Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(34)

I want to ask Aubrey what she's so afraid of. With the exception of the night we met, when whiskey and bitterness made the words pour from her lips, Aubrey keeps everything close to the vest.

If tonight goes well, I'm going to tell Aubrey about my parents. What I won't tell her is that my mother called three times yesterday asking when she’s going meet her granddaughter. She also wanted to make sure I didn’t get a wild hair and get back together with Jenna.

When she called the third time, Mom said “Family is love. Blood means nothing.”

I know that. Better than most. I let the comment pass, and we talked again about Claire and Aubrey and how this was going to change my life.

But it already has changed my life. From the very second I looked at Claire's papers after her surgery, my whole world shifted. There's gravity, then there's the gravity of Claire. Knowing she exists is what's keeping me here. Forget that job in Boston, the one with the big-name researcher at Mass General. It sounded good at first, but that was before Claire. I can invent a better way to fix an arm right where I am. No moving necessary.

That's what I mean about gravity. Being Claire's dad is heavier, more important, more impactful, than anything else. And now I want to be the very best dad to her. And that means taking responsibility of Claire. Aubrey's not in this alone anymore.

That’s why I’m walking the length of my place one more time, doing a fifth check, hoping that one day it will be a second home to Claire.

Maybe I should calm down. I'm getting too excited. Aubrey barely agreed to a zoo trip. She pulled out her phone right there in my office and sent a message asking if I'm a predator.

Aubrey is a cautious person, someone who anticipates the cracks in the road before she gets to them, but that's not going to scare me off. Claire is my daughter too, and I want her.

Family is love. All my life I've heard those words, but this is the first time I've experienced it from the perspective of a parent.

At the sound of the knock, I send a cursory glance over an apartment I know is beyond reproach.

I pull open the door. Aubrey looks at me expectantly. She shifts her feet. Her gaze descends to the floor and back up to me.

“Hi.” Her mouth is soft, the word is soft, and it reminds me of Aubrey the woman, not Aubrey the mama bear.

“Come in.” I step aside and motion with my arm.

Her perfume assaults my senses when she passes me. Would she wear perfume to see my place? Maybe it's not perfume. Maybe it's just Aubrey.

“Where’s Claire?” I ask. I’d been looking forward to seeing her again.

“With my father.” Aubrey glances to the living room. My leather couch faces the oversize flat-screen TV, which doesn’t get much use unless it's football season. “I thought it best if I came alone.”

“Just in case, huh?” I rock back on my heels, hands shoved in the pockets of my jeans.

Her arms cross. “So far your home is beautiful.” She can’t keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“I did a good job hiding all my drug paraphernalia.” I snicker as she throws me a dirty look.

She stands still in the entryway, waiting for me to close the door.

I close the door and lock it. Safety first, Aubrey.

I take a step away from the door and realize how close I'm standing to her. She looks up at me, blue eyes piercing mine, splitting my chest in two. Her pink lips part, and they look so supple, so inviting. If I kissed her now, what would happen? Every cell in my body hurtles through me, alive, on fire, all because Aubrey looked at me and parted her lips.

She gulps and takes a step back. A big step back.

“Show me the rest of the place?” Her voice isn't soft anymore. More like someone making a request of their realtor.

“Yeah, sure.” I turn away from her, the fireball cells in my body cooling like comets that finally realized they’re just stars burning out.

I take her through the rest of the place. Kitchen, living room, office, extra bedrooms, two bathrooms. When we get to my bedroom, she looks everywhere but at the bed.

“It's not the same bed.” I'm teasing her, and I feel a twinge of guilt. She's so serious, though.

“I know,” she says hotly. She turns and leaves my room, but not before I catch the pink in her cheeks.

When I catch up to her, she's in the living room, looking at a large picture of a woman's chest dusted in silvery black glitter. Art, Jenna had called it when she’d proudly put it on the shelf. She'd called it edgy. I thought it was racy, but what did I care?

Aubrey's eyebrows lift. “Nice picture. I'm sure Claire will want to know why that woman has glitter on one of her private parts.”

I look away from the art. “It’s not mine.”

Aubrey looks at me disbelievingly. “It's on a shelf. In your home.”

“Jenna.” I explain.

Aubrey nods. The tension in the air is thick, awkward.

“You don't like it?” I can’t help the smile I feel spreading across my face.

“It's not that.” Aubrey says quickly. “It's just…" She stops, looks around.

I look with her. I know what's there, but I want to see what she sees. Everything is black, white, and shades of gray. Lot's of glass. Silver vases so shiny they could be mirrors.