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Chapter Twenty-Seven

C laire looked in her closet for the umpteenth time. What to wear for her date with Joe? He had been on a job for a week. She had been in Florida about the same time and finally reconnected. She offered to make dinner for him, but Joe insisted that he cook for her.

She tried on one outfit, didn’t like it, shed it, and threw it on the bed.

Tried another. That one faced a similar fate, until she finally decided on a pair of black crop pants, flats, and a black and white polka dot blouse with a V-neck.

She picked out a casual pale pink blazer because the weather was getting cooler.

She brushed her teeth and hair and left.

Pulling into Joe’s gravel driveway, she sat in her car for a minute. Pulse racing, hands sweating. Stop it. It’s only dinner. A casual date. It’s Joe. She needed to pull herself together before she got out and attacked him when he opened the door. Deep breath, and she was ready.

Knock, knock .

Claire jumped and squealed. Joe was rapping at her window and grinning. She put her hands on her chest, then rolled down the window.

“Damn, you scared me,” she managed to squeak out.

“Sorry.”

He didn’t look sorry. He looked happy to see her.

Joe opened the door. “Let me help you.”

She playfully slapped at his hands. “After scaring me half to death. Back off, mister.”

He laughed, put his hands up in defeat and moved back. Claire gathered her purse and the wine, got out of the car and closed the door.

She handed the wine to Joe, and they walked into the house. She sniffed. “Did you make lasagna?”

“Yep. I remembered it was your all-time favorite meal. I haven’t made it”—he stopped to think—“ever.”

How did he remember that? They never had it when she stayed here before, nor was it ever mentioned.

“Yum.”

Joe walked her into the house that she had stayed at several months ago. Everything looked the same—neat, clean, and spartan.

The lasagna smells were making her mouth water, and her stomach took that minute to rumble.

“Hungry?”

She nodded.

“I think there’s enough time for a glass of wine before the lasagna is ready.”

She followed him into the kitchen. The table was set. He had lit candles, which gave a soft glow to the room. Music played softly in the background .

Joe picked up the wineglasses from the table, filled them and handed one to her. He lifted his glass. “Here’s to you, your new life, and hopefully, my lasagna will be good.”

She laughed. His brow furrowed. He looked so cute worrying about dinner.

She loved the extra effort he made to set a nice table.

It wasn’t hard to imagine the romantic side of Joe coming out.

A side she wanted to explore in depth. She felt breathless.

What was wrong with her tonight? It was like a horny toad had taken over her thoughts.

Naked bodies. Joe.

Sex. Joe.

Her face was flushed and hot. Could Joe tell what she was thinking? She glanced over. He was staring at her. He smirked, blushed a little and winked.

Winked! Oh, dear lord, he knew.

The timer rang—a respite from sexy thoughts.

“Dinner’s ready.” He pulled the lasagna from the oven. “Sit down. I made a salad.”

Claire took a seat, and Joe brought out plates of salad from the refrigerator. He placed one in front of her, sat and poured her more wine.

“Have you set up your studio yet?”

“Yes,” she said.

They ate their salads while she told him what she was working on.

He stared intently at her, listening to every word—what a difference.

Keith never asked about her day unless she got in later than she was supposed to, and then she would wonder how and when he would punish her.

He certainly never asked or cared about her paintings after he destroyed them all.

“Are you thinking of getting a job or selling your paintings?” Joe asked.

“Both.”

Claire told Joe about her interview with the owner of the art gallery downtown. He’d offered her a position several days a week and an opportunity to show her work when she was ready.

Joe gave her a big smile. “Congratulations. I know you’ll do great.” He took a bite of lasagna, swallowed. “And your foundation, how’s that going?”

She told him how the foundation had been well received, and she already had several grant applications from shelters. Joe reached over and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’m so proud of you, but you must be proud of what you’re accomplishing.”

Yes, she was proud. She felt better about herself, ready to take on the world and the big step toward a relationship. With Joe. If he let her.

He let go of her hands and stood up. “I have dessert.” He waggled his brows. “Almost homemade.”

God, he was so handsome. She watched him cut two slices of pie and put a scoop of ice cream on each slice. He placed one in front of her. “A woman at the farmer’s market was selling pies, and I bought this. I know you like apple.”

Could this get any better? She loved apple pie and a homemade one, at that. Yum. She loved that Joe took the extra step to make the dinner special. She took a bite of the pie and groaned. “This is delicious.”

She thought she heard Joe groan too—probably her imagination. They finished the pie and cleared the dishes in comfortable silence. Joe offered her coffee, and they took their cups into the living room. A slow song, one of her favorites, was playing in the background.

He took her hand. “Dance with me.”

Claire placed her right hand into his and put her left arm on his shoulder.

He placed his arm around her waist. Oh my.

They swayed to the music. He twirled her and then pulled her in tighter.

Chest to chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

Snuggled her head into his chest. She inhaled his clean, fresh smell.

They swayed some more, the wine making her feel mellow, the warmth of his arms providing safety.

Could they stay like this forever? She could only hope.

The song ended, and it was a minute before he released her.

She looked into his dark blue eyes, saw the want.

He leaned over and kissed her lips gently, then slipped his tongue between her lips.

Gently caressing her tongue, her mouth, he tasted of apple pie and ice cream.

She held him tighter and kissed him back.

Joe rubbed her back and softly kissed her shoulder. A moan escaped from her lips, and she wanted more. She started to pull up his T-shirt.

Joe pulled back. Left her standing there, cold and bereft. He looked at her with sadness and hunger in his eyes. “Oh, baby, stop.”

Stop? No . “Why?”

He closed his eyes and opened them, exhaled deeply. “Because you’re newly widowed. Because you need to find yourself. Because I’m not good for you. Because…”

Claire placed her fingers on his mouth. “None of that is true. I want you. Doesn’t that count?”

Joe groaned. “It does, but this isn’t the time. We’ll regret going so fast.” He stepped away from her. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

No, I don’t want to go. I want to make love with you. Stay with you forever. He was standing rigidly, clenching his hands at his side. Claire wanted to step in to hold and kiss him again, but now wasn’t the time.

“I drove here, remember?”

He glared at her. “Smart-ass. I’ll follow you home then.”

“Not necessary. I’m a big girl. I can get myself home.”

“You can, no doubt. But I’m still following you,” he said as he lifted her face to his, gave her a sweet kiss on her forehead. Kept his lips there a little too long before he pulled away. “Come on, now. Get your things.”

She gathered her jacket and purse and followed Joe out. He locked the door behind her.

“Claire.”

She turned around. “Yes.”

He looked so handsome standing there. But his chest was heaving, and he strained to talk. “Claire, this is not over. I want you, but the time has to be right.”

It will be, Joe. Soon.