She was overdressed, but she'd felt as though she had to do something to counter the casual denim and flannel that would just strain a touch as it stretched across the breadth of his shoulders, hugging the bulging muscles of his arms as he leaned forward to reach for his coffee cup. Clay was well into his thirties but showed absolutely no signs of either encroaching paunch or a rapidly surrendering hairline. If anything, he was looking leaner and meaner than ever since April's death, and that had been five years ago. Elodie was beginning to think he lived on hot black coffee and not much else, despite the fact that he'd hired a cook for his ranch who could whip him up anything he desired.
Conservatively cropped black hair and thick black eyebrows framed eyes bluer than any man ought to be allowed to have. Clay was perpetually tanned, although April knew that was due to his hard work on his blazing fields all year round. He barely had time to sleep; having thrown himself into the running of his ranch and land with a zealous, not entirely healthy, fervor. He was tall, broad, and hard, in every possible way. Clay was the exact opposite of his fey bride—he'd met and married April in a whirlwind courtship when she was barely in college, but he'd also required that she finish school just as she'd planned, not using their marriage as an excuse to quit. That had helped put their parents at ease about the imposing, austere man their daughter had fallen in love with, but no one who knew Clay would ever think that he had done it for them.
Where April was funny, soft, and emotional, Clay was hard and serious—except when it came to April. Elodie used to watch him with her sister; watch the melting that took over his expression whenever he looked at his wife. His whole demeanor changed when he was around her. The love in his eyes was almost painful to see.
Very painful to Elodie.
Clay was one of those rare men who knew exactly what he was about at all times. He exuded confidence and intelligence. The son of a rancher, he hadn't come from money, but was well on his way to coming into his own. When he married April, he was already running his father's land, and growing it even bigger. He wasn't flashy or boorish, but classy and steady. And he made class and steadfastness incredibly sexy. The air around him crackled, while he sat back and watched it happen.
But ever since April's death, Clay had been burying himself in work, and Elodie couldn't say she blamed him. He'd lost the love of his life. He went home every day to an empty house. There would be no more upturned noses to kiss, no hot wild sex in the foyer because they just couldn't bear to wait until they got to their bedroom, no Sunday mornings lazily reading the paper and pigging out on homemade cinnamon rolls that had become a weekend tradition. There would never be an April again.
Elodie slipped into their usual booth opposite him, removing her hat and putting the smart pink and cream checked bag on the bench beside her. She looked up to find Clay staring intently at her. Her eyes went wide. It was unusual for anyone to pay that much attention to her—she did her best to blend into the woodwork. There must be something wrong. "What? Do I have toilet paper on my shoe?"
He almost smiled. His smiles had always been rare events—he wasn't the joke a minute type. But since April, they had all but disappeared. "No, I just forget sometimes how like your sister you are."
"I am not," Elodie defended staunchly. "We don't look a thing alike."
"No, you don't. But you have the same air about you."
The waitress appeared at that point, and Elodie ordered her boring usual; a toasted tuna sandwich on white bread. It was also one of the cheapest things on the menu. She could see Clay grimacing over a menu that hadn't changed since Eisenhower was in office. He finally settled on his own usual; a bacon cheeseburger, with fries and a chocolate shake.
Taking a sip of her tepid tap water, Elodie corrected him. "We never had the same air. April was—well, you know how April was. Everyone loved her. She was Prom Queen and head cheerleader and voted most likely to get everything she ever wanted in life. I just hid behind an easel and counted down the days until I could be set free." It sounded petty and jealous, which wasn't at all how Elodie felt. Usually.
Clay didn't say a word, just raised his eyebrow at her unexpected rancor.
Elodie sighed and laced her fingers on the tabletop. "Oh, I'm sorry. You know I don't mean that the way it sounds."
His eyes narrowing on her enough to make her fidget with her napkin, Clay shot back, "Yes, you do, or you wouldn't have said it."
Elodie did not want to go there. "Anyway, how have things been going with you?" she asked, deliberately changing the subject.
Clay held her eyes for just a millisecond longer, letting her know that he knew exactly what she was doing. "All right. Busy."
Elodie shifted in her seat as surreptitiously as she could. He had a habit of doing that; of paying closer attention to her than she was used to anyone doing. Commenting on something she'd said that no one else had heard, making her feel special, as if she mattered much more than she knew she did. He did it in a very brotherly fashion, as casual as a man like he could be.
And every time he did it, every time those all too knowing eyes settled on her, she literally contracted.