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BLESS HIS HEART

LUKE

The thing about “not-dates” is… three in two weeks starts to feel like something more.

I don’t say that out loud. Not to Stella—and I don’t even mention it to Alex. But I know what it looks like when I start falling into a rhythm with someone.

Two late-night climbs. Then a Taco Truck at 11:00 p.m. A random Sunday when we ended up at a used bookstore across town and somehow left with a bagful of paperbacks and a bottle of bourbon.

Two of those nights ended at my place.

She slept over both nights. I even fed her breakfast one of the mornings. Maybe we’re past the sneaking out at dawn.

Still, not once have we called it anything.

I scroll through my phone as I walk through the gym, dodging a box of harnesses someone left by the desk. She sent me a picture five minutes ago. Her camera gear splayed out on a blanket like an archaeological dig.

Stella:

Rate my organizational system. Be honest.

-3. You could lose a person in there.

Maybe that’s the goal.

You free tonight?

No reply yet, but I’m not worried. She’s probably mid-shoot or ignoring me on purpose just to be difficult. Either way, it’s a win.

In addition to not-dates, we text a lot.

Who knew she was a texter? I figured, with her aversion to relationships, she wouldn’t be great at communicating.

But the woman loves to text. She sends me the most random shit sometimes.

She’s been working on a lot of shoots for the Hoosier Insider, so she’s all over the state during the days.

I’m digging the fact that she feels the need to share those moments with me.

I tuck my phone into my pocket, still smiling like an idiot, when the front door chimes.

I glance up. And just like that, the day shifts.

Claire Mitchell is standing in my lobby.

Hair perfectly pinned, blazer cinched, phone already in hand—like she walked straight out of a marketing firm’s promo shoot.

It’s been three years.

No call. No texts. No late night instant messages on social. Not even a fucking email.

I freeze mid-step. “Claire.”

She smiles, just like she used to when she was about to sell me on something I didn’t want.

“Luke,” she says, smooth and warm. “You look… well.”

My stomach tightens the second I hear her voice. It’s not nerves. It’s the realization that she’s back, and I wasn’t ready.

I stand there for a beat too long, her voice settling in before I manage a word.

“This is unexpected,” I say flatly, finally stepping forward.

Claire shrugs like she’s just bumped into me at the farmer’s market. “I’m in town for a few days. Thought I’d stop by. See how things were going.”

“How’d you know I was in Indy?”

“I keep tabs.” She smiles again, it’s tight, deliberate. “You’re part of the brand I always thought I would be part of, Luke. And this is a big move—opening your own location.”

It’s a move I made months ago. Without her. And I haven’t missed her once.

Still, I nod toward the front counter. “You want a tour or something?” Maybe I can hand her off to Alison, our receptionist.

She waves a hand. “Already looked around the other day. You’ve done well here. Clean layout, great energy. Love the color scheme.”

The color scheme was Maddie’s idea. Claire would’ve chosen something sleeker. Something colder.

I fold my arms. “So why are you really here?”

That smile deepens. She wants something.

“I’m consulting now. Startups, growth strategies, brand acceleration—high-impact stuff. When I saw you’d launched a new location, I knew there was opportunity here.”

“There is,” I say, careful. “But I’m not looking to expand.”

Claire steps closer, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve. “You say that now, but this place? It’s franchise gold.”

I shake my head. “This isn’t the place for this conversation,” I tell her.

“Your office, then?” she steps past me toward the back as if she’s already canvased the place and knows where to go.

I follow her and then take the lead when we get to the hall where the break room and offices are. On our way, we pass Maddie in her office. I make eye contact with her as I pass and give her a tight-lipped smile.

Lifting my arm, I make a motion to allow Claire to enter my office first. I don’t close the door, but head to my desk while she takes it all in and looks around.

She wastes no time getting back to her pitch. “You’ve already built the foundation. With a little capital, we could scale fast—multiple locations in the Midwest within two years.”

“We?” I ask.

She meets my eyes. “I’m offering to help you grow, Luke. We built something great once.”

We did. And then she walked away from all of it.

“You left,” I remind her. “You said I waited too long.”

Claire’s smile flickers, just slightly. “You did.”

I bite down on what I want to say—that I had the ring, the words, the plan. That I thought I had more time.

But this version of Claire? She’s all angles now. Business first. No room for nostalgia unless it suits the sale. Don’t get me wrong, if she became this way in order to be successful, I’m proud of her. But it’s not going to work on me. I know her too well. Or at least, I used to.

“I’m not interested in turning Squeaky Bum into a chain,” I say flatly. “That’s not the vision here.”

She tilts her head and slowly exhales. “When did the vision change?”

“Ray’s vision was never to franchise,” I tell her.

“Sweet Ray, bless his heart. But this will all be yours sooner than later, so it’s really about your vision now.” Her smile is big and sweet, but I can see a hint of sour behind her eyes.

I shrug.

“You said you weren’t interested in growing. Fast-tracking. Building something bigger. That’s not you, Luke. It used to be, but now…”

She lets the thought dangle.

“You wanted to location hop—setting up facilities and only leaving when it was time to build the next one. Don’t you remember any of these plans?

” Her voice is almost pleading. The problem is, that’s what she wanted to do.

Ray and I wanted to have a few locations, but never chains, and never something so big that we couldn’t handle it ourselves.

Leaning back in my desk chair, I shrug. “I remember talking about location hopping, but it was never the plan.”

She studies me for a moment, then looks away and lets out a small sigh.

“You seeing someone?” she asks, direct now.

I cross my arms again. “Sort of. It’s new. But, yeah.”

She studies me like I’ve become a case study. “So you’re not available. For business or otherwise.”

“I’m saying I’m good where I’m at,” I tell her. “Personally. Professionally.”

Claire looks around, eyes skating over my desk, the whiteboard on the wall, the bookshelf in the corner.

“Interesting,” she says at last, and it sounds like a challenge. “You used to dream bigger.”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m finally dreaming smarter.”

She doesn’t respond to that. Just shifts back into that polished posture.

“Well,” she says, stepping back toward the door, “if you change your mind… I’ll be around.”

She turns without waiting for a response and walks out like she owns the place.

I scrub my hands down my face and let out a groan.

What the fuck was that?

Pushing out of my chair, I leave my office. I catch sight of Maddie now in the breakroom, organizing snacks in a basket that sits on the counter.

“Was that Claire Mitchell?” Maddie calls out as I walk past the room. What the hell? How does she know Claire.

I pivot and turn back to the breakroom. Maddie is leaning her hip against the counter, a clipboard in one hand and a Sharpie tucked behind her ear.

I exhale. “Yeah.”

“She didn’t say hi.”

“She wasn’t exactly on a social call.”

Maddie raises an eyebrow and strides over. “She just pitched you, didn’t she?”

“She tried.”

Maddie folds her arms across her chest. “Let me guess. She has franchise plans, investor buzzwords, something about brand acceleration?”

I blink. “Did you hear the whole conversation?”

“No,” she says, flipping her clipboard over dramatically. “She was in here yesterday looking like she was up to no good. Plus, I’ve sat in enough panels and seen enough LinkedIn posts to spot a hard rebrand hustle from twenty feet away.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“She doesn’t take no for an answer,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck.

“She doesn’t really ask for it either.”

I glance at Maddie. “You know her?”

“Only because she introduced herself yesterday when I intercepted her before she could make it down the hall to the offices. And from the way she once tried to casually follow me on Instagram… twice.”

I blink. “Twice?”

“She unfollowed when I didn’t follow back. Then tried again a couple months later. Classic alpha-marketer panic move.”

I chuckle again. “I didn’t bring her in.”

“Oh, I know. You don’t do passive-aggressive power plays.”

Maddie grabs a granola bar from the counter stash and peels it open.

“She commented on our wall signage,” she says, voice flat.

“Did she call it ‘clean, but missing a premium edge?’”

“Close. She said ‘visually welcoming but lacks a nationally scalable aesthetic.’”

I wince. “Ouch.”

“I told her our ‘visually welcoming’ approach was intentional. You know, people over polish, movement over metrics.”

I tilt my head. “And how’d she take that?”

Maddie smiles sweetly. “She said, and I quote, ‘That’s cute.’”

“That tracks.”

She takes a bite of the bar. “She told me you and her use to be a ‘thing’ but if she starts hovering, I reserve the right to accidentally spill coffee on her faux-suede boots.”

“Duly noted.”

She starts walking backward toward the gear closet. “And Luke?”

“Yeah?”

Her tone drops, serious now. “If she comes back, don’t let her make you doubt the space you’re building here. This place is good. You know it. I know it. Even she knows it. She just thinks she can repackage it.”

I nod, a small smile tugging at my mouth. “Thanks, Maddie.”

She tosses the wrapper into the trash and disappears through the walkway.

I take a breath, running my hand through my hair.

Fuck. I foresee the rest of the day to be just as challenging.

I make my way back to my office, needing minute to let the past thirty minutes settle in my brain.

I don’t like being caught off guard.

And Claire? She’s always known how to make an entrance. A strategic, deliberate, inconvenient-as-hell entrance.

It’s not just that she showed up today.

It’s that she already knew things. About the space. The branding. Me.

Like she’s been circling for a while, waiting for just the right time to strike.

I’m not sure what I expected when I pictured seeing her again—if I ever did.

A flicker of closure, maybe. Some kind of peace with the fact that I almost built a life with her, and then watched her walk away from all of it like it hadn’t mattered.

But what I got?

Business in a pantsuit, calculated charm, and a handful of franchise buzzwords.

She says I don’t dream big anymore.

But what she doesn’t get is that…this place? It is the dream.

Building something slow. Intentional. Human.

I didn’t come to Indy to make Squeaky Bum into some cold, cookie-cutter climbing chain. I came here to make a space where people actually want to show up.

Where I want to show up.

And yeah, part of that is thanks to Stella.

I’m not trying to name it or box it in—but the way I feel when she’s around, it doesn’t leave room for reruns.

Especially not ones that end with someone walking out the door before I can ask the question I should’ve asked months earlier.

And Maddie, she sees through Claire like glass.

That little moment between them when she showed up without my knowing? A warning shot. Claire hasn’t changed. She just got better at pretending she has.

I don’t know if this is just a visit… or the start of something she’s not saying.

But whatever it is, I’m not letting her pull me back into a version of this place—or of myself—that I’ve already outgrown.