Page 11 of Sexy Claus

The rest of the interior passed his visual inspection. The kitchen and bathroom might require some plumbing and electrical updates during the accessibility renovation, but Brenna had no problem fitting her chair through the few doorways and the short hall. He had to admit it had a lot of potential, even with reminders of the past seeping out of every wall.

Leaving his daughter and her therapist inside, he walked the perimeter to note any exterior issues on his phone. The dilapidated bench in the backyard tempted him to wade through summers of digging in the dirt and winters of building snow forts, but he shook off the impulse to recall memories that included their first kiss under the maple tree.

She wasn’t staying, and he needed to remember that.

He added a last note to climb on the roof during daylight hours and then stalked to the front of the house, determined not to fall into her trap again.

Brenna waited beside Christy at the bottom of the ramp. “What do you think, Dad?”

Keeping his attention on his phone, he grunted. “I have some questions and I’d like a structural engineer to look at it.”

“Okay.” His daughter turned toward the bane of his existence. “I bet you know some of the answers, Christy. Why don’t you come have supper with us?”

His insides nearly revolted at the thought of spending another second with her, let alone a whole meal.

Is a twenty-four-year-old too old for a grounding?

CHAPTER FIVE

Christy pushed awaythe remains of her partially eaten lunch, leaned her elbows on her desk, and cradled her head as she closed her eyes. She’d barely slept the last two nights, ever since trying to prove the past had no hold over her. Clearly, it did, despite married men being off-limits. That was only one of the reasons she’d lied to Brenna about having a prior commitment so she wouldn’t have to join them for supper and meet Sven’s wife.

One touch of his skin against hers with a simple handshake had lain to rest the ridiculous notion that she was over him. He obviously hadn’t had any issues moving on with his life, although a grudge seemed to be set firmly in place where she was concerned.

The sweet boy she’d grown up with no longer had an easy smile for her or readable expressions—unless stoic and unapproachable counted. Only when he spoke to his daughter did his face soften.

Unlike my father.

His lips had always thinned and his frown lines had deepened when she was present. She hadn’t understood why until she’d accidently found a woman’s picture and a Dear Johnletter relinquishing her parental rights to him for a baby girl with no name.

What a way to celebrate my eighteenth birthday.

He must’ve seen her mother every time he looked at her, but it didn’t justify saying her mom had died during childbirth. He'd lied to her, blaming her for a death that hadn’t occurred, even as he raised her with no hint of affection.

He punished me for what she did.

Nothing in his desk, dresser, or nightstand had contradicted his behavior toward her or hinted at any love on his part. Why had he even bothered to keep her? Had she been nothing more than a convenient catalyst for his bitterness?

That bitterness had carried over into her life, in spite of her efforts to remain positive and project happiness. She had survived being in her childhood home this week, but seeing Sven had brought the opposite of closure.

All the more reason to leave as soon as possible.

Though Brenna would likely be disappointed, Christy didn’t belong here.

Her cell buzzed on her desk, alerting her to their afternoon session in thirty minutes. She mentally crossed her fingers that he didn’t plan to stick around for the hour-long appointment. The tension might drive her mad, and his daughter didn’t need an overprotective audience while she learned new skills and practiced old ones.

No motherly audience, either, while we’re at it.

Christy tossed the rest of her lunch in the trash and carried her work laptop to the modified kitchen down the hall. Her normal routine included a review of her new patient’s medical history. This time would be no different, in case something in the files hadn’t come up in conversation.

Standing at the adjustable counter, she logged in and clicked through to Brenna’s records. The details of her injuriesamplified Christy’s admiration for the young woman who’d almost died. Her road to recovery over the last eleven months demonstrated her strength and a profound determination to not only live, but to excel in a world that presented challenges on a daily basis.

A brief vibration against her hip pulled Christy out of the pages and pages of documentation. Her phone showed a text message from her soon-to-arrive client.

“Goal #1: To not be a burden to my dad or my grandparents.

Goal #2: To live as independently as possible in my own house or apartment.

Goal #3: To learn all I can about how to advocate for myself and others with disabilities.”

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