their evening?

  "You'll see." He climbed a few stairs. "I have to set you down for a second. Don't go anywhere."

  "Really? I thought I might go for a run." She set her hand on his back to ground herself, her heart dancing. After their fight in the restaurant, the night had turned magical. It was as if their fight had unleashed a spark between them, and the connection had been wonderful. Griffin had wooed her like a prince, with magical words and champagne, and she'd felt like she was in a fairy tale. And then when he'd blindfolded her in the parking lot and told her he had a surprise, well, she'd really kind of melted.

  It had been a very, very long time since anyone had given her a surprise.

  Griffin muttered something to himself, and then she heard the sound of a key sliding into a lock. A building? Where in the world were they? It was almost midnight already. "Did you rent a motel room for us?"

  "Why would I want to sleep anywhere but at your house?"

  She smiled at the honesty in his voice. "It's not the Ritz."

  "And thank God for that." A door creaked, and then she felt Griffin's hands on her waist as he picked her up again. "Okay, sweetheart. Here we go."

  Light glared, and she knew he'd turned on some lights. He set her down carefully, and kept his hands on her hips. "I want you to promise me something," he said.

  "What?" Her heart began to race. She couldn't imagine what he was about to unveil.

  "I want you to see with your heart, and not with your mind."

  Clare frowned. "See what?"

  "What I'm about to show you. I don't want you to think about it. Just feel it, okay?"

  Now she was confused. "Um, okay—"

  "Good." He sounded excited. "Here you go." He dropped the blindfold, and Clare squinted at the sudden brightness.

  It took her eyes a moment to adjust, and then she was able to see. She was in a small, empty café with round wooden tables and matching chairs. A beautiful pine counter with a glass display case on the right. A huge blackboard on the wall by the ceiling, listing every kind of coffee beverage known to human kind. Disappointment killed her excitement. "You brought me to the Bean Pot? But I told you that I'm not going to buy it—"