Page 21 of All She Wants

“I’ll text when I leave.”

Claire smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”

Ingrid came back down the hallway, rubbing her hands together. “Everything in the stockroom survived.” Her gaze moved between them, and a pleased smile touched her face. “I take it you two have plans.”

“Dinner,” Erin said.

“At four,” Claire added, unable to keep the smile out of her voice.

“Then we’d better find Claire’s car under all that snow.” Ingrid reached for her coat. “The plow cleared the road, but it left quite a ridge along the parking area.”

Erin glanced toward the front window. The drift against the building had reached the door handles during the storm, and Claire’s car looked only slightly less buried. “I’ll get the shovels.”

Claire set her handbag and package on the counter and pulled on her coat. Erin handed her the snow brush while Ingrid fetched another shovel from the stockroom. A moment later, all three stepped outside to uncover the vehicles.

Outside, sunlight flashed across the snow so brightly that Claire had to squint. Ingrid broke apart the ridge beside the driver’s door while Erin cleared a path to it. Claire brushed snow from the windows, roof, and lights, sending heavy sheets of it sliding over her sleeves and onto her boots. By the time Claire could see through the windshield, her cheeks stung from the cold, and snow had worked its way inside one of her gloves.

They cleared enough space for Claire to open the door and pull safely onto the plowed road. Ingrid took the shovels back inside, giving them a moment beside the car.

“Drive carefully,” Erin said. “Text me when you reach the house.”

“I will.”

Their eyes held for another moment before Claire climbed in. Four o’clock already felt impossibly far away.

CLAIRE STOOD IN FRONT of the bathroom mirror at half-past three, her hair loose and still slightly damp against her shoulders. She had chosen a deep burgundy silk bra and matching panties, then pulled on dark fitted jeans and a charcoal cashmere V-neck that sat just low enough to make the choice to show cleavage feel deliberate.

The kitchen smelled faintly of rosemary from the sprigs Claire had set beside the cutting board. Potatoes, green beans, and garlic waited on the marble island. The beef tenderloin was still in the refrigerator. She had opened a bottle of red but left everything else for them to prepare together. She glanced at the clock again. Four o’clock was taking its time.

Without conversation and footsteps filling the rooms, every small sound traveled beneath the vaulted ceilings and up toward the empty bedrooms. She adjusted a place setting, moved a candle two inches to the left, then moved it back.

Three thirty-seven.

Her phone buzzed. Leaving now.

Claire read the text twice, set down her phone, then picked it up again and typed Drive safe before she could overthink the period versus the exclamation mark.

At three fifty-eight, tires crunched over packed snow in the driveway.

Claire dried her hands on a kitchen towel, folded it once, and walked to the front door. She opened it before Erin could knock.

Erin stood on the porch in a white buttoned shirt, a charcoal wool jacket, and dark jeans. Her curls were loose and slightly wind-tossed. A paper bag rested beneath one arm, and the cold had brightened her cheeks. As Claire opened the door wider, she caught a faint trace of Tom Ford Santal Blush perfume.

“Hi,” Erin said.

Claire pulled her inside by the front of her coat and kissed her.

Erin’s hands found Claire’s waist and pulled her closer. The kiss was unhurried and certain in a way the ones at the boutique had not been.

Claire kissed her until the cold air from the open doorway finally registered against her back. She broke away just enough to push the door shut, and Erin laughed against her mouth.

“What a wonderful greeting.”

“I’ve been thinking about doing that since I left the boutique.”

“Only since then?” Erin’s thumb traced Claire’s jaw. “I’ve been thinking about it since you fell asleep in my arms.”

Claire’s stomach dipped. The oven timer had not even been set, and Claire was already considering whether beef tenderloin could survive an extra hour in the refrigerator.