Crossing the line.

Claire's POV

I get in my car to drive to work. I have a company car now. Damon gave me one last night. I know Damon gave it to me because he does not want me to walk to work and home every day. Although it is a small town, it can still be dangerous. Willowchreek is small enough for everyone to know everyone's business, but large enough to be dangerous after dark. It is a close-knit community, but there are also unwelcome elements in the community. However, the part where my apartment is situated is in the better part of town. Mike made a lot of money, and we could afford to buy this apartment. He always told me we would buy a house when we had children. Well, that never happened as he always said he was not ready to have children. His mother always blamed me for not giving him children. I wanted children as I am not getting any younger. I am almost twenty-nine. I smile bitterly. Everything that went wrong in our relationship was always blamed on me. However, I do not want to think about Mike and his family. I smile as I think back to last night. 

*Flashback*

Last night, I had to go to the community centre again to help out. We were going to paint the new library. I told myself she wasn’t avoiding the community centre. I told myself I were just busy, my new work schedule didn’t allow for another evening wasted on endless fundraising chatter. I am working at Damon's company now, but I hardly see him, and when I do, it is only when he passes by. However, deep down, I knew the truth. I was avoiding Damon outside of work. I only found out yesterday that Sienna also works there, but she is hardly at work. I do not know much about Damon and his family, but I am starting to find out more and more about them. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Damon at the market, standing between Sienna and me like a shield I hadn’t asked for but desperately needed. His words, the quiet fury in them, echoed in my chest long after the moment passed. And the look he’d given her afterwards, steady, unwavering, made me feel seen. I hated it. Hated how much space he was taking up in my thoughts. So, of course, fate threw him right back in my path.

“Claire! Over here!” Marissa shouted. My best friend Marissa waved from inside the library’s dusty west wing. I stepped over a coil of extension cords and into the room, where volunteers buzzed about with ladders, paint rollers, and boxes of books. The old wing had been closed for years, but the town was determined to restore it. Marissa jogged over, handing me a paintbrush.

“We’re short on help tonight, but thank God you came. You’re painting that wall over there.” Marissa says. I followed her finger only to see Damon already standing there, sleeves rolled up, brush in hand, grey eyes narrowing in concentration. My stomach dropped.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. Marissa grinned, oblivious.

“You two will make a great team. He’s been here since early this afternoon. Such a hard worker, don’t you think?” Marissa laughs softly. I can see the admiration for Damon in her eyes. Before I could protest, Marissa darted off to wrangle another group of volunteers. I groaned under my breath. Of all the walls in this God forsaken library, why did it have to be his? Damon glanced over, one brow arched.

“You look thrilled,” He said sarcastically. I set my bag down with a thump.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here to work, not to chat," I said. 

“Good. Then we’ll get along just fine,” Daman said evenly. We painted in silence for the first half hour, the air heavy with unspoken tension. I focused on the rhythm of my brushstrokes, refusing to let my gaze wander. But inevitably, it did, catching on the way his forearms flexed as he reached up, the streak of paint across his jaw where he’d brushed against the wall, the steady calm in his movements. I hated that I noticed. Finally, Damon broke the silence.

“I am sorry about what happened at the market. I heard what happened before I showed up,” Damon says. 

“If you’re going to scold me for not standing up for myself ... ” I started.

“I’m not. I’m just… sorry you had to endure that. Again,” He interrupted gently. My brush slowed. I swallowed hard.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m used to it.” I said.

“Doesn’t mean you should be,” Damon said. The quiet conviction in his voice made my chest ache. I dipped her brush back into the tray, focusing on the paint.

“Why do you even care?” I asked. Damon hesitated before answering.

“Because I’ve spent years watching her destroy people. Manipulate, tear down, leave scars. And I did nothing. I told myself it wasn’t my fight. But maybe that was cowardice. Sienna's father passed away when she was young. Her mother ran away, leaving her without anyone but my parents and me. We spoiled her. They wanted me to marry her mother, but I could not stand that woman. Besides, I had someone else in my life at that time," Damon said. I turned to him, surprised by the rawness in his tone. For the first time, I saw the cracks in his armour, the guilt, the weariness. 

“You’re not responsible for her,” I said softly. His gaze met hers, piercing.

“Aren’t I? She’s my family. And family leaves marks, whether you want them or not. Besides, she blamed me for her mother running away and me choosing another woman over her mother, but it was weird. I could not marry my brother's wife, and she left when my parents refused to pay for her high-maintenance lifestyle, like my brother did,” Damon said. He opened up for a while, but then he shut down again. His face was cold and unemotional. It is as if he realised his family's business had nothing to do with me. The weight of his words settled between us, too heavy, too intimate. I looked away quickly, my heart thudding. We worked in silence again, but the air had shifted. The distance between us didn’t feel as wide as it had when I first walked in. Hours later, as we packed up supplies, I realised how exhausted I were. My shoulders ached, my hands were sore, and there was paint in my hair, but I felt lighter somehow. Damon carried two heavy buckets toward the exit, then paused.

“Do you need a ride home?” Damon asked. I blinked.

“What?” I asked. 

“It’s late. The streets are quiet, and I’d rather not see you walking alone. I know it is a small town, but I still think danger lurks around the street at night," Damon said. I hesitated. Every instinct screamed to keep my distance. But the thought of the long walk in the dark made me bite my lip. Finally, I nodded.

“Fine. But only because my feet are killing me,” I smiled. Damon's lips twitched, almost a smile.

“Of course,” He smiled. There was a naughty expression on his face. We walked out together, the cool night air brushing against my skin. And for the first time in months, I didn’t feel completely alone. It all started when we pulled up to my apartment, and Damon pulled me closer to him. His mouth claimed mine in a rush of heat, desperate and unrestrained. I gasped against him, my hands flying to his chest, but instead of pushing him away, I clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer. He picked me up bridal style and carried me into my apartment. 

*End of flashback*

I am at work. It is time for me to stop thinking about the last few months of my life. It is time for me to concentrate. I have a lot of work to do. I cannot think about Damon and what happened between us. I cannot think about Mike and Sienna. I have to concentrate on work. However, I cannot help but smile. Last night was the best night of my life.