Chapter 91 91

Chapter 91 91
Those words finally brought a small smile to Belle's face, though she still looked a bit uncertain. Samantha, who had been watching the entire exchange from the doorway, stepped forward with a kind expression.

"Belle, how about we clean up this mess together?" she suggested. "We can save your drawing and let it dry properly. Who knows, once it dries, it might not look as bad as you think."

Belle nodded slowly, allowing Samantha to help her gather up the scattered coloring supplies and carefully set aside the damaged drawing. As they worked, Sophia turned to me and Raymond with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry about the scare," she said quietly. "When I heard her screaming like that, I thought something terrible had happened."

"We all did," I admitted, my heart rate finally returning to normal. "But this was actually kind of sweet, in a chaotic way."

"Only Belle would be this devastated about a spilled juice ruining a drawing," Sophia said with a rueful smile. "That girl feels everything so intensely."

"It's not a bad quality," Raymond observed. "It means she cares deeply about things. That's going to serve her well in life, even if it makes moments like this more dramatic."

We watched as Samantha patiently helped Belle wipe up the spilled juice and organize her art supplies. Belle's tears had completely stopped now, replaced by her usual focused determination as she carefully laid out new paper and fresh crayons.

"I'm going to start a new one right now," she announced, her earlier distress apparently forgotten. "This one is going to be even better!"

"Maybe wait until after dinner?" Sophia suggested gently. "The chef should have the food ready soon."

Belle looked like she wanted to argue, but her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, making everyone laugh.

"Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "But right after dinner, I'm starting the new picture."

"Deal," Sophia said, helping her daughter wash her hands at the small sink in the corner of the room.

As we all headed downstairs for dinner, I found myself smiling despite the earlier drama. There was something refreshing about Belle's emotional honesty, her ability to feel things deeply and express them without reservation. It was so different from the calculated, guarded way most adults moved through the world.

"You were really good with her," I said to Raymond as we descended the stairs.

He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed by the compliment. "Kids are actually pretty easy to deal with once you figure out what they need. Belle just needed to know that her accident didn't make her a bad person and that we appreciated her effort."

"Not everyone would have handled it that way though," I pointed out. "Some people would have been annoyed by all the screaming and crying."

"She's only four years old," Raymond said simply. "Her juice spilled on something she'd been working on all day. Of course she was upset. That's developmentally appropriate behavior, not something to be annoyed about."

I smiled at that, appreciating my brother's matter-of-fact wisdom about children despite not having any of his own. It made me think he'd probably be a good father someday, if he ever decided to take that path anytime soon.

Dinner was a surprisingly pleasant affair. Belle had recovered completely from her earlier meltdown and chattered happily throughout the meal about her plans for the new drawing she was going to make. She'd apparently decided to add even more details this time, including the garden and what she called "the pretty flowers Miss Claire planted."

"I didn't plant any flowers," I pointed out with amusement.

"But you could!" Belle said enthusiastically. "And then I could draw them. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"It would be very nice," I agreed, charmed by her logic.

Samantha had been right about Belle's focus. The moment dinner was finished, she excused herself politely and practically ran back upstairs to her room to begin working on her new masterpiece. Her earlier devastation was completely forgotten, replaced by renewed determination and excitement.

"She bounces back quickly," I observed to Sophia as we helped clear the dishes.

"Always has," Sophia confirmed. "She feels everything intensely in the moment, but she doesn't dwell on things. I wish I had that ability."

"Don't we all," I murmured, thinking about how I'd been dwelling on everything from my encounter with Clara to my concerns about Wilson to the expansion plans for the company.

After dinner, Raymond excused himself to take a work call, and Sophia went upstairs to check on Belle and help her get ready for bed soon. I found myself alone in the living room, the house settling into its evening quiet.

My phone, which I'd left on the coffee table, suddenly lit up with a new message. I picked it up, my heart rate picking up slightly when I saw it was from Wilson.

"Hope you're having a good evening. Let me know when you have time to talk about that coffee meeting. No pressure, whenever works for you."

I stared at the message for a long moment, remembering Raymond and Sophia's earlier warnings about setting boundaries and being careful. But I also remembered how Wilson had stepped in to help me with Clara, how he'd spent his entire day accompanying me to property viewings, and how he'd been nothing but kind and respectful throughout everything.

Maybe Raymond and Sophia were right to urge caution. Maybe I was being too trusting too quickly, but maybe, just maybe, not everyone in the world was out to hurt me. Maybe some people, like Wilson, are genuinely good and want nothing more than to be helpful.

I typed out a response before I could overthink it: "Evening is going well, thanks. How about coffee on Thursday afternoon? Say 3 PM?"

His response came almost immediately: "Thursday at 3PM works perfectly. I'll send you the address of a good place I know. Looking forward to it."

I set the phone down, feeling a mixture of anticipation and nervousness that I didn't quite know what to do with. Thursday was two days away. I had two days to prepare and figure out what I wanted to say about boundaries and expectations if there was ever a need for such conversation.

But for now, in this moment, with the sound of Belle's laughter drifting down from upstairs and the comfortable familiarity of my home surrounding me, I decided to just let myself feel okay. Not perfect, not without worries or concerns, but okay.

Raymond's voice suddenly tore through the silence, “Claire, you need to see this.”