Page 7 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

He sighed, folding his hands on the desk. “That could get ugly. You’ve already signed the contracts, and I’m certain my employer will hold you to that.”

“Thank you for your candor.”

“No problem.”

She looked down at her hands, surprised to see them shaking. She clenched the letter opener tighter.

“Look, this is all a little overwhelming,” she said. “First you show up out of nowhere, claiming you’re clean and sober. Now you’re not only going to be working here, but you’re telling me this bid is so far off the mark that I can’t even see the fucking mark.”

“Your frustration is understandable.”

Reese dropped the letter opener, something inside her bubbling over the top now. “Frustration? You make it sound like I’m sexually deprived, not in danger of losing this whole construction project. Frustration is putting it mildly.”

She saw his jaw clench, and he opened his mouth to say something. He hesitated, then closed it. The old Clay would have jumped all over the sexually deprived comment, but this one sighed.

“Are we talking about the numbers or about me being here?”

Reese picked up the letter opener again, not meeting his eyes.

“I don’t know. Look, I’m sorry. The bid thing isn’t your fault.

I know that. I’m just upset, okay? I should have pushed the family to move faster or—well, whatever.

It’s done now. The ball is rolling and you’re here now.

” She bit her lip. “ God , you’re really here? It’s all so—so?—”

Clay cleared his throat. “Look, if it helps, let me say this. Wine was never my poison. You know that. I was a beer man, and this isn’t a brewery.”

“It’s still alcohol, and you’re an alcoholic.” She flinched at her own words. “I’m proud of you for getting sober and everything, but well—aren’t alcoholics always alcoholics, even after rehab?”

“That’s true.”

Her throat felt tight with emotion, and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the bid anymore. “So to be surrounded by temptation like this?—”

“I can handle temptation,” Clay said, his voice so steely Reese sat back a little in her chair. “I’m well acquainted with temptation.”

Reese didn’t say anything. She couldn’t even blink as Clay’s eyes held hers, warm and a little dangerous. He reached across the desk as if to touch her, then stopped, drawing his hand back.

“I take it one day at a time, just like I’ve been doing for the last four years.”

Reese took a shaky breath, her mind not entirely occupied by thoughts of Clay swilling from barrels of Reserve Pinot. That wasn’t the temptation that worried her. She looked up to see those root-beer-brown eyes studying her with an intensity that made her stomach clench.

Her mind flashed again to those muscular shoulders, the sheen of sweat on bare skin, the feel of?—

The letter opener fell from her palms.

Clay reached over and picked it up, handing it back without a word. His fingers brushed hers as she reached out to take it. Before Reese could draw back, he wrapped his fingers around her fist and held tight.

“I can handle this if you can,” he said.

Reese took a deep breath and looked down at his hand engulfing hers. “I can handle it.”

That evening, Clay leaned back from the dinner table and grinned at Eric and Sheila. “You guys have to stop feeding me like this. You’ll never get rid of me.”

Sheila beamed and passed him a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies. “It’s so nice having you here for a little while.”

Clay helped himself to a cookie, taking note of the gentle warning: A little while . Translation: Don’t get too comfortable, buddy .

Hell, he deserved that. Clay had still been hanging around when Sheila and Eric started dating a few years after Eric split with Reese. They’d all seen him at his worst, so how could he blame them for thinking he might drag them all through it again?

He’d just have to work harder to prove that wouldn’t happen.

“Eric’s thrilled to have his oldest friend back in town,” Sheila continued as she took a cookie for herself and set it on a little white plate.

Eric squeezed his wife’s hand as he tipped his chair onto its back legs and took a bite of cookie. “You hear that?” he said to Clay through a mouthful. “She just called us old.”

“Actually, she just called me old,” Clay pointed out as he grabbed another cookie. “Which makes no sense, since I’m eight months younger than you and brimming with youthful vigor.”

Eric snorted. “You’re brimming with something, all right.”

Sheila stood and began to stack the empty plates, tucking her blonde hair behind one ear as she leaned across the table. Clay got to his feet, setting his cookie aside and reaching out to take them from her. “Let me get those. I’ll do the dishes while you guys relax.”

“Absolutely not,” Sheila said, giving his hand a light swat. “You’re a guest. You boys sit here and catch up. There’s some of that nonalcoholic beer in the fridge, or I could get you some more water or?—”

“I’m fine, really,” Clay insisted. “Just let me help with the dishes?—”

“Sit!” she commanded.

Clay sat. “Thank you for dinner, Sheila. It was delicious.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How’s work going?” He wanted so badly to be the perfect house guest.

“All right.” She picked up her glass and sipped the last of her ice water. “Belmont keeps cutting back hours for forensic nursing, but the workload’s intense, since there are only a handful of us in the state?—”

“It sucks.” Eric grunted. “But at least we get to see more of each other, with her not driving back and forth to Portland so much.”

“That’s true.” Sheila smiled and Clay felt his shoulders relax. “Anything that lets us spend time together is a blessing.”

Clay tried to think of what else to chat about. “Dinner sure was great.” Did he already say that? “I should get out of your hair so you guys can spend some of that quality time together.”

“Actually, it’s girls’ night.” Sheila stood up as Clay started stacking plates. “I’m heading out to watch The Bachelor with Reese and Larissa, but you boys stay here and get comfortable.”

Eric gathered their empty glasses as Sheila maneuvered around the table and headed for the kitchen. Clay glanced at Eric, noticing the way his friend watched his wife with undisguised fondness. He tried to remember if Eric had ever looked at Reese that way.

Stop thinking about Reese, he commanded himself. He grabbed another cookie and took a bite.

Eric dropped his chair back to all four legs with a thud. “I think we’re grounded.”

“Huh?”

“The cookies, the fake beer—my lovely wife is terrified we’re going to sneak out for a wild night on the town.”

“Ah, I see—she’s afraid I’ll be a bad influence?”

“Something like that.”

Clay wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he took another bite of cookie and chewed hard.

It wasn’t the first time someone from his past seemed skeptical about his sobriety, but this time stung a little more for some reason.

He sipped his water—recently topped off by Sheila—and ignored the frosty microbrew in the glass beside his friend’s plate.

“So things went okay at the vineyard today?” Eric asked.

“Not bad,” Clay said, picking at the corner of his cookie. “Reese was pretty upset about some changes in the material costs, but hopefully we’ll get it ironed out.”

“She seem worried about you being out there with your history and everything?”

“A little,” Clay admitted.

“She’ll get over it.”

“Hope so. We’ll be spending a lot of time together.”

“Yeah?”

Clay shrugged. “This LEED-certified building process is pretty intense. I’ll practically be living out there for some phases of construction. And since Reese does live there, I imagine we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“So you’ve swapped out alcoholism for workaholism now?”

“Is that even a word?”

“Sure it is,” Eric said. “So is douchebag, which is what I’m going to call you if you eat that last cookie.”

Clay broke the cookie in two and handed half to Eric. When they both sat munching in silence, Clay spoke again. “So is she seeing anyone?”

Eric’s eyes narrowed a little. “Reese?”

“Yeah,” Clay said, picking at his cookie and trying to look nonchalant.

“Not really. Sheila and I have been trying to get her to date again. Sheila wants to set her up with this guy she knows from work, but Reese keeps canceling.”

Clay broke off a piece of cookie, not sure why he couldn’t just drop the issue and talk about the Trail Blazers or Breaking Bad reruns or something. “I’m surprised she never remarried like you did. Her parents have always been so crazy about each other. Seems like with that sort of example?—”

“With that sort of example, Reese is a fucking basket case about marriage,” Eric said. “Her parents made it look too easy. Sorta like growing up with a dad who’s a tennis pro or a mom who’s a supermodel. All you can do is notice how far you fall short.”

Clay raised an eyebrow. “Does the doctorate in psychology just come with the enology degree, or did you pay extra for that?”

Eric gave him a look like he was an exceptionally dense child. “Jed and June have the world’s most perfect marriage. There’s no way Reese can match it, so she doesn’t bother trying.”

Clay nodded, not sure he followed the logic, but pretty sure Eric knew Reese better than he did. They both picked at the last of the cookie crumbs in silence.

“Why are you asking about Reese?” Eric said at last.

“No reason,” Clay said, determined to keep his tone light. “Just curious.”

“Because if you’re thinking of asking her out?—”

“Dude,” Clay said, looking up with an expression he hoped conveyed the right amount of horror. “Your ex-wife? Isn’t that like the number one rule in the guy code of ethics?”

Eric grinned. “It’s the one between not talking at the urinal and never sharing an umbrella with another guy.”

“No, I think it’s the one just before never watching men’s gymnastics on TV.”

“After the requirement that you be able to quote at least three lines from Rocky , though, right?”

“Yeah, but I think it’s before the one about making sure every guy hug is preceded by a bro handshake.”

“And never using the term YOLO.”

“Or setting your Facebook profile photo to a picture of your pets or kids.”

“And never making eye contact while eating a banana.”

“Exactly,” Clay said, relieved the familiar pattern of their banter had defused the awkwardness of the conversation.

But Eric wasn’t ready to drop it just yet. “It would be weird. You and Reese, I mean. It’s not just the man code. We’re friends. All three of us. You don’t shit where you eat, you know what I’m saying?”

“Your wife ever tell you you’ve got a real romantic way with words?”

“No.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Eric fell silent a moment. He cleared his throat. “You’re not still sore about college, are you?”

Clay looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I know you kind of had the hots for Reese first, but then she and I got together and then?—”

“No,” Clay said, shaking his head for emphasis. “No.”

“Because I don’t want things to be weird.”

“Don’t be an idiot. We never even dated.”

Clay felt his gut twist on that comment, but he forced himself to hold Eric’s gaze, not to look away or even blink.

Eric kept studying him with an interest that made Clay uncomfortable. “Still?—”

“Dude, it was a long time ago,” Clay said, brushing cookie crumbs off the front of his shirt. “Vodka under the bridge and all that.”

Eric nodded. “Whatever you say.”