Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(24)

I park and get out, walking to the front door. Jenna leans against the wall. Her wary eyes watch me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask tersely, coming to a stop in front of her. She made things perfectly clear on Sunday morning. She wants nothing to do with Claire.

“I think we should talk.” Her face softens and she reaches for me, running a hand down my cheek. “You look tired.”

I turn my head and her hands drops. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere else right now? Portland, Dallas, Seattle?”

“Denver, actually.” She exhales slowly. “I canceled my meeting. This is important. We are important.”

“I thought you got everything off your chest yesterday.”

Jenna glances out into the dark street. “Can we discuss this inside?”

Nobody is there, not that I know of anyway, but she’s right. We don’t need a public scene.

She follows me in, saying “I didn’t want to use my key. Not after…yesterday. It didn’t feel right.”

I go straight for the kitchen and pull open the fridge. After pushing aside some stuff, I locate leftovers and begin to eat them cold.

“Do you want me to warm those up for you?” Jenna’s watching me from the entrance.

“No thanks.” I take another bite. Cold lasagna isn’t good, but I’m too starved to care.

“Isaac, please. Look at me.” She comes closer, stopping a few feet from me.

“Why are you here?” I set the plate on the counter and give her what she has asked for.

“To tell you that I want to try. I changed my mind.” She folds her hands in front of herself. “I was in shock yesterday and I reacted badly. I’m sorry about what I said. Really.”

She steps lightly until she’s next to me. Her hand goes to my shoulder. “Isaac?”

“I heard you,” I say.

“Then what do you think?”

Looking down at Jenna, I can’t help but think about the mistakes people make. Everyone’s allowed to have a bad reaction, right? I wasn’t expecting it to be pretty, anyway.

Well, here goes nothing. Trial by fire.

“I’m having dinner with Claire and Aubrey tomorrow night. Do you want to come?”





I’m really happy Britt stopped by my desk this afternoon. I needed this drink. I didn’t realize how wound up I was until I set my purse down and ordered my first fruity cocktail. With every sip of my pineapple mojito, it feels like my shoulders drop an inch from my ears. And it helps I don’t have to worry about Claire. My dad picked her up from school and is probably letting her eat and watch whatever she wants.

“How was your date?” I ask Britt, smashing mint leaves into the bottom of my glass with my straw.

She finishes eating the cherry from her Dirty Shirley and looks at me, perplexed. “Which one?”

Britt dates for the both of us. That’s our running joke anyway. She’s weeding through the candidates so I don’t have to. It’s very pseudo-altruistic of her.

I laugh at her confusion. “The one you went on last week.”

“Oh.” Her face sours. “Awful. Terrible. He wore socks.”

“And that’s bad because…?”

“He was also wearing sandals.”

My nose scrunches.

“Yep.” Britt says, her voice grave.

“Do you think he has sex with his socks on?” My shoulders shake as I sip my drink.

Britt pretends to vomit in her mouth. “What if he has sex with his socks and sandals on?”

I shut my eyes and shake my head, hoping maybe that will make the vivid images fly from my mind.

“Let’s stop talking about that guy.” She puts a finger in her mouth and sticks out her tongue. “Tell me more about you. Tell me more about Claire. You sent me a message when you were in the emergency room with her, and then I didn’t hear much else. How is she?”

“She’s good. Really good. She went through her surgery and then… she’s fine.” I stall, taking a sip of my drink.

Britt gives me the kind of look someone who’s being evasive should receive. “Feel free to tell me more than that. I’m her godmother. I sent her an obscenely huge cookie bouquet.”

My eyes narrow. “Thanks for that. She can’t do anything physical to release pent-up energy, and she’s nearly bouncing off the walls from sugar overload. Between you and my dad, who can’t seem to tell her no, I think she might combust.”

“You. Are. Welcome.” Britt tosses back the remainder of her drink. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t be there for you. I was in San Diego and—”

“Don’t be sorry. If you were in town I would’ve expected you, but you weren’t. I had my dad. And…” I take a deep, noisy breath. Britt is going to lose her shit in about two seconds. “I had Claire’s father.”

“What!” Britt smacks her hand on the table. I don’t need to look around to confirm that people are staring. I can feel their interested gazes.

“You had Claire’s father?” Her voice is opposite now. A shocked whisper.

“He was the surgeon who repaired her fracture.” I fall quiet, giving the words time to sink in.

“Wha…What?” She shakes her head.