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Chapter 4

Claire was in the middle of a dream when the phone rang. It started ringing in her dream, and when she awoke and found herself in her own bedroom, it was still ringing. She groaned loudly, asked herself for the millionth time why she had thought it a good idea to put a phone beside her bed, and was just about to reach for it, if only to rip its cord out of the wall and shut the blasted thing up, when the ringing suddenly stopped.

She could hear the muffled recording of her own voice as the answering machine in the living room took the call. Satisfied, she let her body relax again and buried her head in her pillow, closing her eyes and willing her mind to take her back to the dream she’d been having. But by then, the dream was gone, and she could remember nothing about it, only that it had been a good one.

“Damn,” she muttered groggily. She hated when that happened. Damn the phone and damn whoever had made it ring.

It was obviously morning by now, for even the mini-blinds on her single window could not keep the Florida sunshine from streaming in between the slats. Lifting her head and squinting at the clock that sat beside the phone, she saw that it was already 9:30. She sighed and reluctantly rolled out of bed, knowing that if she did not get up now, she would only fall back to sleep and waste a few more hours of her Saturday.

Remembering the phone call, she left her bedroom and padded out into the living room to see if the caller had left a message. The red light on the machine was flashing, and she pressed the play button and sank tiredly down to the couch to listen.

The machine beeped, and then there was a slight pause before a voice finally spoke. “Uh, hey Ren-“ Nick, Claire thought, smiling at his nickname for her. Technically, it was AJ who had given them that, but no one but Nick had actually called her that since then. –“it’s me. I know you said you were gonna run errands and stuff today, but ummm… looks like I already missed you, so… I’ll just talk to you later, I guess. Bye.” There was the sound of a loud click as he hung up, and then the recording stopped.

Claire giggled to herself, rolling her eyes. “You’re not too late, Carter, you’re too early,” she muttered, picking up the phone and hitting number 4 on her speed dial.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, guess I didn’t miss you after all.”

“Nope, you didn’t. I’m, uh… just getting ready,” she said, looking down at her barefoot, pajama-clad self.

“You sound like you just woke up,” he replied, sounding amused.

Damn him. “Well, yeah… a while ago…” A minute ago.

“Uh-huh. So do you still want me to go with you?”

“Excuse me?” she choked. “Who said anything about me wanting you to come with me? If I remember correctly, I said you could come if you wanted to.”

He paused. “Same thing.”

“Not really, but okay. So you’re coming then?”

“I guess.”

She smiled. He wants to. “Okay. Pick you up in half an hour?”

“Sounds good.”

“Alrighty. See ya.”

“Bye.”

They hung up, and Claire groaned. Half an hour? Why had she said half an hour? She was nowhere near being ready for the day, and by the time she drove all the way over to his house, it would be at least forty-five minutes.

“Oh well,” she said with a shrug and a carefree smile. “He’ll just have to wait.”

***

“Half an hour, Claire. You said you’d be here in thirty minutes, and it’s been fifty,” Nick said, as he climbed into passenger side of her car. Claire rolled her eyes at him, and he grinned. "But I'm glad you put so much time and effort into looking hot for me," he went on.

He was kidding. Her hair was wet, her face bare, and she was dressed very casually in a pair of faded jeans and an old University of Tampa t-shirt.

"Why, thank you, Nick; I'm glad you noticed," Claire replied sarcastically, giving him a look and a smack in the shoulder before she jerked the car into gear and pulled away from his house.

"You hit the left one," Nick murmured, rubbing his shoulder. "You always hit me on the left side."

She gave him another look. "Oh, puh-lease. I told you, you can't pull that 'don't hit my left shoulder, it's tender!' crap anymore."

He stuck his bottom lip out and tried to look pathetic, while struggling to keep a straight face. Finally, he resorted to sticking his tongue out at her instead.

"Ah, very mature," she said with an exasperated smile. He smiled back in relief, just glad that things seemed to be normal between them. After his breakdown the night before, he had been nervous about seeing her, afraid there would be tension. But he had called her anyway, knowing he had to see her and make sure things were okay.

Luckily, things seemed to be okay. She was acting like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, and he was glad. He liked that tactic. Just pretend like it never happened.

They lapsed into silence as she turned out of his posh neighborhood, and he struggled for something to say to keep the conversation going.

"So... UT, huh?" he commented, referring to her shirt. "That where you went to college?"

It was funny... he had known her for two years, been friends with her for almost that long, and been dating her for the past three months... but there was still a lot he didn't know about her.

"Yeah," she replied, "for two years anyway."

"Why only two years? You dropped out?" he asked, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

Braking to a stop at a red light, she turned to look at him. "No..." she said slowly, "I didn't drop out. I got cancer."

He could feel his face heating him, and he wanted to lean forward and beat his head against the dash a few times. Why was he such an idiot? "I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "I... I didn't-"

"It's all right," she cut him off. "We've never really talked about this before; I don't expect you to have my life story memorized." She gave him a crooked smile and moved her foot to the gas pedal as the light turned green. "So yeah, I was diagnosed near the end of my sophomore year. I managed to finish out that semester, but when it came time to go back in the fall, I just wasn't ready, so I took some time off. Once I was in remission and back on my feet, I transferred to Hillsborough, the community college, and took some classes there to get my associate's degree. That's all you need for dental hygiene. I was originally pre-dentistry when I was at UT, but after all that, it just didn't seem worth it. All those years of school left... and all that money it would cost..." She trailed off.

He frowned. "You never told me all that," he said. "So you wanted to be an actual dentist, not a hygienist?"

She shrugged. "I guess. I don't know what I wanted. The dentist thing was just kind of... there. I mean, since my dad is one and all. But don't get me wrong, I like what I do. And I know I don't make as much money as I would if I were a dentist, but hey, I make enough to get by, and that's what matters, right?"

"Right," agreed Nick, even though he had never had to worry about 'making enough to get by.' "Well, I'm glad you're not a dentist. Then you would be 'Dr. Ryan,' right?"

"Yeah," she said with a smirk. "It sounds weird, doesn't it? I don't even like being called Ms. Ryan, let alone Dr."

He chuckled. "Yeah, well, the word 'doctor' just freaks me out, so I'm glad you aren't called that."

"Understandable," she nodded. "That word is rarely associated with something good, at least for us, it seems like. Hey, speaking of which, I have a check-up two weeks from today. Are you going to come with me?"

He grimaced, but nodded. "Sure, if you want me to."

"Okay," she said, smiling at him briefly before turning her eyes back to the road. "So, I want to stop at Michaels first and pick up some new scrapbooking stuff, and then I need to run to Target. Sound good?"

Nick was caught off-guard by the sudden subject change. "Um, sure," he replied with a neutral shrug, as she guided the car into the city.

***

"Please don't tell me you've never been to a Target before."

"Huh?" Nick blinked, caught off-guard. "What'd you say?"

Claire shot him a look of exasperation. "You're acting like you've never been to a place like this before. Big celebrity or not, you have to have been to Target or at least Wal-mart before. Where else would you get your deodorant and laundry detergent and stuff like that?"

Now it was his turn to give her a look. "'Course I go to Target. Just not this part of Target." They were standing in one of the makeup aisles.

“Oh,” Claire said with a giggle, her eyes sweeping over the shelves and shelves of makeup products, some of which Nick wouldn’t have the slightest clue what to do with. “What, Leah never took you shopping with her?”

He shrugged, his stomach clenching at the mere mention of his ex-girlfriend, almost ex-fiancée.

“Well, come on, this is all I needed here,” Claire said, dropping a small bottle of foundation into her cart and moving on. He grimaced when they came to the aisle containing the “feminine supplies” and almost sighed in relief when they passed on by and headed to the clothing section instead. “I want to buy new jeans,” Claire announced, weaving her way between racks of clothes. “The ones I’m wearing now are about to fall apart; I think they’re getting a hole back here.” She ran her hand over the back of her thigh, where the denim had clearly worn away, almost to the point of fraying.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he smirked, lightly slapping her just above the spot where her hand had been.

“Not in public,” she muttered through gritted teeth, shoving him away. “Here, what do you think about these?” She held up a pair of jeans for his opinion.

He shrugged. “Um… they’re okay?” How was he supposed to decide? They looked just like any other pair of jeans he saw girls wear.

“Very helpful, Nick,” she said with a sarcastic smile. “I’m gonna go try them on. You wait by the cart.”

She disappeared into one of the dressing rooms, and Nick was left standing alone, surrounded by women’s clothing and feeling quite awkward. This feeling only escalated when he heard someone say his name. Turning around, he found a teenage girl standing a few feet behind him, looking hesitant. She broke into a smile and said, “It is you.”

She was obviously a fan, and a typical one at that – about fourteen or fifteen years old, braces on her teeth, hair in a ponytail, the works. He offered her a cautious smile in return, inwardly praying she would not proceed to stalk him through the rest of the store. Hoping he could appease her now, he said, “Yep, it’s me. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Alicia.”

“Nice to meet you, Alicia.” He held out his hand, and she took it eagerly, shaking.

“I’m a huge fan of you,” she said, grinning up at him in rapture. Lowing her voice, she added, “So is my mom.” She motioned over her shoulder, and he could see an older woman standing out of the way with her cart. He gave her a little wave and a wink, but Alicia quickly snatched his attention away. “Who’s that girl you’re with?” she asked curiously, looking past him toward the dressing rooms. “Is that your new girlfriend?”

Nick stifled a groan, wondering what he should say to that. He never knew how to answer those kinds of questions, especially when they involved a girl that was not already in the public eye. He wasn’t ready to surrender Claire to the evil clutches of the paparazzi yet, so he tried to dance around the question. “She’s a friend of mine,” he answered, deciding that was a safe response. And it wasn’t a lie either – she was his friend… and more.

Alicia nodded, accepting this answer. “Do you come places like this a lot? It’s so weird, seeing Nick Carter in a Target.”

He chuckled. “Well, yeah. I’m just a normal guy, you know. Where else would I get my deodorant and laundry detergent and stuff?”

She smiled. “Um… d’you think maybe I could get your autograph? If you’re not too busy?”

He laughed. “Sure, I think I can manage that. Do you have anything to write on?”

“Yeah, hang on.” She rummaged quickly through her small purse and came up with a crinkled sales receipt and a bright purple pen with a big fuzzy thing on the end. “Here,” she said, handing them both to him, her cheeks bright red.

“This is a cool pen,” he teased, touching the fuzzy part. “I might have to get one of these to sign with from now on.” Alicia giggled, and he had her turn around so that he could use her back for a writing surface. She spelled out her name for him, and he scrawled a quick message on the back of the receipt, signing his name at the bottom. It felt kind of nice to be signing an autograph; it had been a long time since he’d done so. He tended not to get bothered a lot when he was in Tampa because many of the people in the area were used to seeing him around from time to time, but over the past year, he had spent so much time cooped up in his house and avoiding public that he really hadn’t had many fan encounters.

By the time he handed Alicia back her pen and newly-autographed receipt, Claire was emerging from the dressing room. Seeing her coming his way, Nick quickly tried to make his getaway from Alicia. “Well, we’ve got a lot to do today, and I’m sure you and your mom need to get back to your own shopping,” he said casually to the girl. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” she smiled, clutching the precious receipt tightly and never taking her eyes off of him.

He flashed her a smile in return and then turned to Claire, who had come up alongside the cart, looking curious. “You ready to move on?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yeah,” she said, putting her jeans in the cart. They walked on, and only when they were out of earshot of Alicia and her mother did Claire ask, “Fan?”

“Yep,” said Nick. “I signed her an autograph and talked to her for a few minutes… hopefully she won’t follow us.” He glanced quickly over his shoulder; the coast was clear. He sighed in relief, but pulled his baseball cap lower on his head anyway, hoping he wouldn’t be approached by anyone else. One fan per shopping trip was fine, but he didn’t want a whole herd of them to come up, and he certainly didn’t want to subject Claire to all that.

They breezed on by the men’s clothes, where Claire picked out a pair of bright red boxer shorts with a giant white bulls-eye on the butt and convinced Nick he had to have them. Then they walked through the toy department, where they proceeded to set off every talking, singing, and moving toy there was. They could hear the racket even above their own uproarious laughter as they hurried away, Claire convinced she’d come back to find her face plastered on a large Wanted posted in the front of the store, Nick convinced his would be plastered across the front of the National Enquirer, along with security camera photos of himself pressing the hand of Macarena Elmo and a bold headline, “Backstreet Boy Gone Wild… in Target.”

They hid out in the entertainment section, where Nick quickly found the video games they had put out for demonstration and played them for a good half hour, until Claire finally dragged him away, leaving the line of eleven-year-old boys that had formed behind him to race to the machine, fighting over who had gotten there first.

“Hey, you dragged me through that craft store for at least five hours and then stopped to look at all those little papers and stickers and crap for your scrapbook for like two more, so don’t even start,” Nick huffed exaggeratedly as Claire led him up to the check-out counters in the front of the store.

“You are a master in the art of hyperbole, Nickolas, I will give you that much,” Claire chuckled as she unloaded the cart.

“Hey! I’m not any more hyper than you are! Whose idea was it to turn on all toys again?” Nick retorted defensively.

“I didn’t say hyper, Nick; I said-“ She just stopped there and rolled her eyes. “Never mind.” She reached up and patted his cheek. “You’re too cute.”

He cocked his head as she put the last of her things onto the counter, wondering what that was supposed to mean.

As the cashier started to ring up their purchases, Claire opened her purse and pulled out her checkbook. As she opened it up and started to make out a check to Target, Nick clamped a hand over hers. “What are you doing?” she asked, pushing his hand away.

“I got this,” he said, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and taking out one of his credit cards.

“What? No, you’re not paying. This is my stuff.”

“Those are mine,” he said, pointing to the red boxers that the checker was now scanning.

“So? We’ll call it a present.

“No. Claire, this is dumb. Let me get this stuff for you.”

“For Christ’s sake, Nick, it’s a pair of jeans and makeup!” Claire hissed angrily, continuing to write out her check.

“Yeah, it’s just jeans and makeup – what’s the big deal?” He was lost; usually girls liked when he paid for them and bought them things. But she was totally in a huff about it, not even answering. She hastily signed the check and tore it out, and he surrendered, letting her pay for her stuff and his shorts as well.

Meanwhile, the checker just kept giving them odd looks the whole time, and Nick was more than relieved when they were finally out of the store.

“Do you think that lady knew who I was?” he asked, struggling to keep up with Claire as she stalked through the parking lot, her bag swinging at her side. “You said my name and all… I hope she didn’t connect it.”

“Why, because you were being an ass?”

His mouth dropped open. “Huh?? How was I being an ass?”

“You’re always offering to pay for my stuff, and I’m sick of it, Nick!” Claire cried, wrenching her car door open and climbing inside. “I may not be rich like you, but I’m perfectly capable of supporting myself and buying what I need,” she added, as he slid into the passenger side.

“I know you are! I just… I thought… well, I was trying to be nice, that’s all. But from now on, forget about it,” Nick muttered, jamming his seatbelt into its buckle as she started the car.

“I’m sorry,” said Claire, her voice softening. “I know you were trying to be nice, and I appreciate it, but… it’s just not necessary, okay? It makes me feel inferior.”

He sighed. “Well, I never meant to make you feel like that. Of course you’re not inferior.”

She smiled over at him. “I know. Let’s just drop it, okay? You know how I feel now – conversation over.”

He nodded silently, and she put the car into reverse and backed out of her spot.

They had only been driving for a little while when Nick felt the car start to jerk to the left. He looked over to see Claire struggling to keep it the right lane. “Shit,” she said, “I think I have a flat.” Clutching the wheel so tightly her knuckles were white, she eased the car over to the shoulder of the road and slowed to a stop, throwing it into park. She turned on her hazard lights and climbed out. Nick opened his door and got out as well, coming around to her side of the car to take a look. Sure enough, the front left tire was half-deflated.

“I must have run over something,” Claire sighed as she stared down at the tire, her hands on her hips.

“It’s all right. I’ve got my cell,” said Nick, taking his tiny silver phone out of one of the pockets of his baggy jeans.

“Oh, so do I, but it’s okay. It’ll take less time to just change it,” she replied casually, walking back to the trunk.

“But…” Nick protested, watching her open up the trunk. Even if he did know how to change a tire – which he didn’t – he knew there was no way he would physically be able to do it. Squatting and kneeling were two things he could not do easily on his prosthesis.

But Claire seemed to have things under control. Before long, she had the spare tire out of its storage space beneath the trunk and was laying out a car jack and a lug wrench. Nick watched in silent awe as she proceeded to take off the hubcap and loosen the lug nuts, then jack the car up off the ground. “Hold these,” she said, taking off the lug nuts and handing them to Nick. He held them in his cupped hand and stared as she pulled the flat tire off and replaced it with the spare, struggling to push it in all the way. “Lug nuts,” she said, holding out her hand. Nick carefully dumped the lug nuts he’d been holding into her open palm, and she screwed them back on, lowered the car to the ground, and tightened everything.

“Good as new,” she said, wiping her hands on her pants as she stepped back to inspect her work.

Nick shook his head in amazement. “Where did you learn how to do that?” he asked.

Claire laughed. “My dad,” she said. “He taught me when I was like fifteen and had my learner’s permit. Wouldn’t let me drive on my own till I could change a tire.”

“Good idea,” Nick nodded, deciding not to tell her that no one had bothered to show him how to change a tire when he started driving. He felt incompetent around her already. Clearly, he was the one who was inferior. Not her.

“Shall we go?” Claire asked breezily, closing the trunk after she’d put everything back into it.

“Yeah,” said Nick, walking back around to his side of the car. “Let’s go.”

***