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“Afraid not.”
Something like sympathy shone in her eyes, and he bristled again. After three years, you’d think the pity wouldn’t bother him anymore. “Then why’d you invite me to stay for breakfast?”
“I didn’t. Jules did.”
“But…”
“I didn’t want to come across like some hard-ass, okay?”
Her mouth curved. No lipstick. Or any other makeup that Ethan could tell. Not that she needed it, with her dark brows and lashes—
Yeah, it bugged him, bugged him like hell, this dumb physical attraction to the woman. Because he had no business being attracted to anybody right now, especially some cute little bouncy-haired drama teacher who was obviously feeding his way-too-impressionable daughter a load of bull. Man, Juliette’s constant yammering about the woman was about to drive him up the wall. Even though he knew this was only a crush—although considering how many of the teachers at Hoover were barely younger than the school’s namesake, he could hardly blame her.
Any more than he could blame himself, he supposed, for the not-so-little pings and dings and buzzings when Claire was around. He thought he’d buried his libido with his wife. Clearly not.
And this despite her dressing crazier than the kids. Take today, for instance—a sweater that came practically to her knees, the ugliest, puffiest vest on God’s green earth, boots that looked like Chewbacca’s feet. Three pairs of earrings. Granted, all tiny, but…
“Honestly, I had no idea the kid had an ulterior motive,” Claire was saying. “Nor would I have gone along with her nefarious plan if I had—” Something crashed overhead, shaking the house. She looked up. “Because that would drive me nuts.”
“You don’t like kids?”
Her gaze snapped to his, and Ethan’s face heated. A knee-jerk reaction, totally uncalled for and way out of proportion to the situation. Especially considering how often his progeny drove him nuts, too.
Claire tilted her head, a little grin tugging at her mouth. “Kids are great. Noise, not so much. Which is why I love teaching—I can get my fill of the little darlings, then they go home. To someone else’s house. And I go home to mine.” Harry yelled at Finn about…something. “Where it’s, you know, peaceful.”
Not for the first time, he found her presence…unnerving, he supposed it was. Aside from the attraction thing, that was. Because it was like she was always “on,” practically crackling with energy. Made sense, he supposed, given her being a drama teacher. But the idea of being around that all the time—especially considering the little life-suckers his kids were—made Ethan very tired. Merri… She’d been the epitome of calm. Not dull, no, but steady. Soothing.
Grief twinged, just enough to prod awake the loneliness, usually smothered under blankets of busyness and obligation. Willing it go back to sleep, Ethan walked over to the fireplace, figuring he might as well stack wood for this evening’s fire as the house filled with the scents of bacon and cinnamon rolls. Jules was going all out. Great.
“I wouldn’t know peaceful if it bit me in the butt,” Ethan finally said, to fill the void as much as anything. Crouching, he grabbed a couple of logs from the metal bucket next to the hearth. “There were always a lot of kids around when I was growing up. I was one of five, four of us being adopted.”
“Five? Wow.”
“And my parents fostered probably two dozen more over the years.”
“No kidding? That’s awesome.”
His back to Claire, Ethan smiled as he arranged the logs in the firebox. “Yeah,” he said, getting to his feet and dusting off his hands. “They were something else.”
Wearing an easy smile, Claire leaned against the arm of the sofa, her arms crossed, looking less…crackly. “Were?”
“Well, Pop still is, although he’s more than content being a grandpa these days. Mom passed away some years back. But being raised with all those kids… It only seemed natural that I’d have a batch of my own someday. Would’ve had more, but that wasn’t in the cards—”
And why the hell was he blathering on to this woman he barely knew? But while he could stanch the blathering, he couldn’t do a blamed thing about the memories—of the other babies he and Merri had lost…of what he’d lost, period. Of the what-might-have-beens he rarely indulged, for everyone’s sake. And yet—stronger, even, than the scents coming from the kitchen—they practically choked him this morning. It was strange how even after more than three years they could pounce out of nowhere, throw him for a loop.
