Page 8 of Easton

No, that’d be too weird.

I keep scrolling.

Hmm, it appears she lives in an area not far from Cave Creek.

That house I’m going to check out is looking better and better.

I can’t find anything to indicate if Claire is married or not. Sure, she still uses her maiden name, but that doesn’t mean anything.

The only way to know for sure is to ask her…in person…face-to-face.

Okay, I’m clearly just searching for a reason to go see her.

Maybe so, but who cares?

I’m not attached.

And hopefully she isn’t either.

I type her address into Google Maps, zoom in on the location, and screenshot the results.

There, done.

Tapping my phone to my bare chest, I smile.

Now I feel like I can finally go to sleep.

Tossing my cell over to the coffee table, I roll onto my side and close my eyes, thinking about how, before September 1, I’m going to pay Claire Weller a visit and let her know I’m a man still willing to fulfill a long-ago promise.

It’s four days before my birthday, and I think I’ve finally built up the nerve to at least drive by Easton’s new house.

Oh, he got it, by the way. In fact, he loved it so much that he skipped the whole “rent-to-own” option and just purchased the damn thing.

Must be nice to have those kinds of funds at the ready.

Anyway, Madison was all too eager to fill me in on the details of her showing with the “superhot” hockey player.

After she gushed about how gorgeous he is—which, to be honest, made me a little bit jealous—she informed me that he loved the place up in Cave Creek and signed the purchase agreement right there on the spot out by the infinity pool.

Since the house is already furnished, he moved in the next day.

That was yesterday.

After backing my car out of my garage, I stop in the driveway and glance up into the rearview mirror.

If I’m really going to do this, it’s time for a pep talk.

“You got this,” I tell my reflection, my hazel eyes peering back at me with doubt as to whether or not this is really a good idea. “Hey,” I go on, forcing a smile. “It was in the news that he was picked up by the Bears, so if you just happen to drive by his house, it’s not like you’re really stalking him.”

Though it is kind of a little stalkerish, my inner voice chimesin.

“Oh, stop. It’s not like you’re casing the place.”

My eyes staring back at me tell me otherwise, so I stick out my tongue, then murmur, “Shut up.”

It is so time to go.

Maybe the pep talk wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

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