Delivered with Love (8 page)

W
hen she received the dinner invitation, Claire wanted to blurt out, "I'd love to," but thought better of it. Blake was one good-looking guy. But is that all he was? Someone easy on the eyes? Her mother had dated several handsome men, but when it came down to it, they bolted. "Friendship is the main ingredient for a good relationship," her mother used to say. But by the time her mother figured that out, she was diagnosed with cancer.

"Pizza sounds good, thanks," she said instead. "I'll let Tom and Nancy know." Claire sidestepped toward the house. "Be right back."

"Nancy, Tom?" Claire called as she approached the kitchen.

Tom sat at the table watching his frozen dinner spin around in the microwave. "Where's Nancy?"

"Getting ready for work. Care to join me?" Tom pushed out a chair with his foot.

"Thank you." Claire rubbed her hands together. "But Blake—you know, the guy who lives next door to the house for rent—invited me to dinner."

Nancy stepped into the kitchen wearing her nurse's uniform. "He didn't want to cook in the rental house tonight, huh?" She winked. "Have fun."

Claire ran to the bathroom to check her face in the mirror. She wasn't one for much makeup, but tonight she added a coat of mascara, a few swipes of blush, and lip gloss that held a hint of pink. Then she gently ran her fingers through the curls, attempting to tame her crazy mane. The rain had tightened her soft waves into ringlets. She raced into the bedroom and changed into her favorite T-shirt and sweater.

"Bye. I'll be back in a couple of hours," Claire called to Tom and Nancy in the kitchen, and then headed toward the front door.

"Take your time," Tom called back. "I'll leave the front door unlocked."

Claire slipped through the doorway. Nancy must have talked to Tom and softened his heart in the few minutes she dressed. Either that or maybe he had resolved whatever issue he was going through. The last time he saw her come out of Blake's truck, he glared at her. Of course, that was before he knew of her situation. Reality set in. She was
still
homeless and in need of a job—but maybe her luck would turn.

Blake inspected the dents her car had sustained in the accident. He furrowed his brow and shook his head. "I bet this was a beauty before the accident." He rubbed the top of her car with one hand. "What year did you say this was?"

" '72." Her throat closed around a lump of grief. Suddenly, she needed to get away from her mangled car.

Blake looked her way. "Shall we go?"

"I'm ready."

"I want to run something by you," Blake said the minute they pulled away from the curb in his truck. He turned left on Capitola Avenue toward Pizza My Heart. "Since my kitchen is destroyed, I was hoping you'd share yours, or the one I hope is yours in the rental." He glanced her way, then turned his eyes back on the road. "I'll do the cooking and provide the food."

Claire had never been a good cook. Macaroni and cheese was about the extent of her cooking skills, unless she counted frozen dinners or cold sandwiches.

Blake passed Mr. Toots and Pacific Coast Grille. "What time are you up in the mornings?"

"Depends if I have a reason to get up." That came out wrong. She pressed her lips together.

Blake laughed. "Believe me, my cooking will be worth getting up for. Shall we say 8:00 a.m?"

"All right. I'll do my best to look presentable."

"I bet you're cute any time of day."

"These curls? You've got to be joking." Claire tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

"And how about dinner at six?" Blake pulled into a parking spot in front of the pizza parlor and turned off the engine.

He'd be cooking for her? Outrageous. No man had ever cooked her a meal before—except a male chef in a restaurant. Her face flushed. "Every day?"

Blake held the door open. "Most days. My schedule's kind of crazy. I work ten-hour shifts four days a week."

She walked through the doorway. "What's your job?"

"I'm a police officer." He followed her inside.

"Nice." She liked a man in a uniform. A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "So, what did Michael say?"

"He agreed as long as the new tenant was okay with it. So what do you say?"

"Sounds good to me."

The table by the window was available. Claire sat in the chair facing the ocean while Blake ordered a medium-sized pizza—half pepperoni for him and half vegetarian for her.

Claire mulled over the plan he laid out. Good thing she was getting a roommate. Too much contact with Blake might cause her to do silly things—like fall for him. A roommate would keep her from being alone with him while his kitchen was being rebuilt.

"Here's the root beer." Blake set the pitcher and two plastic cups down on the table. "The pizza should be done soon."

Claire looked out the window. "I'm glad the storm passed. The waves are nothing like they were earlier."

"All the businesses along the beach are used to sandbagging. I'm glad Pizza My Heart reopened tonight." Blake filled both cups with soda. "There's nothing like good Italian food after a crazy day."

When their pizza came, the smell of melted cheese, pepperoni, and vegetables filled Claire's nostrils. Heavenly.

Blake held out his hand. "If you don't mind, I'd like to pray."

Claire inhaled deeply. Her mom had prayed before meals. Claire hadn't uttered one word of thanksgiving to God since he took her mom away. She put her hand in his. Blake's grip was warm, and strong. She bowed her head and listened to his words.

"Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for this food. Thank you for watching over us and protecting us. Bless our conversation. In Jesus' name, amen."

Blake gave Claire's hand a squeeze before releasing it. Surprisingly, his prayer was a comfort. She kept her eyes down as she picked up a slice and set it on her plate.

"Feel free to have pepperoni if you'd like." Blake grabbed a piece.

"Thanks. I might." Claire's eyes met his. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." Blake reached for the Parmesan cheese.

"Why aren't you mad about the fire? How can you smile and make plans like nothing happened? And why aren't you angry with
me?"
Claire picked up her pizza and took a bite.

"That's three questions," Blake teased. "I'm not angry with you because it was
my
fault. I left a dishtowel too close to the flames. I'm not mad about the fire, simply disappointed in myself." He averted his eyes for the briefest moment. "But I have insurance, so I know my kitchen will be as good as new. "Blake smiled and took a sip of his soda. "I'm grateful to God that my whole house didn't burn to the ground. And I'm able to use the kitchen in the rental and get to know you in the process."

Claire's cheeks heated. Was this man for real? His faith reminded her of Harry and Pearl's. "That's if I end up renting the place."

"Why wouldn't you?" Blake filled his cup from the pitcher. "Want more?"

Claire nodded. "It's only out of the goodness of Nancy's heart that I have a chance. She's going to make the security deposit with the hope her sister moves here. I need to find a job. . . ."

A man walked toward them carrying two full pitchers, one in each hand. Michael? What was he doing here? Claire stuffed pizza in her mouth, swallowed hard, and took a swig of soda.

"Blake." Michael nodded. "My wife, daughter, and her fiancé are seated at the booth in the corner. I'd like my wife to meet you. You've done so much to help me out with the house. "Michael shifted. "Didn't want to cook in the rental your first night, huh?"

"I wanted to firm up plans with your new tenant." Blake gestured to Claire.

She felt invisible. Did Michael try to ignore her, or did it come naturally? Something didn't feel right. Claire stole a glance at Michael, then looked down at her purse. The letter was sandwiched between her wallet and personal items.

Michael turned to Claire. "Do you have that application for me?"

She shook her head. Michael must be desperate to rent the place. Why would she have it here at the restaurant? "Nancy's working tonight, but we hope to get it to you tomorrow."

Michael nodded, then gestured toward the corner booth. "I'm going to join my family. Stop by before you go."

Blake nodded. "My pleasure."

Michael walked toward his family and sat down. She remembered his wife from her mother's funeral. Her jet black hair matched her daughter's, although they were cut in different styles—his wife's in a bob and his daughter's past her shoulders.

"You've never met Michael's family?" Claire finished off her first slice and reached for a second.

"No, but it'll be nice to finally meet them. Now, what were you saying about a job?"

"I need one. Desperately. I can't expect Nancy to pay my rent, and there's the issue of my car—"

"I know a thing or two about restoring old Volkswagens. I occasionally work on old cars. I'd be happy to work on your VW in my spare time. It's the least I can do for barging in on your kitchen space." Blake grinned. "But you have to promise you won't tell anyone. I don't want the word to get around that I'm a mechanic."

Claire clamped her mouth shut with her thumb and index finger. "I won't tell a soul." A surge of hope welled inside of her. Maybe God did care about her . . . at least a little.

"I'll get a couple of carry-out boxes." Blake stood. "Cold pizza makes a great breakfast."

Claire agreed. She laughed as Blake headed toward the front counter. There were plenty of mornings when she and Haley had eaten cold pizza.

Blake returned and loaded the boxes with the remaining slices. "Ready to meet the Thompson family?"

"I think Michael wants you to meet his family." Claire stood and draped her sweater around her shoulders.

"Nonsense. I'm sure the whole family would like to meet their new tenant." Blake's hand touched the small of her back, propelling her forward. "Come on, Claire."

Ready or not, she was about to come face-to-face with Michael's family. Why was she nervous? She wasn't the one dodging questions. Michael had sidestepped hers. Claire moved around a few tables as she headed toward the corner booth with Blake close behind. She couldn't help but overhear Michael and his wife's conversation.

"Who's going to take care of her all day while I'm planning the wedding?" Michael's wife was asking.

"Sandy, you know Mom can't stay at Regis anymore. They'll put her in the nursing home, and that's no place for her. "Michael ran a hand through his hair.

"If she keeps falling, maybe that's where she needs to be—"

"I'd rather Mom move in with us. There's no question about that." Michael leaned both arms on the table and turned to his wife. "And she also needs a caregiver while you're busy with wedding plans."

"Sorry, is this bad timing?" asked Blake.

"Hi, I'm Julia." The pretty young woman held up her hand. Then she smiled and turned to the young man next to her. "And this is my fiancé, David."

Blake shook Julia's hand first, then David's. "Nice to meet you both. I'm Blake. I live next to your parents' rental home on Depot Hill. And this is Claire." Blake nudged her forward. "She's hoping to rent the house."

Sandy's eyes lit up. "Wonderful." She linked arms with her husband. "It will be so nice to have someone living there. It is an adorable home."

"Sandy, you remember Claire, Emily James's daughter. "Michael gave his wife a "just go with me" look.

"Oh, yes. How are you, dear?" Sandy's brows furrowed as she held out her hand.

Claire didn't know what to say. She reached out and shook Sandy's delicate hand, noticing the large diamond shimmering in the light. Her mom never had a ring like that. "I'm fine. Thank you."

"You don't happen to know anyone who might be able to be a caregiver for my elderly mother, do you?" Michael directed his question at Blake. "As a police officer, you must be familiar with local businesses and people around town. You've been so helpful overseeing the house . . ."

Claire's pulse quickened. Could she do it? Become a caregiver for an elderly woman? She did need a job, and the opportunity Michael presented literally felt like it was falling into her lap. Time to be bold. She cleared her throat. "I'm available."

Sandy looked at her husband.

His mouth twitched, and he tugged on his ear. "Have you ever taken care of someone before?"

Didn't he remember? "My mom, as she wasted away from cancer—"

"Of course." Sandy's eyes softened. "That must have been difficult."

Claire nodded and drew a long breath. "It was. But I learned a lot about how to take care of someone when they're sick. Not that your mother is ill." She swallowed hard. Did she just blow her chances?

"Mother's coming for a visit tomorrow. We're hoping she stays." Michael whipped out a pen from his suit coat pocket and scribbled something on a napkin. "Here's our home phone number and address. Come by tomorrow afternoon around four. We'll let the two of you meet to see if you're a good match. Fair enough?"

"You're sure, Michael?" Sandy leaned toward her husband and spoke in hushed tones. "What do you know about this woman?"