by Tawna Fenske
The woman’s face lit up, and she gazed at him with renewed interest. “A lawyer? That’s wonderful!”
Adam laughed. “I don’t hear that very often. Usually people make jokes about how many lawyers it takes to screw in a lightbulb.”
“Oh, but I’ve been needing some qualified legal counsel. The lawyer I met with a few weeks ago turns out to know almost nothing about literary contracts, and I’ve got a situation I could use help with. I don’t suppose you’re for hire?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not really taking on any new clients right now.”
Adam glanced up at the top shelf and realized for the first time that it held an assortment of sex lubes and prophylactics. What the hell had she been reaching for?
“I don’t necessarily need to hire you,” she said, brushing her snowy-white hair from her face. “Just ask you a few questions, that’s all. Do you know much about publishing law?”
“I actually specialized in literary contracts my first couple years out of law school, but like I said, I’m not really practicing anymore. My license isn’t even active right now. I’d be happy to refer you to someone who could help.”
“Oh, dear, I was hoping for something a little more informal. Like maybe a casual conversation over a homemade dinner. Pot roast and roasted root veggies and green salad and homemade apple pie?”
Adam’s mouth started to water, and he urged himself not to be tempted. Something seemed off here, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Something besides the fact that this little old lady was inviting a strange man back to her home.
“Ma’am, how do you know I’m not a serial killer?”
“How do you know I’m not one?”
“Good point.”
She touched his elbow. “It’s your T-shirt, dear. Cornell University Law. You seem like an educated man, and serial killers don’t buy things like fresh carrots and potatoes.”
“That is some of the oddest logic I’ve ever heard in my life.” He smiled so she wouldn’t take offense.
“Well, besides that, I’ve taken self-defense training, and I live with my niece, who’s an excellent shot. Please, dear—won’t you come to dinner?”
“You mean right now?”
She nodded, looking earnest. “I put the roast in the Crock-Pot earlier this morning.”
“But I don’t even know your name.”
“Gigi,” she said, smiling up at him. “Gigi Buckingham.”
“Adam Thomas,” he said, sticking his hand out for her to shake.
She beamed up at him with a look that told him he was still missing something here.
Even so, he turned and followed her out of the store.
“So let me get this straight,” Adam said, taking a sip of the chamomile tea Gigi had poured him in a delicate blue china cup. “You’re concerned about having your pseudonym compromised and you want to keep your identity from being exposed, or you’re looking for the smartest way to capitalize on the fact that those things are about to happen?”
Gigi smiled and set a small plate of cookies in front of him. They looked homemade, and she’d lined the plate with a lacy white doily. The smell of pot roast hung fragrant in the air, mingled with the scent of potpourri scattered in crystal bowls around the living room. A basket of yarn and needles completed the picture of domestic bliss, but it was a contrast to the laptop sitting beside it.
She’d opened the Amazon page for one of her books, and a book cover emblazoned with two mostly nude figures twisted together in a pose that made Adam’s thighs ache.
He looked away, trying to focus on the woman who’d kicked off this whole conversation by offering him tips for cooking a moist pot roast. He felt a twinge of sadness as he thought about his grandmother. How long since he’d seen her? His sister had moved to Seattle six years ago, securing a spot for Nana at one of the nation’s top Alzheimer care units. Adam had been to visit plenty in the early years, but once Nana forgot who he was, the visits had been less frequent. It had been at least three months. He needed to get up there, especially now that he was here on the West Coast. He could make a weekend of it, drive up to see Shelly and Nana and Gramps.
“The thing is, I’m not opposed to making the most of my career,” Gigi said, and Adam drew his attention back to the woman offering him a gingersnap. “My first book has been more successful than I ever imagined, and there are two more coming.”
“The Panty Dropper series, I’ve heard of it,” Adam said, not sure if it was okay to admit that. “So what I’m hearing you say is that you don’t really mind if your pseudonym is compromised. That you’re okay with people knowing who you are?”
“I don’t mind so much. It’s just that—”
The front door burst open, and Adam turned to face the gust of wind blowing in from outside. The cookie he’d been nibbling dropped from his fingers, bouncing off his knee and onto Gigi’s spotless rug.
“Jenna?”
She stood there blinking as her purse fell to the ground with a thud. “Adam?” She blinked harder as though hoping he might vanish if she just waited long enough. “What the hell are you doing here?”
It dawned on him what had been niggling at the back of his brain since he first spotted Gigi in the store. He looked from the old woman to Jenna and back again, confirming they shared the same eyes, the same forehead. Jesus Christ, how had he missed it?
You’re a regular pro at missing all the signs.
“Your aunt,” he said, running a hand down his face. “Gigi is your aunt? The one you mentioned in the porn store? The one who told you embrace your inner sex goddess?”
Jenna closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “For crying out loud, Aunt Gertie—what are you trying to pull here?”
“Hello, dear,” the old woman said, standing up and straightening the lace edge of her apron. “Did you have a nice day at work?”
Jenna opened her eyes again and Adam watched her chest rise and fall as she took several deep breaths. The door was still open behind her, and Adam wondered if she was considering fleeing.
“I can explain,” he said, even though he couldn’t. He managed to stand up though, figuring he shouldn’t be the only one seated at this point. “Your aunt invited me back here for legal advice and pot roast, and—”
“My aunt invited you here because she knew exactly who you were,” Jenna said, folding her arms over her chest as she regarded her aunt. “What did you do, Aunt Gertie? Stalk him?”
Gigi—or should he call her Gertie?—shrugged and gave a who, me? kind of smile. “Really, dear, I don’t see what the big deal is. I follow him on Twitter, and saw he was shopping at Whole Foods just down the street.”
Adam blinked. “Wow, this just got kinda creepy.”
“‘Just?’” Jenna repeated. “As in it wasn’t already creepy enough to find out I slept with my best friend’s husband?”
“Ex-husband, dear,” Gertie offered helpfully. “They’ve been divorced almost three years, from what I understand.”
“Aunt Gertie—”
Adam held up his hands, trying to divert their attention before things escalated too far. “I’m sorry, do you need me to leave you two alone for a minute? It seems like you might have some things to work out, and I really should be going—”
“Stay!” Gertie grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back down onto the couch with enough force to knock the rest of the cookies off the plate. He started to pick them up, but kept his eyes on Jenna.
She sighed and kicked the front door shut. “I can’t believe you, Aunt Gertie.”
“Well I wanted to meet him, and besides—he knows something about publishing law.”
“Publishing law?”
“Yes. I’ve made a decision, dear. I’m going to go ahead and let them out me.”
“Out you?”
“I want everyone to know that the a
uthor of Panty Dropper is a little old lady.” She clapped her hands together, looking terrifyingly gleeful. “Can you imagine the publicity? It’ll be quite the scandal.”
She seemed delighted at the prospect, but Jenna looked a little sick. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.
“I thought we agreed we were going to keep things quiet for now. Keep the secrets a secret and all that.”
Gert shook her head. “That’s what you agreed, dear. I’m tired of hiding everything. I want to take credit for my books. I worked hard, and I deserve my time in the spotlight. Me, not just some faceless pen name.”
Adam watched as the panic in Jenna’s eyes gave way to tears. “I know you’ve worked hard, Aunt Gertie. And I’m proud of you. It’s just that my career—” she swallowed. “I’ve worked so hard to build a professional reputation.”
The quaver in her voice seemed to move Gertie forward. In a few strides, she was at Jenna’s side with an arm around her niece’s shoulders.
“We have different last names, dear. It isn’t like people will make the connection right away. Adam certainly didn’t. And even if they did, you and I are completely different people.”
Jenna choked a little on a laugh. “I’ll say.”
“Your colleagues can’t possibly judge everyone based on their insane relatives, can they? But really, that’s a moot point. I’ll be careful, I promise.”
“What is it you’re wanting to do?”
“Book tours. Television engagements.” Gert flung her arms out to the sides, her eyes twinkling with exhilaration. “All the publicity things my agent offered to set up for me if I’m willing. If only Regis were still on the air.”
Jenna swallowed again, and Adam could see her working to control her breathing. He had to give her credit—she was trying. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she was trying.
“And that’s what you want?”
“It is,” Gertie said. “I’ve been talking with Adam here about some of the legal implications, but really, I’ve already made up my mind. I’m ready to move forward with the next stage in my career.”
Jenna nodded and bit her lip. “Okay.” She took another breath, and seemed steadier when she spoke again. “I want you to be happy. I guess I can get used to the idea.”
“I’ll be careful, dear. I promise. And I’ll do my best to make sure this doesn’t turn into another scandal like the thing with the old CEO’s wife and the hookers.”
Jenna winced. “Okay. That’s all I can ask. I love you, Aunt Gertie.”
“You too, sweetheart.”
The two women embraced, and Adam stood quietly in front of the sofa. It was a beautiful moment, and it felt nice to be able to witness it. Aunt Gertie looked small and fragile in Jenna’s arms, while Jenna looked lovely and warm and fine boned. The scent of home cooking and cinnamon and orange peel gave the whole room a homey feel, and it felt like he was standing on the fringes of a Norman Rockwell painting.
The mood evaporated with the blare of Justin Timberlake’s “Sexy Back” blaring from Jenna’s purse. Adam clenched his hands behind his back, trying not to be annoyed. It used to be Mia’s favorite song. She’d dragged him out to a club one night, determined to draw him out of his shell, to get him to try something new, to cut loose and be spontaneous for a change.
It’ll be fun, I just want to dance and have a good time . . .
“Hey, Mia, what’s up?”
Adam blinked. As he refocused on the present, he saw Jenna with her phone pressed against her ear.
“Right now?” The panic was back in Jenna’s eyes again, and this time she looked ready to bolt. “You’re already on your way here?”
Adam gritted his teeth. For a moment there, he’d felt hope. Jenna seemed to be letting go of the idea that other people were judging her. He’d felt a flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—it meant something for them.
But as Jenna cut her eyes to him, he saw how very wrong he’d been. They stayed frozen like that for a moment, staring at each other across the expanse of the living room. Gert stood silent, as if waiting to see what would happen. Jenna held the phone to her ear, gripping it so hard her knuckles had gone white.
Adam stood up. “I’ll grab my coat,” he said, and slipped past her out the door.
Chapter Eleven
Jenna felt like hell.
It wasn’t just the memory of Adam’s expression as he’d moved past her out the door, his eyes flashing with the knowledge of being thrown over for his ex-wife.
That was bad enough. But the sight of Mia sobbing at the kitchen table was like a splintered Popsicle stick through her spleen.
“I feel like such a failure,” Mia sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue she’d already shredded to ribbons. “I had such high hopes for the counseling stuff, you know? But maybe I’m just not cut out for relationships.”
Gertie tucked a plate of pot roast in front of her and petted her hair. “There there, dear. I’ll just leave you two alone to talk—”
“No, stay!” Mia caught the old woman’s hand in hers and gave a watery smile. “You’re like a mother to me, Gertie. A nonjudgmental mother who doesn’t berate me for my life choices or make me feel financially beholden to her.”
Gertie squeezed Mia’s hand and smiled. “You’re a dear. I wish I could stay, but I have a phone interview in ten minutes and I need to get ready. I know you and Jenna have a lot to talk about, so I’ll leave you to it.”
Jenna tried not to wince as Gertie gave her a pointed look, then drifted out of the room. Mia blew her nose again, blessedly oblivious to Gertie’s prodding. Jenna reached out and touched her friend’s arm.
“So you tried the Nonviolent Communication stuff with Mark?”
Mia sniffled again. “I tried to. Honestly, I probably did it wrong. I took home the worksheet and everything, but he just got mad. Said we should be able to talk to each other like normal people without needing a flowchart and printouts from my ex-husband.”
“You think that’s what it was all about? That Adam’s the one who presented the tool?”
“Maybe. I don’t think so. Honestly, things have been bubbling up for a while now. Way before the wedding. Before we got pregnant, even.” She grabbed a tissue and mopped at her eyes again. “Why am I so bad at this?”
“Bad at what?”
“At relationships. If you’d asked me three or four years ago, I would have told you I was just married to the wrong guy. Now—I don’t know. Maybe I’m the wrong guy.”
“Don’t say that.” Jenna squeezed her hand. “You’re a great guy. You’re smart and funny and beautiful and one of the kindest people I know.”
Mia sniffed again and crumpled the tissue in her hand. “You’re so sweet. I’m sorry I’ve been such an awful friend lately. I feel like it’s become all Mia all the time between us.”
Jenna felt a pang of guilt in her gut, but she pushed it aside and rubbed her friend’s arm. “Hey, you’ve been there for me plenty of times when I needed you. That’s what friends are for.”
“Maybe. I feel like I’ve been so needy lately. It’s just—” She stopped, seeming to consider her words. “Do you think I made a mistake leaving Adam for Mark?”
All the blood drained from Jenna’s head. She felt dizzy and a little sick as she balled her hand in her lap under the table. “What?”
“I don’t mean I want him back. Adam, that is. I guess what I’m asking—” She shook her head. “Hell, I don’t know what I’m asking.”
“Try!” The word came out more harshly than Jenna expected, and Mia leaned back a little in her seat. Jenna softened her voice and tried again. “I mean, tell me what you’re thinking. I want to understand.”
Mia sighed. “I guess when I chose to leave my marriage, I felt like I was doing it for the right reasons. The relationship was broken, and there was no way to fi
x it. But learning all these new communication tools, and now seeing how hard things are with Mark . . . I don’t know, I guess I’m wondering if I didn’t try hard enough with Adam.”
Jenna swallowed, trying to keep her throat from closing up. “You want Adam back?”
“No! That’s not it at all. But it’s like art history.”
“What?”
Mia looked down at her hands as she spread her fingers out on the table. “When I was in college, I took a bunch of art history classes. I needed credits for arts and culture, and the classes fit around all the courses I needed to get my nursing degree.” She took a shaky breath and kept going. “I went to most of the classes, and I memorized big chunks of the textbook so I could ace the tests. But I didn’t really appreciate it. I didn’t sit back and enjoy the pictures or learn the stories behind the paintings. I didn’t really absorb the way the art made me feel because I was so busy memorizing so I could pass the class. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes,” Jenna said, her voice barely a whisper. “I think I do.”
Mia gave a small smile, seeming pleased to be understood. “So it’s not that I want to go back and take art history again. Not really. I guess I just wish I’d done it differently the first time. Spent less time taking notes and more time looking at the pictures. Done less cramming for tests and more standing in art galleries just admiring the paintings.”
Jenna swallowed, wishing she knew the right thing to say here. Wishing there were some magical guidebook she could consult. “No one gets relationships right on the first try. We probably never get it right, when it all comes down to it. All we can do is take the lessons we’ve learned and keep moving forward.”
Mia nodded and buried her hands in her lap. She studied them for a moment, then met Jenna’s eyes.
“Have you ever wanted a do-over in a relationship?”
Jenna bit her lip, too unsure to speak. “I—I don’t know.”
“With Sean, for instance. You said you had dinner with him last Friday night. How did it feel to be back together like that?”
“Weird,” Jenna admitted. “Familiar. Easy. Sometimes comfortable, sometimes really, really awkward.”
