The Mommy Bride

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Then, just when she was sure she’d made too much out of We ought to have dinner together on Saturday night, there he was, waiting for her at the end of her shift. “Ty. Hi.”

He smiled right back. “Hi. Hey, Lynette.”

“Dr. Slattery.” Lynette pressed a palm behind Claire’s back and pushed her forward.

Claire moved out from behind the reception desk and a whole lot closer to Ty. “Is, uh, anything wrong?”

“No. I just thought I’d walk you out to your car. It’s dark out.”

Feeling like she was back in high school, Claire sneaked a peek at Lynette before walking to his side. Lynette gave a little wave in response.

Then he was taking her coat from her vise grip and helping her put it on. “Thanks.” Summoning up something to say, she said, “Listen, I’m so glad you’re here. We probably ought to talk about—”

He interrupted. “Hold on, let me make sure I heard that right. You’re glad to see me?”

She rolled her eyes. She was cooking him a meal for Wes. So he could have a man’s company. Not because she wanted to be around Ty. “I was going to say that I needed to give you directions to my house. And, uh, do you like pasta?”

He smiled. “I like everything.”

“I have a recipe for baked ziti. It’s nothing fancy, but—”

“I meant it when I said I like everything,” he said quietly. Slow, like she needed extra time to process his words. And maybe she did. Claire noticed she got suspiciously tongue-tied whenever he was nearby. “I’m sure whatever you make will be great.”

“All right, then.” Breathe deep, she cautioned herself. Don’t think of anything except right now. Unbidden, advice from a counselor flashed clear as day, like a photographer had just stepped into her life and carefully documented a moment in time. Concentrate on today.

Claire supposed Ty’s proximity was making her feel the same way that she used to—flustered. Uncertain. In fact, when he’d halted her dinner talk by resting one hand on her arm, she’d flinched—a knee-jerk reaction to a man’s touch.

He noticed. Just as quickly, he pulled his hand away, an expression crossing his face that Claire knew had everything to do with caution and care.

As the murky glow of the parking-lot light shone upon them and the topic of dinner and what to serve had been exhausted, Claire tried to cover up the burst of tension she felt whenever she was near him. “Looks like snow again.”

Very systematically, Ty placed both hands behind his back. Showing her that he wasn’t going to touch her again without her consent.

Making her realize he knew more about her than she’d thought.

“It sure does look like snow,” he murmured.

Frustrated with herself, with her body’s reaction to sudden touches—thanks to one randomly violent ex-husband—Claire deposited her tote bag on the hood of her car and hastily pulled out a pen and paper.

“My place is easy to get to from here,” she said, unable to bring herself to discussing her flinching. Of course, what could she say? That she was holding on to a bag of past experiences so tightly that it was a wonder she could ever loosen her grip? “Do you know Lane’s End very well?”

“Pretty well. I live here, too.”

Why didn’t she know that? She’d just assumed he lived farther into Cincinnati. In expensive Hyde Park or one of the more trendy places where up-and-coming singles lived.

“I’m in the Arrowlake Apartments.”

“Off Main?”

“Yep.”

She wrote down quick directions even as she said them out loud. “If you go in the second entrance, we’re the far back building…F. Wes and I are on the second floor. Apt. 210F.”

“What time?”

“Seven?”

“Seven’s just fine. I’ll see you and Wes tomorrow night at seven o’clock.”

Their fingers touched when the note was passed. For the first time, though, Ty didn’t look attentive, only troubled. “Would you like me to bring anything?”

“No, it’s my treat, remember?”