Part 12:
Emma considered this seriously. So you’ll come back. If you’ll have me, we’ll have you. Emma launched herself at Clara, wrapping small arms around her neck in a fierce hug that smelled like strawberry shampoo in childhood. You can teach me about business and I’ll teach you about space and daddy will teach both of us about cooking. It’ll be perfect.
Clara held this small person who’d somehow wormed her way into her heart in less than a week and felt something fundamental shift inside her. This was what she’d been missing. this warmth, this connection, this sense of mattering to someone for reasons that had nothing to do with profit margins or market share.
When they came back downstairs, Ryan had cleaned the kitchen and was sitting on the couch, looking at his phone with a furrowed brow. He looked up when they entered, and Clara saw worry in his expression. “Everything okay?” she asked. Ryan hesitated, glancing at Emma. “Emma, why don’t you go get ready for bed? Brush your teeth, put on pajamas, pick out a book, but it’s only 7:30.
I know, but Clare and I need to talk about grown-up stuff for a minute. Go on, I’ll be up to read to you in a bit.” Emma grumbled, but obeyed, stomping upstairs with the dramatic flare of a child who felt greatly wronged. Once she was gone, Ryan patted the couch beside him.
Clara sat, tucking her legs under her. What’s wrong? Ryan showed her his phone. My brother sent me this. It’s already making the rounds on social media. Clara looked at the screen and felt her blood go cold. It was a photograph, slightly grainy, clearly taken on someone’s phone from across the street of her and Ryan and Emma at Sweet Dreams ice cream shop.
The caption read, “Ice Queen Clara Hail slumbing it with maintenance worker and his kid. PR stunt or midlife crisis?” “It gets worse,” Ryan said quietly, scrolling. There are more photos. Us walking to the parking garage. Me giving you my number. Someone with a lot of time and a telephoto lens has been documenting this. Clara felt sick.
Ryan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think I should have been more careful. It’s not your fault. But his jaw was tight and she could see him thinking, calculating the implications. Clara grabbed her own phone and opened her social media. The photos were everywhere, reposted and commented on thousands of times. The comments ranged from supportive to vicious, with most falling somewhere in the middle of confusion and speculation.
She’s finally acting human for once, one person wrote. Gold digger spotted, wrote another. Maintenance man hitting the jackpot. This is so inappropriate. She’s his boss. This is a fireable offense. Actually, really sweet if it’s real. Ice queen melting for single dad. I’m here for it.
Poor kid is going to get torn apart when this inevitably crashes and burns. That last comment hit Clara like a physical blow. Emma, she hadn’t thought about how this would affect Emma, the little girl who was already growing up without a mother who’ just opened her heart to Clara, who believed in lucky socks and magic and the basic goodness of people.
I’ll fix this, Clara said, her mind already racing. I’ll release a statement. say it was just a friendly dinner, nothing romantic, that we barely know each other. I’ll stop. Ryan’s voice was firm. He took her phone gently from her hands. Clara, look at me. She did and saw something in his eyes that made her breath catch.
I don’t want you to fix this by lying, Ryan said. I don’t want you to pretend this doesn’t mean something because it does mean something to me. And I think to you, too. Of course, it means something,” Clara said, her voice breaking. “But Ryan, look at these comments. Look at what they’re saying about you. About Emma. I can’t I won’t put you through this, either of you.
Shouldn’t that be my decision?” Ryan set both phones on the coffee table, then took Clara’s hands in his. I’m not saying this is easy. I’m not saying I’m thrilled that strangers are posting photos of my daughter online. But I’m saying that I knew this was a possibility when I invited you to dinner. When I gave you my number, when I told you I see you, you can’t possibly have known it would be this bad this fast.
Maybe not, but I know that hiding, pretending, protecting myself from pain by never risking connection, that’s no way to live. Sarah’s death taught me that life’s too short and too precious to waste on fear. His grip on her hands tightened. I like you, Clara. More than like. I think you’re extraordinary. I think Emma thinks you’re extraordinary.
And I think you’ve been living in a steel box for so long that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to actually connect with people. So, here’s my question. Are you going to let some internet trolls and gossip columnists shove you back in that box? Or are you going to be brave enough to see where this goes? Clara stared at him at this man who’d rescued her from an elevator and somehow kept rescuing her every time they talked.
