Page 22 of Claim to Fame

There were daisies on the bedspread. Not just any daisies either. Pink and turquoise technicolor daisies stitched together in some elaborate pattern of fabric scraps. Someone had clearly spent a great deal of time putting together this particular Lisa Frank nightmare of a quilt.

There were daisies on the bedspread and Ethan could hardly look at her. Jackson still hadn’t returned any of her calls, she was staying with a man who didn’t trust her, and that morningSuperfanhad run an article comparing photos of the two women in the Bora Bora photos with a photo of Hannah in rehearsal forBridget Jones’ Musical, their beachy waves versus Hannah’s messy ponytail, their bikini bodies compared to her upper arm jiggle.

Ethan pushed past Hannah into the guest room and swept the quilt off the bed, folding it with quick, efficient movements. “Sorry. Julie’s been napping in here when she comes to visit. It's her favorite.” He retrieved a plain pale blue quilt from a shelf in the closet, sliding the daisy bedspread into its place.

Hannah shoved her rising panic into a box in the corner of her mind. How many times could she do that before it refused to be tucked neatly away? Would it be like those science experiments kids did in elementary school where the baking soda and vinegar bubbled over, sliding down papier mâché volcano walls and spilling onto the floor?

“Who’s Julie?” she asked, forcing her thoughts away from vinegar-scented explosions.

“My granddaughter.” He spread the more subdued quilt on the bed and shot her a look, as though gauging her reaction. “Something else you didn’t know about me.”

“You’re the youngest grandfather I’ve ever met.” Hannah rolled her suitcase into the corner of the room and chanced a glance in his direction.

Why is this so awkward?

Because he doesn’t trust you anymore.

“That’s what happens when you have a kid while you’re still in high school.”

“High school?” She clamped her lips shut to prevent another outburst.

“Stephanie and I were sixteen when Tessa was born.” Ethan gathered the stuffed animals from the top of the dresser until his arms were overflowing with plush creatures of every type and color.

A blue dinosaur made of some kind of fuzzy yarn fell to his feet and Hannah bent to retrieve it, handing it back to him. “That must have been hard.”

“It was a long time ago.” She held his eyes until he blew out a breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, it was hard.”

She wanted to ask him so much more, to start the slow excavation of the mystery that was Ethan Hart, but he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. At least, not with her.

And who’s fault is that? You’re the one who turned him down. You’re the one who kept secrets.

She took a step back, giving him room to complete his tidying up as the stuffed animals were also deposited in the closet. She sat on the bed, stepping out of her heels and crossing one ankle over the opposite knee so she could massage her sore arches. Heels for a travel day had not been her best idea.

“Please tell Julie thank you for letting me take over her room for a few days,” she said.

“It’s good for her to learn to share. Girl’s spoiled rotten,” he said affectionately.

“I’m sure you had no part in that at all.”

His eyes locked on the movement of her fingers over her foot and some of the coldness in his gaze melted away, replaced by something softer, something she couldn’t quite define.

After a few moments, he looked away, clearing his throat. “Look, Hannah, while you’re here, maybe it would be best if we pretended like there’s no history between us.”

She shouldn’t have been disappointed, but she couldn’t help the sinking feeling in her stomach. “If that’s what you want.”

“I think it’ll be easier. For everyone.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He looked away, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m meeting my friends for dinner in about a half hour. You—”

“I’ll be fine.”

“—are welcome to join us.” He frowned, as though he thoroughly disapproved of her offer not to intrude on his dinner plans with his friends.

“That’s alright. You don’t have to do that. I’ll just order a pizza.”

“The Pizza Stone’s closed this week. Every second week of March the owners go on vacation and shut down.”

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