Clare read it three more times before she collapsed back against the pillows, weak with relief.
He was coming back.
And he was going to be thinking about her all day.
Everything was going to be okay.
Except it wasn’t.
Because her reaction when she’d thought he’d left was not a good sign. She was in over her head. Big time.
But could she walk away? She looked down at the pink paper with the dark letters scrawled across them. She should cut herself off from him. Really, she should.
But he’d left her a love note.
No one had ever left her love notes.
And dammit, she deserved them, and she was going to enjoy it for as long as she could.
The panic attacks were just going to have to go away, because she wasn’t going to let terror steal this moment from her.
She deserved to be happy, and even if it was for only a moment or a day, she was going to live every second of it to the fullest.
Decision made.
Once her choice was made, a huge weight lifted off her, and she knew it was the right decision.
Even if it was just for a day or a week, she was going to let herself be happy.
* * *
When Griffin stepped into his plush offices in Boston’s financial district, he felt like he’d lost his mind. The gleaming polished wood looked foreign, the marble floors looked ostentatious, and the huge windows gave him a view of cement buildings instead of birds building a nest.
“Griffin!” Phillip strode around the corner. His rotund frame was cleverly hidden in the expensive suit and polished shoes. His head was shiny from the fluorescent lights, and he was wearing a new pair of glasses that had a logo on it that suggested they cost probably as much as Clare’s mortgage ran her each month. “What the hell are you wearing?”
Griffin looked down at his jeans, his boots and his Pirates tee shirt. Shit. He hadn’t even thought about going home to change once he’d arrived in Boston. “I didn’t have a suit with me.” And it hadn’t occurred to him to pick one up.
Phillip looked like he was about to pass out. “These designers are the cutting edge of fashion,” he said. “You can’t walk in there in filthy jeans and boots!”
Mud caked the treads, there was pink frosting on his jeans, and he’d sweated like hell in the shirt last night. He could only imagine what aroma it was generating. Shit. Where had his brain been? He wasn’t in Maine anymore. “I have a spare suit in my office.”
“Well, I’ll stall them. But hurry up. And for hell’s sake, shave while you’re in there.”
“Three minutes and I’ll be ready.” Griffin jogged down the hall toward his office. As he passed by the artwork and the gleaming brass fixtures, he felt his mind beginning to focus again. By the time he stepped into his office and saw his immaculate mahogany desk stretching in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows, Griffin’s mind was in full gear, thinking about balance sheets, investment opportunities and the teen fashion industry.
He pulled open the door to his annex and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he reached for his suit. The reflection startled him. His hair was shaggy and disheveled. He had a three-day beard, and his shirt was wrinkled and streaked with dirt from when he’d run out a triple and slid into third base. Shit. He looked like a mountain man. No wonder Phillip had panicked.
No problem. He had it under control.
A splash of cologne, new socks and a quick face wash in his sink jazzed him up. The suit slid seamlessly onto his body, and as he adjusted his tie, power surged through him. His shirt was crisp. His pants creased. His jacket fit him to perfection. Cufflinks in place. He did a quick run with his electric razor and in less than three minutes, he had become Griffin Friesé, Slipper King, once again.
Energy sizzling through him, Griffin opened his office door and strode down the hall toward the conference room. He nodded at his secretaries, and then his focus narrowed on the door at the end of the hall. He listened to the voices emanating from within, noted their intonations and their subtext, and by the time he reached the doorway, he knew exactly how he was going to play this game.
He paused outside the door to adjust his cuffs, as he always did right before he went to the mat. Power rushed through him and he smiled. This was the rush he lived for. This was who he was.
It was good to be back.
* * *
“Hi, Astrid!” Clare dropped into a seat beside Astrid. Wright’s was packed with patrons, and the tantalizing aroma of Ophelia’s delicious pizza was making Clare’s stomach rumble. “I’m so glad you were able to meet me for lunch. Emma is tied up at work and couldn’t make it, but at least you came.”
Astrid stared at her, a shocked look on her face.
“What?” Clare asked innocently, smiling as she thought of the night with Griffin. She was a woman now, in a way she’d never been before. There was losing your virginity to a bumbling eighteen-year old actor, and there was spending the night with a man like Griffin. She was quite certain that when it came to losing her virginity, it had happened last night. Because Griffin had awakened in her the woman that had been dormant her entire life. Who knew she had it in her?
“You slept with him,” Astrid said. “Oh my God, you slept with him!”
“I did!” Clare giggled, unable to hide her giddiness. “And look at the note he left me.” She waggled it in front of her friend, and Astrid grabbed it from her.
Clare leaned back in her chair and cheerfully surveyed the store as her friend read it. She waved at Norm, who gave her a nod of approval, and she smiled. The whole place looked brighter, cheerier and friendlier than it had ever been. The apples looked especially shiny, the flowers in the bins by the front door looked amazing, and the sunlight was shining through the windows like this great blossom of well-being.
“Oh wow.” Astrid laid the note against her chest. “That’s so sweet.”
“I know.” Clare smiled. “It was an amazing night.”
Astrid wiggled her eyebrows as she set the note on the table. “Did you remember how to do it?”
“I did, but I was so nervous.” Clare lowered her voice so Astrid had to lean forward to hear her. “I swear I thought I was going to freak out, but he was just amazing. He totally took his time until I felt comfortable and then...” She grinned.
“And then—” Astrid prompted.
“You look happy.” Eppie plunked herself down in one of the empty chairs.
Clare immediately sat up, horrified that Eppie might have heard. “Um, hi, Eppie—”
“I haven’t seen you with that expression on your face since before your father died,” Eppie said.
“What?” Clare immediately felt defensive. “I’m always happy.”
“Not like that.” Eppie’s sharp gaze went to the note on the table. Clare grabbed for it, but Eppie was faster. Astrid went to snatch it out of the older woman’s hand, but even she capitulated to Eppie’s hostile gaze.
Clare sank down into her seat as Eppie read Griffin’s special words. How would she be able to read them again without hearing Eppie’s disparaging comments? She needed that note. It was going to be her salvation when Griffin left, and all she had was the memory of their time together.
But after Eppie finished reading it, the older woman said nothing.
She just set the note back on the table and tipped her peacock blue bowler back on her head.
No one said anything. Clare and Astrid watched Eppie, waiting for the judgment. Finally, Eppie lifted her gaze to Clare’s, and Clare was shocked by the sadness in them. “Eppie? Are you all right?”
But Eppie simply stood up, walked over and wrapped Clare up in a hug. Her mother’s best friend hugged Clare the way her mom used to, so tight that Clare felt like the world could never tear them apart. Clare’s throat tightened, and she hugged Eppie back. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, she could almost remember what it had felt like to be in her mother’s arms.
Then Eppie pulled back, her wizened fingers gripping Clare’s upper arms so tightly it almost hurt. A tear slipped out of Eppie’s eye and trickled down her cheek.
“Eppie?” Clare clenched the older woman’s hand. This tough, hardened woman who had never even shown humanity was crying? “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“My dear, sweet girl.” Eppie trailed a gnarled finger gently down Clare’s cheek. “If you could find true happiness, then your mother’s spirit will finally be able to be at peace. I pray you’ve found it.”
Clare stared at the older woman in disbelief. “You’re not going to tell me that Griffin’s a bad man?”
“It’s too late for that,” Eppie said. “All I can do is pray that he’s worthy of the heart that you’ve given to him.”
Clare’s throat was so thick she almost couldn’t talk. “I haven’t given him my heart.”
But Eppie just touched her cheek again and then turned away. As the woman who had been Clare’s mentor and bane for the last decade walked away, Clare saw, for the first time, not a ramrod spine, but the hunched, weathered body of an old woman who had given her heart to Clare and her daughter. A woman who had given them love and boundaries when Clare had had nothing else to cling to.
Clare ran after her and opened the door for Eppie as the old woman reached it. “Eppie?”
The wrinkled face turned toward her, and Clare saw a deep sadness and loneliness in them that she’d never seen before. Eppie had been her mother’s best friend since they were babies. “Do you still miss her? My mom?”
Eppie nodded. “I miss her every minute of every day.”
Clare bit back tears. “So do I.”
Eppie took Clare’s hand and squeezed gently. “But her spirit lives on every day through you and Katie. She is alive through the life you breathe.”
Clare hesitated, afraid to ask, afraid of the honest answer Eppie would give her. But she had to know. “Would she be proud of me? Do you think?”
Eppie smiled, showing teeth worn of many years. “My dear sweet girl, she dances in the heavens every moment that she looks upon you, because she is so proud of everything you’ve done and the wonderful daughter you’ve raised.”
She would be proud of me.
Tears suddenly obscured her vision, and Clare wiped her sleeve across her eyes. She took a shuddery breath and tried to pull herself together, but she couldn’t stop the tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for telling me that.”
“It’s true,” Eppie said.
Clare nodded. “Will you come to dinner this Sunday, Eppie? With me and Katie? And Griffin, if he’s still here.”
The older woman’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
Clare smiled. “Really.” Her mother might live on through her and Katie, but she also lived on through Eppie, and Clare had never realized it before. “Will you maybe tell us some stories about when my mom was younger?”
“It would be my greatest honor.” Eppie smiled, and there was a light, a spark in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll bring liver and onions. It was your mama’s favorite Sunday dish.”
Clare laughed through her tears. “That sounds great. Six o’clock?”
“Six o’clock. But I’m usually early, so you should be ready by three.” Eppie winked and stepped out the door, a new spring in her step that made Clare smile.
She leaned against the door, watching Eppie maneuver down the stairs. “I’ll be ready,” she whispered. “I’ll be ready.” And she would be. She was finally ready to feel the pain of her mother’s loss, and the joy of her life. No more empty soul for her. Not anymore.
When Eppie was in her car and had safely navigated down the street, Clare turned to head back to her table, and she saw Norm watching her. He tapped his fist against his heart. “Good girl,” he said.
“Thanks.” She flashed him a smile and took a tremulous breath as she hurried back to the table. She slid into her seat, and Astrid frowned at her. “What’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”
Clare smiled at her friend. “Eppie said my mom would be proud of me.”
Astrid’s face softened, and she put her hand on Clare’s. “You had to ask? Of course she would be. She always was.”
Clare felt the tears thicken again. “I just never thought of it. I felt like I’d let her down.”
“Oh, no,” Astrid said. “You’re a champ.” She smiled. “Now, I, on the other hand, would be a vast disappointment to mine—”
“Never.” Clare squeezed her friend’s hand. “You’re amazing. You’re following your dream, and that’s just the most wonderful thing ever.”
“Speaking of dreams,” Astrid said. “Harlan told me that Mattie and John got an offer on the Bean Pot. If you want to buy it for a cupcake store, you have to move fast.”
Dread plunged in Clare’s belly, eradicating the feeling of peace that had just been coming to rest inside her. “Are they going to take it?”
“He doesn’t know. It’s a good offer, but it’s to a family moving up from New York City who wants to turn it into a place selling New York style pizza.” Astrid raised her brows. “They would rather sell it to someone local, but they need the money, so they’ll take it if they get nothing else.”
Clare bit her lip. “I can’t—”
“You can!” Astrid smacked her hands on the table “Come on, Clare! You hate your job, and you don’t make much money from it anyway. Just take a risk. I did, and look where it got me.”
“You don’t have a daughter to support!”
Pain flashed in Astrid’s eyes. “No, I don’t.”
Crud. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that—”
“No, it’s fine.” Astrid waved her hand in dismissal. “But I am worried about you. I see the strain in your face while you’re at work. I didn’t realize how unhappy you are until I saw the difference today, when you were smiling about Griffin. That was a real smile, not the one you wear at work.” She cocked her head. “Are you happy with your life, Clare? Are you really?”
Clare met her friend’s worried gaze. “Truly. I don’t want the store.” But the words stung her throat, and she knew it wasn’t the whole truth. But she had to make it the truth, because she didn’t have any options right now. Maybe in ten years. But not today.
“Well, okay, then. I’ll tell Harlan you’re not making an offer.” Astrid stood up as Ophelia called her name from the deli. “My order’s ready. I’m taking it back to the office because I need to work through lunch. I have an order I need to get in the mail by two, and I’m not done with the engraving yet.” She kissed Clare’s cheek. “Have a good time on your date tonight.”