Chapter Nine

The road curved gently through the trees, and Tom let the quiet settle between them. He wasn’t great at small talk, and Claire didn’t seem to mind. Her window was halfway down, one elbow resting on the ledge, hair tugged softly by the breeze.

They passed the lake. Then a few houses spaced out enough to let you breathe. One of them made Tom’s hands tighten slightly on the wheel.

Claire noticed. “That’s where you dropped off the clock, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Mrs. Danvers.”

“She used to have an antique shop. Real sweet. Quiet.”

“Yeah. She and my dad…” He trailed off, watching the road. “I think they were something once. Not officially. Just—whatever people are when they care but don’t say it out loud.”

Claire looked at him. “That’s a kind of love too. The unsaid kind.”

Tom let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just fear dressed up like something noble.”

She didn’t answer right away.

“I didn’t know he had that in him,” he added. “To care like that. Thought he ran out of that kind of feeling when my mom died.”

Claire was quiet, then said gently, “Maybe he just didn’t know how to show it the way you needed.”

Tom nodded slowly. “Seems to be a family tradition.”

A few more miles passed under their tires.

Then Claire said, “You ever think about having kids?”

The question caught him off guard. “Not really. Didn’t seem like something I’d be good at.”

“Why?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I used to think it was because I didn’t want to mess anyone up. Lately I’ve been wondering if it’s because I thought I already was.”

Claire glanced at him.

“I’m thirty-nine,” he said. “And I’m still figuring out how to be a person.”

Claire smiled. “I think that just makes you human.”

He glanced her way. “You figured out who you are?”

“Not even close. But I do know I’m a better version of myself when I’m with Caleb. Doesn’t mean I don’t mess it up sometimes.”

“You seem like a good mom.”

She looked out the window for a second, then back at him. “Thanks. That means more than you probably realize.”

A quiet fell again, but it felt warmer now.

Tom tapped the steering wheel with his thumb. “When I was a kid, I used to hide in the crawlspace under the shop. It was the one place I felt like I could breathe.”

Claire turned. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “I’d sneak a flashlight and a bag of pretzels and just sit there for hours. Listening to the ticking through the floorboards.”

Her face softened. “When I was little, I used to sit in our linen closet with a book and pretend I lived in a tree trunk. Something about being surrounded by walls… made things quieter.”

They both laughed gently—two kids who’d grown up hiding in small places.

Tom’s smile lingered longer this time. “Weird how that still feels safer,” he said, eyes on the road.

“You know,” Claire said, “we probably would’ve been friends. You and me. Back then.”

Tom didn’t answer right away.

The truck slowed as they neared the school parking lot.

Claire turned toward him a little, voice quieter. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Feeling more seen by someone you barely know than by the people you’ve known forever.”

Tom looked at her. “Yeah. It is.”

They didn’t move for a moment. The engine idled, a soft hum in the air. Claire's hair had come loose a little in the wind, a strand brushing her cheek. Without thinking, Tom reached over and tucked it gently behind her ear.

She didn’t pull away.

Their eyes met—held longer than they should have. Something about the quiet between them had changed shape.

Tom started to lean in—just a little. Claire didn’t move.

Then a car door slammed somewhere across the lot.

They both blinked, turned forward. Tom coughed once and reached for the gearshift.

Claire smirked, folding her hands in her lap. “Guess we’re really doing this.”

“Breaking into an old building with a mystery key?” Tom said, deadpan. “Yeah. Totally normal Saturday.”

She opened the door. “Just so we’re clear—if we get caught, I was coerced.”

Tom looked at her. “You bribed me with pie.”

Claire grinned. “I regret nothing.”