by Karen Booth
When I came out of my room, Chris was sprawled out on the living room couch, reading a book. He lowered it and looked up at me, smiling—again, a bizarre sight and not because he resembled a skinny Fidel Castro in his stupid beard. “You look great.” He stared. “Ready to conquer Vanity Fair?”
Where in the hell were you for the last two days?
“I’ll get the keys,” he added. “We’ll take the Mercedes.”
I climbed into the passenger seat, feeling more anxious than I’d felt since I arrived, which was saying a lot. He turned the key in the ignition, and the GPS began to talk.
“You kept Lee,” I said.
He turned. “What is your obsession with the GPS guy?”
“I’m not obsessed.”
He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, the jolt of green pulled on me. “I think I know you pretty well by now. You’re obsessed.” He smirked and put on his sunglasses before pulling out of the garage.
I leaned on the center armrest, but sat back up when I realized how close we were. “Thanks for driving.”
He cleared his throat. “My pleasure.” He glanced over at me and rolled his neck as if he was working out a kink.
I dug around in my bag to distract myself from the way his presence made me crazy. I fiddled with the air vents until I remembered how he felt about it. “Sorry, I know that bugs you.” I sat back in my seat.
“It’s okay.”
I sighed. It was impossible to keep from feeling my immense attraction to him, the way he made me tingle.
He pulled over beyond the valet stand when we arrived at the restaurant. “Send me a text when you get the check. I can be here in ten minutes.” He took off his sunglasses and gave me another shot of his now bristling eyes. “Good luck. You’ll do great. I’m proud of you,” he muttered sweetly before patting me on the hand.
Chapter Fifty-One
“I’m glad we had the chance to meet. This was very productive.” Laura signed the receipt and set the folio aside as the waiter re-filled our water glasses.
“Thank you for everything, for lunch.” I tried to contain my excitement at things turning around. My trip hadn’t been a complete waste of time and now I had something to look forward to, new purpose, from the ashes of the other disasters in my life.
Laura leaned across the table and her spirals of black hair shielded her face while she looked about the restaurant as if eavesdroppers were everywhere. “I have to ask, are you still seeing Chris Penman?” She had an unrepentant gossipy look in her eye, like your best friend in ninth grade, dying for the dirt on your trip behind the bleachers with the cute boy from biology class. “I was so in love with him when I was in high school.” She set her hand to her chest and closed her eyes, drawing up her shoulders.
I smiled, thinking twice. “Not exactly, but we’re friends.”
“I’m sure you had fun.” She winked. “A guy like that is hard to pin down.”
“You might meet him in a minute. He’s picking me up.”
Her eyes grew wide. “You’re kidding.” She clapped her hands and I caught a glimpse of Laura at seventeen. We would’ve been great friends.
We stood outside the restaurant, she waiting for the valet and me for Chris, another hot and hazy day in LA. When the Aston-Martin zipped up to the curb, my throat abruptly closed and I found it impossible to focus on anything else when the driver’s door opened and his stubbly head emerged. He closed his door and turned as if he was in charge, of everything, with one feature starkly improved. The wretched beard was gone.
Laura leaned over and whispered out of the side of her mouth. “What happened to his hair?”
“Long story.”
His purposeful strides brought him right to me. He was finally dressed in something more grown-up than a grubby t-shirt and shorts—jeans that hung loose and an unwrinkled white shirt, an extra button undone.
I thought Laura might pass out when he greeted us with the return of his white-hot smile. I was certainly light-headed.
“Claire, ready?” I remained frozen as he lingered with his eyes on me before he turned to my editor friend. “Hello. You must be Laura. I’m Chris.” He shook her hand and she obviously wrestled with when to close her mouth all the way, like a fish flopping around on the dock—she was lucky, he’d kept his sunglasses on.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Chris.” She managed to say each word at a different pitch and I smiled to myself, knowing how hard it was the first time you were in his presence. She shook it off, slowly, before saying goodbye.
When we walked to the car, he stepped ahead of me and opened my door but it wasn’t with a lot of fanfare. I couldn’t help but wonder what his game was, and I planned to ask him eventually, but for the moment, I was happy we weren’t at each other’s throats.
“How’d it go?” he asked, as the car purred and he pulled away from the curb.
He smelled insanely good, like chocolate chip cookies and Coppertone with a musky blend of him and his cologne. I closed my eyes when he down-shifted, imagining that he was driving me back to his palatial home, in the car that cost more than my house, so he could have his way with me.
“It was great. We hit it off right away. We’re going to talk about a feature next week.”
He smiled. “That’s fantastic. Really. You deserve it.” He playfully slapped me on the thigh and I stared at my own leg, dumbfounded.
When we pulled past the gate, I recognized the car in the driveway, a faded burgundy Delta 88 Royale—the same car my dad had driven when I was in junior high, except his had been yellow. “Is Helena here?” I asked, again astounded.
“Yes,” he turned off the ignition and looked down at his lap. “You were right. The house was a mess. I rang her this morning and apologized.”
I was curious about what he’d said or done that required an apology, and wondered if I should say something too; to make sure she stayed. He was lucky to have Helena—a sturdy Croatian woman who smoked like a house on fire and never took crap from anyone. I was sure she’d put up with about five minutes of his bullshit.
I went to the guestroom and tossed my bag on the bed, sitting to take off my shoes, but he followed me.
“What do you want to do this afternoon?”
I looked around the room, searching for hidden cameras and one-way mirrors. “Together?” I felt as though I’d made an embarrassing mistake when I said it, waiting for him to reply that he would never suggest we do something together.
“Yes, together. Do you want to go for a swim?”
I sat still, unable to arrive at a reason why one plus one equaled two again.
“It’s not a difficult question, Claire. Yes? No?” He arched his eyebrows. It didn’t have the same effect without his hair, but I still loved it when he did that. “Remember, you left your suit the last time you were here.” He walked away before I could decide, yelling back to me. “It’s in my closet. I’ll get it.” Sure enough, he brought me my swimsuit, the one I’d bought for our St. Barts trip, and a towel. “Do you need anything else?”
“Um, no.” I shook my head. “I’m good.”
“Meet you outside.”
After some strategic shaving, I changed into my bathing suit and walked through the living room toward the terrace doors. A heavenly smell and the sound of busy humming drew me into the kitchen.
I poked my head in and went to Helena. She wasn’t a warm woman, which made the hugs she chose to give out even better. “Helena, I’m so glad you’re back. He needs you.” Something about her rosy cheeks set in her tired face made me want to squeeze them.
“Yes. The house was so dirty.” She took my hand. Her gravelly smoker’s voice was sweet and her eyes went soft, the way my mom’s did when she felt sorry for me. “He was so sad when he came back from North Carolina. I’ve never seen him like that before.”
My throat felt tight. I saw from the corner of my eye that Chris was skimming leaves from the pool. “What h
appened when he let you go?” I asked.
“When he fired me?” She planted her hands on her padded hips, as if she were reprimanding Chris in her mind. Her eyebrows drew close as she told me everything.
“I’m happy it worked out. For both of you.” At least his relationship with one woman had been salvaged. I glanced at the kitchen counter and noticed that the photo of Chris and his dad was no longer there. “Did you see a picture on the counter?”
“Christopher took it. He was very happy to see it.”
“Oh, good.” I tapped the kitchen counter and grinned. “Will you come and say goodbye to me before you leave?”
She twinkled at me, smiling sideways. “I’ll be here until tonight. Christopher asked me to make a special dinner for your birthday.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
I spread out my towel on the chaise well aware that he was watching me. Chris was in dark green board shorts, hanging low around his hips, his chest and stomach calling to me from across the pool while he fished for leaves.
His objectives were a complete mystery, although I sensed he had an agenda after I’d spoken with Helena. I didn’t recall a time we’d ever talked about my birthday, but maybe we had.
He came over and perched on the edge of the chaise next to mine. “Can I get you a beer? Water?”
“Can I ask what you’re doing?”
The enthusiasm drained from his face. “I’m offering to get you something to drink.”
I stared at him, wondering if he truly thought I was that dense. “No, I mean, what are you doing? Why are you being nice to me?”
He closed his eyes and dropped his head. “I did a lot of thinking last night. I don’t want you to go home thinking of me the way I’ve been since you got here.”
“And?”
“What? I thought we could enjoy an afternoon together. Is that so horrible?”
Again, he had me questioning everything. “That sounds nice, but you just spent the last two days making me cry. You know how I feel. It would make this a lot easier if you told me what you’re thinking.”
He removed his sunglasses. “Can we see if we can get along for a few hours? I’m not convinced that we can be nice to each other any more.”
I had at least ten more questions, all about the conditions under which we would be conducting his social experiment, but I decided that I had nothing to lose. “Okay. I already know we can be nice to each other. You can start by getting me a beer.”
He quickly returned with two bottles and a bag of pretzels. It was nice to see him snacking, the return of the perpetual eating machine. I spread SPF fifty on my legs and knew he was watching as soon as I heard him clear his throat. I slowed my hands, thoroughly covering every inch with plenty of lotion—to torture him the way he still tortured me.
“Your bruises are gone,” he said, confirming that he had, indeed, been looking. “Do you want me to put sunscreen on your back?” he asked, with a tremor in his voice.
I took a long swig of my beer and flipped over. “That’d be great.” I set my head down, watching him squeeze the lotion into his hands. He rubbed them together, making that squishy sound, and I closed my eyes and inhaled the smells that circled—coconut, beer, and him.
His fingers swept my hair out of the way. “Hold on a second,” I said and reached behind to unhook the strap across my back. “Don’t want any tan lines.” He caught himself in mid-action, and I grinned and closed my eyes again, wiggling my hips back and forth to settle in.
His hands on my shoulders were persuasive, turning me to putty, the way he used to. He hadn’t touched me like that since before the accident, I’d been in too much pain afterward. We hadn’t even had farewell sex before he left, something I’d dwelled on many times.
He progressed to my lower back with kneading fingers and pressing palms and my body responded silently to the pulses his created. He became more at ease with every pass, extending his reach beyond the flat plane of my back. I sank into the towel, allowing myself to enjoy something, and I tried like hell not to assign meaning to any of it. My only regret was that I hadn’t left the back of my thighs for him.
“Mmm…” I hummed, when he finished. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he said in his softest voice.
“Do you need sunscreen?” I asked, almost hoping that he didn’t, so I could stay in my perfect spot.
“Even if I didn’t, you know I’d say that I did.”
I opened my eyes to an electric smile across his face—he was already on his stomach.
I reached behind me and re-hooked my top before I sat up and flipped the lid of the bottle. He closed his eyes and I thought twice before putting any sunscreen in my hands. I raised the bottle high above my head and took aim. I squeezed, hard. The squirt of lotion came out with more force that I’d planned, splattering wide across his back.
He jerked up onto his elbows. “Hey!” He looked at me and shook his head before he laughed and spread out again. “I was nice when I did your back. You could do the same, you know.”
“I have my own methods.” I sighed, knowing that was likely the extent of my revenge.
My fingers worked into his unforgettable back, with those deadly dimples above his butt—it was criminal for him to deny me the chance to see them every day.
His shoulders were next and they were beyond familiar; I knew every knobby part of him. I took in a deep breath when the tears began to collect, telling myself to let things go, that it was our last time together, the two of us.
He made a fake snoring sound when I finished and I forced a laugh, tossing the sunscreen on the concrete and lying on my side. I took the last few drinks of my beer and he opened his eyes again. They were becoming more vibrant every time he looked at me.
“You shaved,” I said.
He propped himself up on his elbows and brought his hand to his exceptional, angular jaw. “I figured it was time for a change.”
“You look a lot better.” We connected for a moment and I shuddered on the inside.
“Did I look bad?”
I hesitated, knowing I should try to be nice. “You look better without it.” The connection happened again and I had to say something to make it go away. I didn’t want to be crushed by something as foolish as hope. “I’m glad Helena’s back.”
“I think I’ve gained five pounds since she got here this morning. She made chocolate chip cookies. I probably ate three dozen.” He turned to me and rubbed his tempting stomach.
I chewed on my lip. “She said she’s making dinner for us tonight. For my birthday.”
“That was supposed to be a surprise.”
“I didn’t even think you knew when my birthday was.”
“I didn’t. Sam called me last night and told me.”
My heart began to gallop as I went over the long list of things she was brave enough to say to him on my behalf. “That was clever of her.”
“She’s a smart girl. I think she might be smarter than both of us put together.” He smiled and shook his head.
“Probably.” I agreed, thinking of my dear Sam. “What else did she say?”
“Uh, well, how do I put this?” He rubbed his forehead. “She told me to stop being an ass.”
“I need to give her a raise in her allowance.”
“I should give her a whole pile of money.” He swished his beer and drained it. “We talked for a long time. Hours.” He glanced down and stole my breath when he looked back at me. “She loves her mom. Very much.”
I ached at the thought of Sam trying to save me, knowing she understood just how miserable I was. Life was going to be so empty without her around the house every day, making everything sweeter with her dour morning moods and irreplaceable observations. “Did she talk to you about my dad?”
He caught my eyes with his gaze, dreamy and thoughtful. “She did. But let’s take this one step at a time.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
My only instructions were to dress for dinner. I s
orted through the oddball mix of clothing in my suitcase, choosing the black skirt that Chris had once described as a second skin and another of my sleeveless tops, in dark purple. It flaunted my limited assets as well as possible.
He was sitting on the couch when I came out of my room. “Wow.” He stood and his eyes were all over me, the way they used to be. “I always loved you in that color.”
My eyes met his and I wanted to move closer, but I froze. He inched toward me, smiling. Every step closer made my heart pump with anticipation. He grasped my elbow and kissed me softly on the cheek. It was only a peck but it reverberated through my entire body. “Happy birthday,” he muttered.
“Thank you,” I whispered, looking at the floor to distract myself. I eyed him on the way back—devastating in impeccable black trousers and a dress shirt in deep French blue, worn the way he liked to wear them.
“I noticed you aren’t wearing your bracelet. It should’ve come back by now.”
I found it hard to get past my throat. “I brought it with me, in case you wanted it back.”
His brows pinched together, but I still wasn’t sure what he was thinking, what he wanted to do about things, if anything. “The bracelet is yours, Claire.” His voice became eerily soft. “You should wear it tonight, for your birthday.”
I didn’t want to be rude, and I crossed my fingers that politeness wouldn’t make my heartache worse, although it was hard to imagine that there was a lower place to go. I walked to the guestroom to retrieve the bracelet from my suitcase and felt him behind me.
“Let me do the clasp.” He reached around me and lifted it from the blue box. His unforgettable smell washed over me.
I focused on his warm fingers against my wrist. He spun the bracelet in a circle and the weight of the charm dropped and dangled. I swayed, my wrist hovering in mid-air. “You changed the inscription.”
