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all the baggage. Then maybe…
    I glanced at Rose and felt guilty. She was my world. I didn’t have time for guys. I needed fabric.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested. Damn it. He was hot and an artist. I really hadn’t thought I’d ever see him again.
    “I’m buying fabric. I’m a seamstress. A designer, actually.”
    “Wow. That’s awesome. What do you make?”
    “Right now—” I saw Ethel glaring at me out of the corner of my eye. Apparently, since I had sex one time, now I was the town slut. Go figure. “Right now, I’m making sun dresses for Dream Weavers. It’s a dress shop on Main Street.”
    He looked at me as if he might salivate. I shuffled in my flip-flop-clad feet and felt the need to pull up my baggy yoga pants.
    “I’d love to see your work.”
    “You can see my dresses at Dream Weavers; it’s right across the street from the Brier Café.”
    “I have no idea where that is. I’m new in town.”
    “It’s on Main. You can’t miss it.” I had no idea why I was being so dismissive. I imagined myself pressed against his chest with his arms wrapped around me.
    He raised his eyebrows. My gaze darted over his tattooed arms. God, he was hot. He was older than me by a few years. I could tell by the chiseled angles of his jaw and the rough morning stubble on his chin. The look in his eyes told me he had taken his share of hard blows.
    He was so unlike Rose’s dad. Jessy had been a sweet kid who liked skateboarding in parking lots after school. It wasn’t until later that he started getting into real trouble — trouble I didn’t know about until it was too late.
    “Why don’t you show me where it is? We can get some coffee at that café and you can point it out.”
    Was he seriously asking me out? I felt self-conscious and glanced down at my sweatshirt. Sure enough, I had a baby cereal stain on my chest. Why was this guy paying any attention to me? I looked into his eyes, and something about his presence made me feel safe. I could fall into those eyes and escape my troubles forever.
    “Sure,” I said. My head felt submerged underwater. I agreed to go out for coffee with Mr. Tattooed Hotness. He was so the type old Claire would have gone for. New Claire, though? New Claire didn’t even have a type. New Claire had an appointment with Social Services and an overdue utility bill. “Just let me get what I need here.”
    I pushed my cart toward the cotton fabric. I checked the price and felt a rush of pleasure knowing I had a wad of cash in my pocket. I drew the bolt from the shelf and put it in my cart. Moving down the aisle to the dyes, I pulled rich purple, golden yellow, and hot pink from the shelves. I needed a few more zippers and thread spools, so I picked up those as well.
    When I had everything, I went to the register. Damien stood behind me with his art supplies. Ethel looked at me like I was a good girl gone bad. That was the worst thing about living in a small town. No one ever gave you a break. I paid, then Damien did, and we took our bags out into the parking lot.
    The late June sun shone soft and warm on my face. Rose shifted in my arms and wanted to get down. I put my fabric in the backseat of my car with one hand while holding Rose in the other arm. Damien hurried to help me. Frustration swirled in my brain. I should be able to do everything myself, so why did I like his help so much?
    “The café is right down the street,” I said, pointing.
    We strolled down the street side by side. I could sense his rich masculine vitality next to me. It felt complete to be beside him. Having a kid alone was like missing an essential part of the equation. My mind jumped into delusional fantasies about us living happily ever after, growing tomatoes and stuff.
    Main Street was lined with small local shops and wide sidewalks. Diagonal parking narrowed the two-lane road, allowing the tourist traffic off the highway to find plenty of room to spend their money