Surprised by her restraint, I continued eating, though my attention remained on her.She struggled with the ladder, trying to collapse it without making too much noise.A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips.
Stubborn woman.
I found myself oddly grateful for her silence.The questions would come eventually; they always did, especially from someone who spoke as much as she did.But for now, this small reprieve felt like a gift—a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos that had become my life.
She finally managed to wrestle the ladder into submission and propped it against the wall with a satisfied huff.For a moment, our eyes met across the room.
At that moment, my heart skipped a beat.It was a brief, fleeting moment—a spark of something I couldn’t quite name.Maybe it was the way she looked at me, a mixture of gratitude and curiosity that seemed to pierce through my defenses.But I couldn't afford to let it grow into anything more.I dismissed the feeling immediately, dousing it like a fire threatening to catch.I had enough flames to deal with already; I didn't need another one burning me from within.
I took another bite of bacon, savoring its smoky flavor while Claire moved about the room with practiced efficiency.The ordinary sounds of breakfast—the clink of dishes, the soft hum of conversation from other guests—grounded me in the present moment.
It was strange how such mundane activities could offer solace when everything else seemed so uncertain.
I finished the last bite of my breakfast, pushing the plate away as I wiped my mouth with a napkin.The warmth from the food settled in my stomach.I nodded my thanks to Claire, who was now bustling about the kitchen, her movements quick and efficient.
The day stretched ahead of me like an uncharted map.I had no real plans, just a vague sense of purpose that gnawed at the edges of my thoughts.It had been years since I left the SAS, years of drifting from place to place without any clear direction.But today felt different, as if the fog was beginning to lift.
I needed to focus, to find something tangible to anchor myself to.The nightmare from last night still lingered in my mind, its images hauntingly vivid.I knew I couldn't keep running forever; at some point, I'd have to face whatever it was that chased me.
First things first: a walk.Clear my head and shake off the remnants of sleep and terror.Get used to this town.The crisp morning air would do me good, help me think straight.I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it on, its weight familiar and reassuring, before heading out into the cold.
Chapter4
Claire
The breakfast rush at the inn always left me exhausted yet satisfied.The tables now stood empty, crumbs and coffee stains their only guests.I wiped down the wooden surfaces, inhaling the lingering scent of bacon and freshly brewed coffee.The warmth of the morning sun filtered through the lace curtains, casting a soft glow on the dining room.
Dishes clattered in the sink as I scrubbed away remnants of scrambled eggs and syrupy pancakes.I glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of Christian as he walked away from the inn.His movements were precise, each step somehow revealing his practiced strength.Or maybe that was me daydreaming after squeezing his shoulders earlier.I blushed at the thought.
As I dried my hands on a dishtowel, the doorbell jingled softly.Mrs.Thompson from down the road stepped in, her cheeks rosy from the cold.
"Morning, Claire," she greeted with a warm smile.
"Morning, Mrs.Thompson," I replied, returning her smile."Just finished up with breakfast."
"Busy morning?"she asked, eyeing the cleaned tables.
"Always is," I said, shrugging lightly."But that's how I like it."
She nodded, her gaze drifting to Christian outside."Who's that young man you have living in your loft?"
I shouldn't have been surprised people in town knew about Christian, but I was.
"Christian," I said simply, unsure how much to reveal, especially since I didn't know much.
Mrs.Thompson raised an eyebrow but didn't press further."Well, I know what a friendly town we are, but outsiders..."
I sighed.I wasn't in the mood for dramatics, especially from Mrs.Thompson.
With her gone and the last of the dishes put away, I swept the floor.The rhythmic motion of broom against wood felt almost meditative.Dust motes danced in the sunlight as I moved through the room.
As I finished sweeping, the familiar creak of the back door announced my grandmother's arrival.She wore her usual apron, faded from countless washes, and carried a basket of fresh linens.
"Morning, sweetie," she greeted, setting the basket down and moving to the sink."Need a hand with those dishes?"
"Sure, Grandma," I replied, handing her a dish towel."Thanks."
She started drying the plates I had just washed.I watched as she hummed a tune under her breath, her movements practiced but slow.I appreciated her help, even if she often put things in the wrong places.
