Page 136 of Between the Lines

“I’m sure we can make something work.”

“I didn’t even go to my prom,” she says. “I had to watch the little ones that night. Michael had a soccer game, and both of my parents went.”

“I’m sorry, Claire.” I can feel my face turn to stone. She shrugs where she shouldn’t have to, but that’s Claire. Resilient. Optimistic. Always putting one foot in front of the other no matter the circumstances. I wish I could be more like her.

“We had a fun night. I put on a pretend prom for the littles, they were in bed by eight, and I was cuddled up with a book by eight-fifteen.”

“I can’t promise you a prom-esq atmosphere, but if you do chaperone, Icanpromise you a check and free refreshments.”

She laughs, then cuts me off.

“Okay. New rule: no more talking about work for the rest of the night,” she smiles, waving her hand as if to clear the air of our professional lives. “It’s kind of like when I hang out with Juliet and Sam, and they insist that they’re going to have a kid-free night, but only talk about Mason and Hope. We can’t talk about our baby—ourworkbaby.”

I nod, swallow, then bring up the subject we haven’t talked about since that night.

“On that topic, you mentioned that you don’t want kids?”

“Oh.Hardpivot,” she laughs. “No. I decided that a long time ago. I spent my formative years being a pseudo-mom. I am completely content being the big sister and the fun aunt for the rest of my life. And you…”

“Much of the same. I was Cal’s guardian from the moment my parents…” I shake my head, and she squeezes my hand. “I’m in your same boat. I was a parent without choice, too. I still sometimes feel like I am. And besides, being an assistant principal is essentially like parenting hundreds of children every day. So, no. I don’t want kids of my own.”

The tension in her relaxes, and her brows lift upward.

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Me too,” I smile, left wondering what else we’re on the same page about. Because as I’m about to ask her one of the dozens of follow-up questions, a redheaded man about Claire’s age approaches our table.

“Oh my God, Claire Benson?”

She turns, her dreamy smile from our conversation shifting into one of elation.

“Connor! Hey! What are you?—”

The man in question bends to hug Claire. Despite the way it clearly catches her off-guard, despite the clear hesitation before she actually returns the gesture, a surge of protection, of covetousness surges through me. She shifts her wary eyes toward me, then back to Connor, who I feel like I recognize.

“Sorry. Nathan, this is Connor. We were friends in high school. Connor this is my… Nathan.”

Part of me surges at the wayMyandNathansound together coming off her tongue. The other part of me plummets at the fact that she can’t use a word to label me, because we haven’t had a conversation about it pastsneaking around is getting harder to do.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Connor extends his hand and I shake it, and then he turns back to Claire. “I hear you’re living with my sister now, huh?”

Dread floods over me. He looks familiar because his sister, Penelope, is Claire’s roommate.

Penelope,my employee.

What’s going to happen if this gets back to her?

Claire’s eyes scream apologies that she shouldn’t have to feel obligated to.

“Yep. Just for the time being, while I get back on my feet. Is she uh… Is Penelope here?”

Connor sputters, his expression incredulous.

“No. I’m here with some buddies from work for a night cap. I don’t think I’ve heard from Penelope since Thanksgiving.”

I catch the bit of skepticism in Claire, and pocket that as a question for later.

“Listen, it was great running into you, Claire. You look good. We should catch up sometime.”

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