Page 22 of The Wedding Fake
12
HUDSON
Bridgeport was a charming little town, big enough for its own tiny movie theatre while still small enough to host an assortment of Mom and Pop shops, and we spent the afternoon strolling down the sidewalk aimlessly. My fingers were intertwined with Claire’s, and I had a growing sense of normalcy, as if this were a real date. More alarmingly, it was a date I’d do again, and definitely with Claire. I’d known she was beautiful the moment I met her, even before she’d taken off her mask, but it was surprising to realize how very much I liked being around her. On the streets of Bridgeport, there was no reason to hold hands, no one to fool, and yet all I could think about was the way her palm pressed against mine, smooth and dry, and how much I wanted to kiss her again.
“Hud?” she asked as we approached the car. Since she’d first used the nickname in front of Grant, she’d tried it out a few times in private, and each time she said it, I liked it more. “Would you mind driving back?” She held out the keys and I took them from her open palm. “I promise to give you the wrong directions and send us past the house and away from my crazy family,” she joked, and I immediately had to quash the fantasy of driving her in the opposite direction completely, landing us in some fancy hotel where I could kiss her as slowly and thoroughly as I wanted and no one would come barging through the door to interrupt.
At the car, her grip loosened, preparing to split away from me and head to the passenger seat, but I held on to her hand. The gesture snapped her back toward me and I settled a hand on her hip, leaning her against the car. My hips were now precariously close to hers, and I canted back, making sure I kept a polite distance, even as the urge to press forward surged in my chest.
I tipped my face down to talk seriously, and she looked up. This close, the brightness of her green eyes was revealed as a pattern of white whirls amidst the green, not unlike the clearest ocean waters. “You don’t have to keep apologizing for your family,” I whispered, wanting to put her at ease but not knowing how to possibly tell this woman she was worth the effort—not without sounding like a bad pickup line, at least. I dipped a little lower, closing the distance between us, my eyes darting down to her pink lips, which parted under my scrutiny. “I’ve spent hours with you, Claire—a virtual stranger—and I would do it again in an instant.” My gaze followed the curve of her lips over her gently rounded cheek and to her eyes once more. “You’re dangerously likable, Claire.”
I wasn’t prepared for Claire to close the remaining centimeters and kiss me, but I didn’t hesitate when she did. My fingers tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, letting the distance I’d so carefully cultivated evaporate.
She instigated the kiss, but I deepened it, my tongue running over the seam of her lips and then into her mouth as those lips parted. I’d kissed countless women in my lifetime, but the way Claire’s body went soft in my arms while her mouth was hard and needy made me want her with a desperate urgency. Something about this girl charmed me in a way I’d never expected and couldn’t explain. “On second thought, maybe I want the wrong directions,” I growled, but Claire laughed.
“‘Fraid not.”
I tipped my face forward, letting our foreheads touch. The moment reminded me of the elevator, and I risked being corny to say what was on my mind once again. “Christ, you’re beautiful,” I said, just as I had that night.
I expected the line to garner me a smile, but instead Claire moaned quietly, her mouth finding mine fervently.
“Can I help you, Juliet?” I asked, crossing into the kitchen where Claire’s mother was beginning to prepare dinner. Claire had been going over wedding details with her sister for over an hour, and while I’d spent most of the time in our room secretly hoping she might show up and want to jump into bed for a midday quickie, after a while I had to admit that Claire did not seem like a quickie kind of person. She seemed like the kind of person who read articles about how to be more spontaneous in bed.
Finally growing bored, I’d wandered downstairs in hopes of finding a neutral space to relax—perhaps with Claire’s father watching golf—but instead I had found Juliet.
“I’m fine, thank you, Hudson. You can head out back. Charles is warming up the grill.” I’d met Claire’s father briefly when we arrived and he’d been watching golf stretched out on a recliner. Unlike Claire’s mother, who was frosty as hell, Charles Davis was friendly, open, quick to laugh, and it’d been easy to amuse him with baseball talk until Claire had excused us to head upstairs.
“Can I help you, Charles?” I offered as I made my way out the back of the house and down to a deck which was built into a natural incline in the backyard, giving it an interesting topography. I had half a mind to take a picture of the space to send to my dad, who was always eager for ideas he could use while flipping homes.
Charles was fairer than Claire, a sandy brown compared to her darker hazelnut color, but they shared the same bright green eyes and wide smile. That smile was aimed at me as I walked down the steps of the deck, and he held out a beer when I was close enough. “I spent thirty years convincing Juliet I needed a long time to get the grill ready, but really I just needed a little time to myself.” He chuckled. “She probably knows I’m full of it, but now that the girls aren’t running around screaming and fighting, she indulges me.”
I imagined that was true. Juliet seemed far too shrewd to be unaware of his ruse. “Did your daughters fight a lot when they were young?” I asked, trying to picture a young Claire bickering with her sisters. I’d seen some pictures of her, much younger, hanging in the walls inside, but my mind failed to adequately bring them to life. Thin as she was, she’d gone through an awkward period in her youth when she was all teeth and angles, and I imagined she was quiet and bookish, probably unaware that by the time she was in college she’d become beautiful in a way that drew people’s attention.
Charles continued, drawing my attention back to him. “Emily was always mad that one of the younger three was in her stuff, but Nora and Tessa were probably the worst of the four when it came to fighting. We were lucky Claire didn’t get into many fights. When one of her sisters made her mad, she just stormed off and locked herself up in her room.”
I smiled wryly. Though I’d never say so to Claire, I imagined her tendency to stay quiet and keep the peace was part of what made her an easier target for her mother’s matchmaking.
“You have siblings?” Charles asked.
It was a question I’d never stop hating. People asked it so flippantly, unaware that the simple words sliced through me every time. “I do,” I said vaguely, not looking to elaborate. Charles didn’t immediately respond, though, so I added, “I’m very close with my sister, but she was always into my things when she was young. We fought a lot.”
“This grill was my quiet place,” Charles explained. “I would sit out here on the deck for hours.”
My brow twitched up, but I hurried to smooth my features. It wasn’t my place to tell Claire’s dad he didn't sound present in his daughters’ lives. “This deck,” I said instead, eager to change the subject, “is amazing.”
“I built it myself,” Charles said, beaming.
“Not completely by yourself.”
I turned to look at the owner of this voice, already knowing who I would find.
“That’s true. Your dad helped quite a bit,” Charles admitted as he stood to shake Grant’s hand.
“Good to see you again,” Grant said, this time to me as he held out his hand once more. Far as I was concerned, seeing Grant was the low point of the day, but since Grant was the reason I was here with Claire in the first place, I supposed I shouldn't complain. I stood enough to shake, giving Grant a polite nod hello, then sat again.
Grant perched on the arm of the Adirondack next to Claire’s father. “My dad built this with Charles. I remember being a kid and running around trying to help.” His chin tilted down at me, perched higher as he was, and his eyes narrowed as he asked, “You like to build things, Hudson?”
I’d sized Grant up the first time I met him. The man was roughly two inches taller than me, but wasn’t nearly as filled out. There was no doubt that, if push ever came to shove, I could take him. Not that I anticipated a fist fight with Grant Dupree, and I was certain Claire would be horrified by the very idea, but it was best to be certain.