ログインPOV: Claire Desmond
I opened my mouth to fire back a sarcastic retort, but a violent bang on the service door shattered the moment.
SLAM!
"CLAIRE! G-MAN! WHERE IS MY LATTE AND MY DIGNITY?!"
That voice. Shrill, unfiltered, and unmistakably Shannon.
We jumped apart. Gareth grabbed the tray with a sudden, practiced stiffness, while I nearly fumbled a plate into the sink.
POV: Claire DesmondI opened my mouth to fire back a sarcastic retort, but a violent bang on the service door shattered the moment.SLAM!"CLAIRE! G-MAN! WHERE IS MY LATTE AND MY DIGNITY?!"That voice. Shrill, unfiltered, and unmistakably Shannon.We jumped apart. Gareth grabbed the tray with a sudden, practiced stiffness, while I nearly fumbled a plate into the sink.Shannon appeared in the doorway like a whirlwind in denim. Her sunglasses were perched atop her messy brown hair, and her face was twisted into a look of pure, predatory glee.She stopped dead.Her eyes darted from Gareth—who was standing entirely too close to the sink—to my face, which I knew was a vibrant shade of scarlet.Three seconds of agonizing silence."Wow..." Shannon slid he
POV: Claire DesmondCshhh!A plume of scalding steam hissed from the espresso nozzle, clouding the air for a fleeting second before vanishing into the humid kitchen. The rhythmic clink of metal spoons against ceramic sounded like a frantic, caffeinated symphony, echoing off the white subway tiles of the Hamilton Cafe.It was 4:30 p.m. SoHo was in the middle of its late-afternoon rush. Outside, the muffled roar of New York traffic and the occasional sharp blast of a taxi horn created a chaotic backdrop, but inside, the air was thick with the comforting scent of roasted beans and the buttery warmth of fresh pastries.My hands moved in a practiced rhythm, drying the porcelain plates Martha had just rinsed. The towel in my grip was damp, heavy with the afternoon’s work, but I didn't mind the weight. There was something grounding about it—watching the rows of plates glint under the indust
POV: Claire DesmondMy throat tightened. Gareth rarely let the mask slip to show the scars underneath.He was always the untouchable stoick man, but in these moments, he let me see the cracks. And it made me want to fall even harder."You're not losing me, Gareth," I whispered.He smiled—a real one—and reached for a paper bag on the floor. "Almost forgot. Martha made this."I opened it. Inside was a glass container of roasted chicken, rosemary potatoes, and a side of greens—the savory aroma filled the cabin instantly."Martha said you've been looking thin since you moved into Shannon’s place. She practically held me hostage until I promised to deliver this," Gareth teased.I breathed in the scent of home. This was Gareth’s language. He didn't drown me in diamonds—though God knows he cou
POV: Claire DesmondThe sharp, citrus sting of a peeled orange cut through the stale scent of Manhattan exhaust lingering in my lungs. Gareth peeled it with a practiced, one-handed efficiency, his other hand draped casually over the steering wheel of the white VW Golf. His thumb dug into the rind, a soft snapechoing in the cabin before the mist of essential oils filled the air."Want some?"He offered a wedge, meticulously stripped of its white pith. His long fingers brushed against my lower lip, a touch so fleeting it felt like a phantom limb. I took it. The sweet-tart juice exploded across my tongue, cold and bracing."It’s perfect," I murmured.In the back, Alana was pressed against the glass, her gaze lost in the blur of trees racing past along the Palisades Interstate Parkway. She was humming a soft, tuneless melody—something about
POV: Claire DesmondThe black marker in my hand moved with a rhythm of its own across the whiteboard. Usually, basic arithmetic felt like a chore, but today, the numbers looked like notes on a staff, dancing to a melody only I could hear.I hummed under my breath, the sound swallowed by the typical Monday morning chaos of shuffling chairs and whispered secrets among my kindergarteners."Alright, everyone. If I have ten apples and Toby takes four, how many do I have left?"I turned around, flashing a smile that Shannon—with her usual bluntness—would have called 'disgustingly radiant' for a Monday."Six, Miss Claire!" Toby shouted, practically vibrating with pride.I glanced toward the middle row. Alana was giggling, nudging the girl next to her. She looked so vibrant, so full of life.Every time those pale grey
POV: Claire DesmondFifteen minutes later.Alana had drifted back to sleep after her milk, exhausted from the excitement of the day.That left Gareth and me on the charcoal-gray sofa. The space between us wasn't huge, but the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife."So..." Gareth started, swirling the remains of his coffee in his mug. He turned to me, his gaze intense."Are we... official now?"I let out a soft laugh at the sheer vulnerability in his voice. "Official what, Gareth? Official business partners?"He scoffed, a crooked, handsome smile tugging at his lips. "Official as in us."He shifted closer, his hand finding mine on my knee. He laced our fingers together."But we need ground rules, Claire. For Alana’s sake. And for your job."I nodded. He







