Chapter 15 - This Time, Nobody Was Pretending
Two years after the fake-boyfriend incident, Whitmore Orthopedic Systems still existed.
Smaller.
Less glamorous.
Healthier.
The Kentucky expansion was sold.
Two product lines disappeared.
About sixty jobs were lost through restructuring, which Claire never pretended was painless.
But more than three hundred employees stayed.
An independent CEO ran the company.
Melanie became good at working for someone who could tell her no.
Robert never returned to management.
He and Claire spoke occasionally.
Their relationship was careful.
Evelyn apologized several times before Claire believed the apology was about Claire instead of the family’s discomfort.
That took longer.
Claire launched a medical-device quality consulting firm with two former colleagues.
She worked out of a modest office near Franklin and refused to name it Whitmore anything.
I remained at the hospital.
Apparently being a CT technologist was enough of a career after all.
Claire still trained at Iron Forge.
So did I.
Friday mornings became ours.
She squatted.
I spotted.
She continued accusing me of watching her professionally.
I continued refusing to incriminate myself.
On a cool October morning, she finished a heavy set and turned around inside the rack exactly the way she had the first day.
“You’re too far away,” she said.
“I’m six inches behind you.”
“Unacceptable.”
I stepped closer.
She smiled.
There were no sisters entering behind me.
No ex-fiancé.
No folders.
No business loan waiting at dinner.
Just Claire.
She reached up and hooked her fingers loosely behind my neck.
“You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“You were supposed to be my fake boyfriend for twenty minutes.”
“I have terrible boundary management.”
“Apparently.”
Then she kissed me.
By then, we had been together long enough that nobody needed to perform surprise.
Afterward we grabbed breakfast at the diner where Melanie had first given Claire the flash drive.
Claire ordered pancakes.
I ordered eggs.
Halfway through breakfast, she slid a small brass key across the table.
I looked at it.
“What’s this?”
“My apartment.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You’re giving me a key?”
“I am.”
“Is there a family attorney involved?”
“No.”
“Financing agreement?”
“No.”
“Voting proxy?”
“Ethan.”
“I’m checking.”
She laughed.
Then her expression softened.
“I’m not asking you to move in.”
“Okay.”
“Not yet.”
There it was.
The one question we had deliberately left unanswered.
Not whether Claire belonged to me.
Not whether she owed me a future because I helped during the worst year of her life.
Only whether, when the timing was right, we would choose the next step together.
I closed my fingers around the key.
“No pressure.”
Claire smiled.
“No pressure.”
That afternoon we went back to our separate homes.
Friday morning, we met at the gym again.
Same black rack.
Same loaded bar.
Claire stepped beneath it.
Then looked at me through the mirror.
“You can come closer, Ethan.”
This time I didn’t hesitate.
May you like
I stepped forward because she asked.
And because after everything her family had tried to decide for her, choice had become the most romantic thing either of us knew.
