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Gretchen straightens. “I would assume at home, why?” The withering look she gives me catches me off guard.
“Where are her things?” I ask, even though the realization of what’s happened is sinking in. Still, I don’t want to believe it.
Maybe she moved them into my room.
It’s a fanciful wish. Claire wouldn’t move her things in without being asked. The memory of her uncertainty about whether I wanted her to sleep in my room last night smacks me harder than I spanked her last night. Of course she left, just like she was going to go back to her room.
“She took them with her.”
I blink at Gretchen, repeating what I’m slowly coming to accept, “She left?”
“Why wouldn’t she? Her contract was up.” Gretchen looks past me.
Margot’s voice comes from the doorway, “Why didn’t you ask her to work another thirty days?”
I spin to face her. “Because I want to date her.” It’s a half-truth. I want to do so much more than date her, but I’m not about to tell Margot before I tell Claire.
Margot lets out a bitter chuckle. She looks as irritated with me as Gretchen.
“Does Claire know that?” Margot asks, an edge on the words. “Because she looked miserable when she left this morning. I wanted to talk to her, but I was showing Sophia around, and Claire couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”
Sophia?
Margot must see the confusion on my face. “My sister. You said she could stay in the other guest room for two days while her apartment gets painted.”
I nod. Margot could move her whole family in, and I wouldn’t blink. All I can think about is Claire.
“Claire was gone before I came in,” Gretchen adds.
“I didn’t think she would leave without talking to me.”
Margot jumps back in, “Did you ask her to wait before you left this morning?”
Heat creeps up beneath my collar. “I didn’t want to wake her.”
“So you snuck out without saying goodbye.” Gretchen shakes her head, moving past me to the door. “I expected better from you, Mr. Underwood.”
Margot moves to let Gretchen pass, refocusing her attention on me. “Do you really want to date her?”
“Yes.” Dragging a hand through my hair, I fumble for my phone. “I’ve been obsessing over how to talk to her about it because it’s odd, going from this”—I gesture wildly—“to a relationship. I didn’t want to make her think I was trying to sleep with her for free or something.”
Margot snorts as if the idea is absurd. “I think you’re safe there. But I think you hurt her feelings. Seriously, Shane, she ran out of here.”
“I’ll fix it.” I’m already scrolling to her number.
Margot nods. “Good, you need to.” She starts to go, then stops. “You talk for a living. Use your words. Don’t just assume she knows how you feel.”
With that, she’s gone. As I listen to the phone ring, I feel an inch tall. Claire’s hurting because I’m a coward. Because I put off talking to her. When the call goes to voicemail, I hang up. I need to talk to her in person anyway. I have to make this right.
Chapter Twenty-One
Claire
I wake up in the woods. Sunlight filters through the top of the tent. Birds chirp and chatter. Cozy and cuddled in my sleeping bag, I feel good. This was a smart move. I’m stinging from Shane’s rejection, but it’s hard to wallow when I’ve got a whole day in the woods stretching before me, a new novel in my bag, and a hammock already set up and waiting for me.
Dressing quickly in jean shorts and a t-shirt, I swish mouthwash as I unzip the tent. I step out and spit all over myself. There’s a lump in the hammock; a huge, human-sized lump not fifteen feet from my tent. There’s no signal out here, so I can’t call anyone. I could leave, but the idea of abandoning my campsite because some fucker moved in doesn’t sit right.
Quietly, I lean back into the tent. Relief fills me when I grasp the handle of my utility knife. Its primary purpose is cutting paracord and small branches, but I’ve gutted a fish with it, so it could do some damage. Considering how agitated I feel right now, I could probably do some damage with my fingernails. I remind myself there’s a good chance the person sleeping in the hammock is harmless.
