Dreams & Desires. Kat Cantrell

flush. “No, of course not.”

      Violet wasn’t buying it. “You haven’t stopped smiling since I picked you up and you practically talked my head off on the way here. No wonder you’ve been in such a good mood.”

      She was going to deny it. Say that it was... Well, that was the problem. She didn’t know what to say. Besides, the inferno burning in her cheeks was a dead giveaway.

      Violet leaned in close and whispered, “Did you do what I think you did? And if so, with whom?”

      Clare opened her mouth but nothing came out.

      “Was it Dr. Reese?”

      Still speechless, Clare just looked at her, and Violet’s eyes went wide. “Oh, my God, it was him!”

      “Shhhh,” Clare scolded, as people turned to look at them. “Keep your voice down.”

      “I knew it,” Violet whispered. “I knew you had a thing for him. And who can blame you?”

      “You can’t tell anyone,” Clare said, tugging the band from her hair so it would tumble down and cover the evidence. “And I mean no one.”

      “Why? You guys make an adorable couple.”

      No, he made her look good. He and Grace? They made an adorable couple.

      “I’m not even sure if I’m going to see him again,” she told Violet. “If people knew it would just be awkward. You have to promise me you won’t say anything to anyone.”

      “Of course I promise,” Violet said, laying a reassuring hand on her arm. “But you can’t keep it a secret forever.”

      If she tried hard enough she could. The alternative was unacceptable. If her staff were to learn how flighty and irresponsible she’d been behaving, they would lose all respect for her.

      Parker still on her mind, Clare could hardly concentrate on the class. And no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get the damned glass pieces cut without mangling them horribly.

      First stained-glass class. Major fail.

      She looked up and saw Raina’s little boy Justin, dressed in a cowboy get-up, clomping around the perimeter of the room as if he was riding a horse.

      Their eyes met and Clare waved. Justin changed direction and trotted over to her table.

      “Hey there, partner,” Clare teased, then realized almost immediately that she sounded just like Parker and his silly nicknames. He really was starting rub off on her.

      But Justin giggled and stopped at her table, all smiles. “Hi, Clare.”

      “I like the threads,” she told him, tugging on his fringed faux-suede vest.

      “Santa brought it,” he said, very matter-of-factly. “And he brought me a daddy.”

      Clare gasped. “No way!” Everyone knew that Raina and Nolan Dane were engaged, but Clare played along, telling Justin, “You must have been super good all year.”

      “Super, super good,” he said proudly.

      “Hey, mister,” Raina said to her son, stopping at the table to check Clare and Violet’s progress. “Do we bother the customers during classes?”

      His little bottom lip rolled into a pout and he shook his head.

      “Skedaddle.”

      He sighed and said, “Okay.”

      Raina chucked him on the chin and he trotted off on his invisible steed. Then she looked down at the mess on Clare’s table and tried to smile.

      “I guess stained glass just isn’t my thing,” Clare told her.

      “It takes practice,” Raina said.

      Not to mention concentration and a steady hand. Neither of which Clare possessed at the moment. She still couldn’t believe Parker had given her a hickey, when he knew how important it was to keep their relationship secret. If people in town got wind that she was seeing someone—anyone—she would be under the microscope. Because that’s the way it was in Royal. Everyone was all up in each other’s private business.

      The longer she thought about what he’d done, the angrier she became, and by the time Violet dropped her at home she was so hot under the collar it was a wonder steam wasn’t shooting out her ears. She knew she had to settle this or she would be up all night fuming.

      Thankfully her aunt was home. She sat in her recliner reading one of her murder mysteries.

      “Would it be okay if I use your car?” Clare asked her.

      “Sure, hon, help yourself.” Her head tipped a little to the left. “Are you okay? You look upset.”

      Upset didn’t begin to say it. “You have no idea.”

      “Uh-oh. Parker?”

      “I’ll explain when I get back.” She dialed Parker’s number on her way to the garage.

      “Hello,” he answered.

      “I need your address.”

      There was a slight pause. “You do?”

      She started the car and initialized the navigation. “Yes, I do.”

      He recited the address and she punched it in. He was only fifteen minutes away. “Thanks.”

      “You don’t sound happy.”

      “I’m not.”

      “So why did you want my address?”

      “So I can come over there and kill you.”

      * * *

      Parker wasn’t sure what was going on, or why Clare would be unhappy, but it didn’t take long to find out. She got there in ten minutes flat and started pounding on his front door. He opened it and there she stood on his porch looking incredibly unhappy. After they’d hung up he’d wondered if this was some sort of revenge for pretending to be mad at her earlier that day.

      Apparently not.

      “Whatever you’re unhappy about, I’m certain it’s not the door’s fault.”

      She glared at him. “You gave me a hickey?”

      Was that what had gotten her panties in such a twist? He stepped back and gestured her inside. “Come on in. Let’s talk.”

      She charged past him. “Violet saw it, and she made me admit I’m seeing someone. And she knows it’s you.”

      “Clare, I didn’t give you a hickey.”

      She made a rude noise. “Well, I didn’t give it to myself.”

      “Let me see,” he said.

      She took her coat off and dropped it over the back of the couch, baring her neck to him. “See? How do you explain that?”

      He examined her neck. “Explain what?”

      “What do you mean, what? Don’t tell me you don’t know what a hickey looks like.”

      “Clare, there’s nothing here.”

      Her lips pressed into a tight line. “That’s not funny.”

      “I’m not trying to be funny. Is it maybe on the other side?” Frowning, she turned so he could look. “Sorry, nothing there either.”

      “How can that be? Violet said—” She blinked, then blinked again. “Oh, my gosh, that little sneak.”

      “I don’t get it,” he said.

      She collapsed onto the couch, dropping her head in her hands. “She suspected that I was seeing someone so she lied about the hickey to make me spill my guts. And I fell for it, hook, line and sinker.”

      Was