Page 27
A laugh tried to push its way up Claire’s throat. She swallowed it. She remembered the desperate, furious woman she’d been in Santa Barbara, begging this same woman to choose her.
It was a long time ago.
Claire kept her tone even. “It’s a bit too late for that.”
“You once told me we were meant for each other.” Rebecca softened, tilting into memory. “That we could be this amazing power couple. Out, proud. The hottest couple in Hollywood.”
Claire shook her head. “I would have said anything to get you to leave your husband.” She took a deliberate step back, breaking the contact.
“Well, I have.” Rebecca didn’t move to close the distance again. Her hands dropped to her sides. “It might have taken me longer than it should have. But I’m divorced.”
“Hmm. I saw that.” Claire made herself turn back to the workbench, picking up the cloth to wipe her greasy fingers. She scrubbed harder than she needed to. “It’s funny the things that pop up on your social media feed.”
“I’m asking for a second chance.”
Claire looked at her then.
Rebecca’s expression was earnest, her makeup perfect, her hair sleek. She looked like a woman who was used to getting what she asked for.
A heavy exhaustion settled behind Claire’s eyes. “I’ve always been honest with you. And that’s not going to change now.” She paused. “When I left Hollywood, I left it because of you. And I don’t want to open that wound again. Okay? Please don’t think that because we’re working together now, that I owe you some kind of…”
Rebecca exhaled, a soft, defeated sound. “It’s not like that. I just thought… maybe with time. That you might have forgiven me.”
“It’s history.” Claire tossed the rag onto the bench. “But I don’t want to try again.”
For a long moment, Rebecca just watched her. Then she gave a small, graceful shrug. “Okay. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
She turned and walked back toward the doorway, her heels clicking a retreat. The floral scent lingered, a ghost in the hay-scented dark.
Claire exhaled into the quiet of the barn. She had no interest in going backward.
17
Delaney lay on the wool blanket she’d dragged from the mudroom, the grass cool and damp through the fabric. Stars wheeled overhead in a black sky. No city glow. No distant traffic. Just the slow turn of constellations and the low rush of Hollis Creek somewhere beyond the pasture fence. She should have been inside by now, warm under the quilt in the guest room or even better, in Claire’s bed. Instead her chest felt completely hollow.
A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye and tracked along her temple into her hair. She’d spent the entire afternoon playing the part of June while her mind replayed that moment in the barn on a loop. Rebecca’s hand on Claire’s cheek. The way Claire had tilted into it.
The thick wool bunched under her shoulder blades. She shifted and tried to ignore the tight ache under her ribs.
Footsteps approached. The beam of a flashlight swept across the grass, then settled on her.
“There you are.”
Delaney didn’t answer right away. She pushed up onto her elbows, the motion making her hip twinge where the bruise from yesterday’s ride still bloomed. Her fingers raked through her hair, pushing it back from her face. She turned her head just enough to swipe at the wetness with the heel of her hand. Too late. Claire had already seen.
Claire set the flashlight down. Moonlight painted the side of her face in silver and shadow as she lowered herself to the fabric.
“What’s wrong?” Claire asked.
Delaney exhaled through her nose. The words sat heavy on her tongue. She really hadn’t expected this from Claire, of all people. Claire, who moved through her days with such deliberate care. The kind of woman who wouldn’t get involved with more than one woman at once.
Or maybe Delaney had just wanted to believe that.
“Delaney?”
She met Claire’s eyes. Loose strands of blonde hair slipping from her low ponytail.
“I saw you and Rebecca in the barn.” The sentence came out flat. “Earlier.”
