The Officer's Runaway Wife and Secret Son novel Chapter 458

The plan was solid.

It required no prior questions and carried no risk of rejection.

Simon had said that women loved a romantic encounter that was planned in advance.

But now, standing here and looking at Clara's calm face, he found he didn't dare take the risk.

He was a little scared.

The mere thought of tomorrow night, of standing at the Lanes' door and suggesting he take her somewhere, of the look Clara would give him—it made his stomach clench.

Clara was too smart. How could she not see through it?

She would know it was all a setup. The meeting in the coffee shop was to conspire, Emily’s dinner was to lay the groundwork, and even his promise to just be the chauffeur was part of the plan.

He hadn't forgotten a single word she'd said to him these past few days.

A surprise built on concealment and calculation was the last thing Clara wanted.

What she valued now was respect and honesty.

They had just managed to build a fragile bit of trust. He was trying to prove to her that he was changing, learning how to build an intimate relationship on equal footing.

If he screwed things up again with this kind of self-righteous cleverness, he wouldn't even have a chance for regrets.

Besides, he didn't want to scheme against her anymore, not even for the sake of so-called romance.

"Clara," Rhys said suddenly.

She turned her head.

"Tomorrow night, after dinner…" He paused, as if organizing his words. "Do you have any time?"

He asked so cautiously that Clara sighed inwardly.

From the moment he'd come home smelling of coffee to his quick agreement to just be her driver, she'd had a vague idea of what he was up to.

Those two voided tickets were still lying in a drawer at the old Oakridge Avenue house, yellowed, brittle, their corners curled up.

Most of the knot in her heart had loosened, but the regret had always been there.

Those sights they never saw together, those promises unfulfilled, were still stuck on a past timeline, lingering through the years.

Clara shifted her gaze to the red stocking at the head of the bed.

She thought to herself.

How did I never realize he was such a dork?

Clara turned and walked toward the guest bedroom. After a few steps, she left him with one last sentence.

"I'm not going to a late show."

The door closed behind her, the latch clicking into place.

Rhys stood there, stunned for two seconds, then looked down and started to smile.

It’s not late, he said to himself. Not late at all.

Rhys turned to the window, thinking that the snow this winter was more beautiful than any year before.

He walked to the guest room door and touched the wood panel lightly.

"Goodnight," he whispered.

There was no response from inside, but he knew she'd heard him.