"I could help you,” I blurted out. “I've been known to be handy on occasion. I could help you shop, and then install it for you.” The words continued to free-fall out of my mouth, without any sign of stopping.
"Oh my God, are you sure?” Clare gasped in relief. I liked creating that feeling in her.
”I don't want to take up your day off. But I would be lying if I said I didn't need the help," she confessed as she nervously bit her bottom lip. Fuck, she was gorgeous. Her hair was pulled to the side today, in a loose ponytail. She dressed casual, in tight fitting jeans and a black sweater that hugged her body. If she had any makeup on, it was subtle because all I could see were the freckles scattered across her nose and cheekbones.
"No, I don't mind at all. I’m happy to help,” I assured, before turning to Maddie.
“Every ballerina needs a ballet barre. A safe one that doesn't cause any accidents." Tilting my chin down, I gave Maddie a meaningful look, followed by a wink.
My effort was rewarded when Maddie broke into a fit of giggles again, and I couldn’t help but smile. She's adorable, and her enthusiasm is infectious.
Clare has done a wonderful job raising Maddie on her own. I snuck another glance toward Clare, seeing her eyes light up as she watched her young daughter. She absently ran her hand through Maddie’s hair, something I saw her do in the hospital, and my eyes focused on her ring finger. I know from hospital records that the wedding ring on Clare’s hand is in memoriam only. She listed Maddie's father as deceased. Call me a jerk, but after seeing her in that exam room, I checked. I don't know the specifics, but considering her age, her loss couldn't have been easy.
Helping her with this small thing was the least I could do. I knew it wasn’t the real reason I was doing it, but it was the excuse I was giving myself at that moment.
"All right," Clare said, "Lead the way, foreman!"
Chapter Five
~Logan~
"I'm going to run upstairs and change quickly so I don’t ruin my sweater. Just make yourself at home and I'll be right back,” Clare said before walking upstairs to what I assumed was her bedroom. I was left standing alone in her family room. Maddie had already skipped off to her bedroom, intent on changing, too. Something about how Mommy didn’t let her wear tutu's to the store.
Clare and Maddie lived not too far from me, in one of the smaller towns outside of Richmond. In a town like this, it was hard to believe there was a state capitol nearby. It was quaint, quiet, and full of large, aged trees and picket fences. With the warm feeling of a small town, it was still close enough to enjoy all the qualities of the city. Clare’s neighborhood was full of large houses, ice cream trucks and kids on bicycles. I could see why she and her husband would have picked this neighborhood. It was an ideal place to raise a family.
I wondered around the room, checking out the large red couch, trying to imagine Clare and Maddie snuggled together, watching a movie. The walls were covered in photographs from all over the world, a castle in Ireland, the Great Wall of China, and a palace in Russia. Maybe Clare wanted to travel the world someday? A sudden fierce desire to be the man to take her consumed me and I quickly tried to dispel it.
I was not the man for her. Broken people like me didn’t deserve perfection.
There was a large fireplace in the room, displaying at least a dozen photographs. With my curiosity getting the better of me, I walked over for a better look.
The first photograph was Clare with her arms wrapped around a man, who, I guessed, was her husband. At the beach, waist deep in water, they were wrapped around each other and laughing. He looked in his element, blonde hair and a deep tan. He could have passed for a surfer. Clare, with red hair and freckled skin was practically glowing next to him. Their love was obvious.
Trying to keep myself from feeling jealousy toward a dead man, I moved on.
The next picture was Maddie. Even as an infant, I recognized her. She was being held by an older woman who resembled Clare. She had the same green eyes and dark hair, now streaked with gray. There was also a photo of Clare with another younger man, dressed in a cap and gown. The two intertwined in an embrace like brother and sister. The last photo I saw was Clare on her wedding day. She was breathtaking. Standing alone in a garden, she wore a strapless gown covered in tiny crystal beads, with her hair falling loosely behind her, pulled back by a simple veil. Holding a small bouquet of flowers by her side, she turned slightly away from the camera, but you could still see her expression. It was full of absolute, consuming joy.
So much history and love was on this mantle. Clare’s family was obviously tight. If someone were to look at my family's mantle, they would find one overpriced posed portrait of my father and step-mother, with nothing else, except some pricey antiques. There were no loving photos of my parents and their children, no proud moments on display for everyone to see. Hell, I’m pretty sure I don’t even exist to the man I called father anymore. You only got one shot with him, and I’d blown mine the day my divorce hit the papers.
~Clare~
I stared at myself in the full length antique mirror, tucked away in the corner of my bedroom. It had been a while since I had actually done this. I still looked in the mirror when I was putting on makeup or trying on clothes, but I don’t think I really looked at myself in years. After Ethan became sick, I was constantly on the go, taking care of him, Maddie, and everything else. After he died, I just avoided looking at myself, afraid of what I might see. I was so afraid to look in the mirror and see what grief had left me, so I just kept moving. Yes, I went through all the stages you were supposed to go through. At least I think I did. It was only recently that I felt like I had finally come to a place where I could actually say I’m a widow without choking on the words. After three years, I was confident in my skills as a mother, and now knew I could conquer being a single parent no matter what life may throw at me.
But I still hadn’t mustered the courage to look at myself in the mirror. The only reason I was doing so now was the man currently standing in my family room. When he looked at me, what did he see? I don’t think I had thought about it up until this moment, but when a man looked at me now, what did he see?
Did he see a tired, single mother? A widow? Or just a woman?
I leaned into the mirror, turning my cheek to the light. I can't quite explain what I was looking for, and it wasn’t any attempt at vanity. I wasn’t on the hunt for wrinkles or laugh lines. I think I was trying to see if, after Ethan’s death and all the grief that came with it, there was any of the old me left.