Page 30 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

“Thanks. I finished it a few months ago.” She shrugs.

“Bless my grandparents for paying off the mortgage when they moved in all those years ago. It’s freed up some of my money for the remodels.

I want to tackle the rest of the house when my ankle’s better.

There’s only one bathroom right now.” She relaxes deeper into her chair across from me.

“So I drew up some plans to build an addition. An owners’ suite in the back with an attached bathroom and walk-in closet.

Oh, and if I’m feeling extra wild, I’ll add on a sunroom next to the porch. ”

“Those changes would make it an incredible family home.”

As is often the case, my thoughts shift to my kids and having them here in Longdale with me. And…now my brain morphs very predictably into imagining living here with Claire.

My consciousness does a double take.

Living here with Claire.

Would that be so bad?

I picture her in this home, in my arms. Building a life with her. Images of us together flash through my mind. Cooking, laughing, dancing in the kitchen.

That “dancing in the kitchen” part is so cliché.

But I want it.

Maybe we could even get a dog together. And take the dog on hikes all around the county.

I laugh. Claire and I certainly need a do-over where hiking is concerned.

“What?” Claire asks, her eyes narrowing.

“What?”

“You were smiling.” And now she’s got one gracing her face .

I take a sip of soda. It just tastes better in a glass bottle. “I’m thinking about how it’s a nice place to raise a family.”

“You mean Longdale or this house?”

I shrug. “Both.”

Her brows shoot into the air. “Yeah, if I’m lucky enough to have a family someday.” Something wistful crosses her face before she clears her throat and takes another drink. “Anyway, enough gushing about my amazing reno job. How are you?”

Her expression reads like curiosity, like she’s ready for me to spill exactly why I’m here.

But this first: “Whoever you end up with will be the lucky one,” I add.

We stare at each other, our gazes locked, and I swear, a shiver goes down and then back up my spine.

She clears her throat and licks her lips. “Thank you.” Her expression is sincere. “I… but yeah. How are you?” she asks again.

I lean back in the polished oak chair and tell my brain to stop thinking so outside the box right now—of how she was just in the shower. “I’m doing well. Happy to report that with the doggy door, Cinnamon is doing much better. And the kids got back from Connecticut in good spirits.”

“I bet it’s nice to have them back.”

“It is.” I shift in my chair. “Hey, can I ask you a question?

She hesitates before a “Yeah?”

I slide my thumbs up and down the cold glass of my bottle. “What are you doing the rest of this week?”

“Oh, just mourning the fact that I can’t go on the hike that’s planned. She plunks her drink down on the table. “The club’s doing Crag Rock! I’ve wanted to go so badly, but I admit it’s not possible this time. ”

Why do I find the prospect of going on the hike without her boring?

“I might not go, either. How’s your ankle?”

“It’s improving.”

“In that case, would you feel up to joining me at Peter Schiller’s birthday party?”

“The former best friend of your father who’s secretly striking out on his own?”

Ugh. Yeah. “I need to represent Foundations there. And I want you to come with me.”

“And you want me to come because…?” One brow is arched, like she’s daring me to flirt. She picks up the drink again and presses the opening in the bottle to her lips.

Or maybe I’m daring myself to flirt. “Well, I had fun with you the other night.”

Her head cocks to one side. “Me, too.”

“And, if I have to go to a birthday party for a guy who is getting ready to leave my father and take clients with him, I’d love the company.”

“You may need backup.” She nods wisely.

“I always need backup.” I take a deep breath. “Things with Peter are a bit delicate. It would be good to go and observe. See what we can see. Hear what we can hear.”

“Sounds kind of fun.”

“Yeah, it does.” But only if you’re there . A sentiment I don’t add verbally.

The last social function we went to, her ankle ended up resting in my lap like it was home as I soothed her soft skin—her smooth flesh. “Have your grandparents recovered from the big shindig?”

Her brief smile tells me she knows I’m avoiding that other word for it .

“They’re in Majorca.”

“Majorca?”

“Yeah. Something about a second honeymoon. Their sixtieth is the milestone that will never die, I swear.” She smiles. “They’re in love with each other, but they argue a lot, too. Imagine my grandma’s sour face when grandpa tries to talk her into a souvenir of a beer boot from the island.”

“A beer boot? That’s not her style.”

“It’s the exact opposite of her style.”

“So, what did she say about the ruckus we caused the other night?”

“She said what happened was awful. As in ‘awfully embarrassing.’ She kept

reiterating how mortified and embarrassed she would have been if it’d been her. It’s like, ‘I get it, Grandma. I’m sufficiently ashamed.’”

I wince. “None of that was your fault.”

“I told them as much. I said it hurt that they were more concerned about

the swans and their guests than about me.”

I nod in approval. “Way to go.”

“It was pathetically hard but refreshing.” She rests her chin in her hands, her elbows on the table. “They didn’t like that remark. And when I pushed back even more, they asked what had gotten into me. ‘This isn’t like our Claire,’” she intones, even pushing imaginary glasses up her nose.

“Just because they’re not used to you standing up for yourself doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do.”

Her eyes widen as if to underscore how much she agrees with me. “Then they changed the subject, which was a relief.” She shoots out a breath and then meets my gaze. “So what’s this party all about? I mean, I don’t have to wear heels, do I? ”

I chuckle. “It’s casual dress. And I’m glad you’re finally realizing the error of those heels.”

She places a soft hand on my arm. “I’ll never apologize for wearing those shoes. They were better than a slice of chocolate cake.”

I can’t help the laugh. “But we fell in front of a couple hundred people, in part because of those shoes.”

She buries her face in her hands. “I still can’t believe you carried me out of there.” Her voice is muffled.

“I didn’t hate it.”

She looks up, her eyes dancing. “The wheezing could have fooled me.”

“I didn’t wheeze.” I laugh. This woman keeps me on my toes. “Look, this Thursday? I’ll swing by to pick you up at six. Come hungry because there’s a barbeque and everything. I promise it’s more low-key than your grandparents’ soiree was, okay?”

“Soiree?” Her head tilt brings a smile to my face. “Your vocabulary is astounding.”

“Can you come or not?”

“I’m obligated to educate you first.” Her tone is serious.

“On what?”

“You weren’t around a few years ago when my grandparents and the Tates went head-to-head on the land the resort sits on.”

“No, but I’ve heard something about it.”

“My grandparents own an energy company. They wanted to move into wind-powered energy and build wind turbines on that property.”

I can’t help the grimace.

“Exactly. It would have been sad to lose so many trees. I was never for my grandparents’ plan, mind you.

I supported my grandparents’ wanting to use sustainable energy and all that, but I told them they should choose another location.

But their hearts were set on it, and they tried to drum up opposition to the Tates and the resort amongst the community. ”

“Did it work? Were people upset with the family?” A sense of injustice sinks inside my gut.

“Not on a large scale, but yes. They had a polarizing effect. They were publicly against the resort from the beginning.”

“And how do they feel about things now that Sophie and Oliver are married?”

“That one Tate in the family is far too many.” There’s meaning there, behind her eyes, but she flicks it away and stares at the floor.

“So you’re bringing them up to let me know that my asking you to go to a party with me would send them over the edge?”

She lifts a shoulder. “Probably. Not that I need to live my life for them.” There’s something behind her expression…maybe she doesn’t quite believe her own words.

I trace the wood grain of the table with my finger. “Sometimes I care too much about what others think, so I get it.”

“But they gave up their whole lives to take care of Sophie and me. Grandpa was making plans to run for mayor of Boulder when my mom died.” She swallows hard. “He had to give up his dream of running for public office for us.”

“We all have priorities, though. I’m sure they don’t regret doing what they needed to do. You’re their granddaughters.”

“But if I positioned myself to run for mayor, then that might kind of make up for it in a way. My grandparents say I’m smart and good with people and…” she narrows her eyes. “…It’s not a problem to want them to be proud of me and want to make a difference in the community.”

“Are you interested in becoming mayor?”

“Not in the slightest.” She raises her chin in the air. “I want to help Longdale in other ways. I’ll tell them that eventually.”

“You’ve got this, Claire.”

She presses her lips together, then: “I’m trying to figure out how. I wanted it to come together with a tidy, little bow, full circle like my grandfather’s dream of becoming mayor transitioning to my own reality. It would make a great story.”

“Sure, but their happiness is theirs alone. You can’t really do anything about it. You need to do what makes you happy.”

“I get that, and I want to. But my grandparents aren’t getting any younger. There’s a lot to accomplish and I’m running out of time. Besides, my grandma seems worse lately.”

“Worse?”

“She’s more irritable. Particular. Maybe it’s just a part of getting older, but it’s

hard.”

“I like that you care about treating them well, but again, you have to make you own decisions on what makes you happy.”

“It’s a complex thing.” She frowns. “I’ve been waiting for something to feel right, and the city manager job feels right. If I can get all these projects going, that will be good.” She pinches the middle of her brow. “I’m trying so hard.”

“Agreed. And you should be proud of yourself. But maybe you don’t have to. ”

“Maybe I don’t have to what?”

“Try so hard.”

She swallows. “I’m an overachiever. I simply can’t not try hard.”

“I get that. But you don’t have to prove anything to them. So he didn’t get to run for mayor a long time ago. So what?”

She narrows her eyes. “You literally moved to Denver for your father. So you can’t talk about trying to live up to expectations like it’s a bad thing, or that—” She gestures with her hands. “—making sacrifices for the greater good of the family is wrong.”

My mouth clamps shut. After a deep breath in and out, I open my mouth. “That’s fair. I’m sorry.”

She clears her throat and shakes her head. “It’s okay. It’s given me stuff to think about.”

“You still want to come on Thursday?”

Her head dips. “Maybe,” she teases. “And guess what? I like that you moved to Denver for your father.” A light touch of heat rims her expression.

I don’t know why, but I reach out to give her a high five. She leans to the side as she makes a flourish with her hand to reach mine. The big slap between us makes us both smile.

And now, neither of us are letting go, like we just discovered the coolest thing, and it’s called holding hands.