“I always thought of Portland as being a really modern place. This isn’t too old fashioned for you?”
Claire laughed. “Are you kidding? It couldn't be more perfect. But I’m an old fashioned girl. If I do end up moving to Boston, this is where I would live, and not just to be close to Jay. If I could choose anywhere in the city, this would be it.” She stopped walking and looked around appreciatively. “You know, Portland has its share of old neighborhoods, too.”
“Really? I had no idea.” To be honest, Jamie had spent so long cursing Portland for not being in Maine that it hadn’t left a lot of time for research.
“Sure! My sister lives in a beautiful antique Craftsman cottage. She and her husband restored it themselves. That’s, like, my lifelong dream.”
“Restoring an old house?” Jamie asked in disbelief.
“I know it sounds silly, but—”
“No, it doesn't at all. In fact, I’ve been helping my roommate restore his place for years. It’s a Victorian on Cape Ann. It's one of my favorite hobbies.” Damn. Why does everything about Claire have to be so perfect?
“Jamie Lee?”
Claire’s voice came from several feet behind her. Jamie turned, chagrined to realize that the smaller woman was struggling to keep up with her long strides. “I’m sorry. Am I going too fast? I do that sometimes.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s these shoes,” Claire replied, embarrassed.
Jamie glanced at the shoes and cringed. She’d noticed them earlier in an isn’t-Claire-beautiful-tonight kind of a way, but only now did she register that the heels were at least four inches high.
“I didn’t realize how uneven the brick sidewalks would be and my feet are killing me.” Claire explained. “Is it much further to the apartment?” It was evident from her tone that she was in pain.
The apartment? Jamie was so wrapped up in conversation she had completely lost track of their original mission and was mostly just trying to extend her time with Claire. “Actually,” Jamie said, gesturing toward a row of immaculate brownstones next to an elegant stone church with a towering steeple, “it’s one of those over there.” They weren’t the ones Jamie had initially had in mind, but one fictitious apartment was as good as another, right? Hopefully Claire wouldn’t inquire how much it cost to rent these particular units, or she would have to kill off one of Jay’s imaginary rich uncles to pay for the damn thing. Claire was suitably impressed. She lowered herself onto the front steps of the house behind them and sat quietly, admiring the view.
“Wow. This is amazing. Thank you, Jamie Lee,” she said, gazing up and flashing a radiant smile that made Jamie’s heart flutter. “I'm sorry, but is that what everyone calls you? It doesn't seem to suit you. Do you have a nickname or something?”
“Jay—me,” she said, quickly correcting herself. “Just Jamie.”
“Well, thank you for a wonderful evening, Jamie.”
The faintest glimmer of something sparked within Claire's eyes in the dim lamplight. It caught Jamie off guard, sending a thrill through her before leaving her completely at a loss as to how to interpret its meaning. If she had been on a real date and a woman looked at her like that, she would have known exactly what it meant. But this was Claire, a thoroughly straight woman who had only agreed to dinner tonight because the man she had come all this way to meet was not available. It's just wishful thinking, she concluded. “I guess we’d better head back.” Jamie said aloud. Before my imagination runs out of control.
Claire glanced at the clock on her phone. “Didn’t you say you had an eight-thirty train? Do you think you’ll be able to get there in time?”
Jamie nodded. They’d wandered farther from the T than they should have, but there was probably just enough time. She put her hand out and pulled Claire up from her perch on the step. Claire winced as her full weight landed on her tortured feet. She dug her fingernails into Jamie’s hand as she fought to steady herself.
“Do you think you can make it?” Jamie asked, looking concerned. “What if you took your shoes off?”
“I thought of that, but the ground is so rough with all this brick. I’m afraid going barefoot would tear up my feet even worse.”
Jamie thought for a minute. “I have an idea. Put your arm around my waist.” Claire did, and Jamie slipped her arm around her back and under her arm, supporting as much of her weight as she could and using every drop of willpower not to think about how close her fingertips were to the swell of Claire’s ample breasts. That's enough! Do not even think the word 'ample' again. “Does that help?”
Claire took a cautious step alongside Jamie, then nodded. “Much better. It will be slow, but I think I can make it. Thank you.” Claire smiled up at Jamie, then nestled her head against her for the journey.
As they hobbled along, Claire’s hand gripping Jamie’s waist, her hip and leg brushing against Jamie’s own, Jamie found herself torn between her concern for Claire and the overwhelming sweetness of holding her so close. It was all she could do not to sweep her up like a delicate bird, carry her all the way to the train, and never put her down again. At their current pace, Jamie knew it would take several more minutes to reach the station at the end of the street, but they would make it eventually.
And then Claire would be gone. How was she ever going to let her go?
8
Claire stumbled up the last two steps to Jamie’s front door, her mangled feet far from recovered even after the drive to Cape Ann.
“You okay?” Jamie turned to Claire. “Maybe you don’t really want to come in after all. I mean, my roommate has some friends over, and your feet must be killing you.”
Claire studied Jamie’s face, trying to puzzle out the sudden change of heart. Concern? Trepidation? Something mysterious lurked behind the woman’s cat-like green eyes, but Claire couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The realization sent a nervous shiver through her, and for a moment she wondered if she should go inside after all.
“Don’t be silly!” she said instead, curiosity overcoming her concern. “I’m dying to see the inside of this house that you’ve told me so much about. Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That I can take these shoes off the second you get that door unlocked!” The heels had been a stupid choice, but Jamie was so tall that Claire had felt compelled. Foolish vanity. She was paying for it now, but was it her fault she found the woman’s height so—what was the word?—alluring? No, not alluring! Intimidating, that was the word she had been looking for. She had no idea where that other word had come from.
Jamie pushed the door open. “After you,” she said. “You can kick those torture devices you’ve been wearing next to the hall tree.”
Claire looked to where Jamie’s finger pointed and saw a piece of heavy antique furniture that held several coats, some umbrellas, and a large Stetson. It reminded her of the one Jay had worn in his photo. I didn’t realize cowboy hats were so popular this far north. She stopped beside the hall tree and grabbed Jamie’s hands to steady herself as she removed first one shoe and then the other, stretching her toes and sighing audibly in relief as her bare feet came in contact with the smooth wood of the floorboards. She laughed at the sound she’d made, and Jamie joined her. “I just wanted to be taller,” she managed to stammer between fits of giggles.
“I don’t see why,” Jamie replied. “You’re perfect the way you are.”
Pleasant warmth washed over her at the compliment and she smiled broadly. “Thanks, but tall people never understand. How tall are you, anyway? You must be nearly as tall as Jay.”
“Yeah, almost exactly,” Jamie muttered, then added more loudly, “Come through here and I’ll show you that woodwork in the living room I was telling you about.” Jamie strained against the heavy pocket door, which slid into the wall to reveal a large room where maybe a dozen people sat conversing while sipping from glasses filled with fruit slices and red liquid. The rhythm of a nondescript party tune throbbed in the back
ground just loud enough to set the mood. A large man with a shining bald head, trendy beard, and hipster glasses unfolded himself from a chair as they entered and beamed a broad grin in greeting.
“Hello!” the man’s deep voice boomed. “You must be Claire! Jamie told me she was bringing home a friend. Welcome! Let me get you a drink.” The man stressed both syllables of Jamie’s name in an exaggerated way that made Claire wonder just how strong those drinks might be, but she took the glass when it was offered. “Sangria,” he explained, “my special recipe.”
“Claire,” Jamie said, “this is Paul. He’s my roommate, and landlord, too, I guess.”
“Nice to meet you,” Claire replied. “Your house is amazing. But I’m sorry. Jamie said you had a few friends over, but I seem to be crashing a full blown party.”
“No worries,” Paul assured her, “it’s just my usual mid-week sangria party. It’s been a long week.”
“But it’s only Tuesday.” Claire took a large swallow from her glass and shuddered as the liquid burned a fiery trail down her esophagus. She wondered if Paul’s special recipe required a permit.
“Like I said, it's been a long week.”
“Paul and his fellow artist friends here see the world a little differently than the rest of us regular working people,” Jamie explained, and Claire giggled.
I must be nervous, Claire thought, I never giggle. She sipped her sangria, and this time a gentle warmth replaced the initial burn. It went down more smoothly with practice.
“Sit down, ladies, sit down,” Paul invited, gesturing toward the seat he had just vacated.
It was styled like an old fashioned wing chair, only a bit wider, though not as large as a couch, and Claire studied it, puzzled. It looked like something out of Jack and the Beanstalk. It made sense, in a way, since both Paul and Jamie seemed like giants to someone who stood barely five-foot-four.
“Paul’s precious chair and a half,” Jamie explained. “He bought it because he thinks regular chairs are too small for him. You go ahead and sit down. He always thinks you can fit two people in that thing, but he forgets I’m almost as big as he is.”
“That’s okay,” Claire offered, “I don’t mind squeezing in. I think we’ll both fit.” She scooted as far to one side as she could to make room as Jamie eased herself onto the other half. Their legs were pressed together from hip to knee, and between the warmth of that contact and the spreading glow of the sangria she had already consumed, Claire found herself momentarily floating in a pleasant haze.
As the evening wore on, the guests laughed and chatted as Paul dutifully circled the room, refilling glasses from an earthenware pitcher filled with red wine and fruit. Claire found it alarmingly easy to lose track of how much she’d had to drink as her glass miraculously remained full all night.
She wasn’t aware of dozing off until the whole left side of her body was cold. Claire stretched in the chair, which she now occupied solo. She felt chilly and exposed, and wished that Jay would hurry back. She shook her head in confusion. No, not Jay, Jamie. I came all this way to meet Jamie, where is she? No not Jamie, Jay. She had come all this way for Jay. The sangria must have been stronger than she thought. She was having a hard time keeping the two of them straight.
“So, you’re Jay’s new girl?”
Claire looked up in surprise at the voice. A man now occupied the ottoman in front of her, a friendly smile on his face. “Sorry, what’s that?” she asked. “How do you know Jay?”
The man laughed. “I think you’d better lay off the drinks, darlin’. I’m talking about Jamie. You arrived together, remember? She lives here? Anyway, are you the new girlfriend?”
Claire shook her head in confusion. “Girlfriend? No. We just met. I don’t have a girlfriend. I mean, I’m not her—I’m sorry, I’m not making much sense. Wait, why would Jamie have—Is Jamie gay?”
This time the man laughed so hard his body shook and he slapped his knees. “Good one! That’s a good one! Darlin’, I think we’re all gay. It’s kind of our thing. Hadn’t you noticed?”
Claire took a good look around the room. It was all men except her, which she’d noticed in a vague sort of way when they arrived. Looking closer, now she saw something else, too. Most of the men appeared to be together in that way that couples do at a party: standing close, holding hands, resting against one another. Kind of like how she had been sitting with Jamie a few minutes ago. No wonder he thought… But I didn’t know!
“Sorry, darlin’. I just assumed you were Jamie’s latest.”
“Latest? Why, does she have new girlfriends frequently?” Claire wasn’t certain what to make of the jealousy that was bubbling up inside her, but she bristled at the thought of Jamie having a lot of girlfriends.
“Well, she does have a reputation,” the man replied. Seeing Claire’s eyes narrow, he hastened to add, “Not that she cheats or leads anyone on, don’t you worry about that. You can trust her. She just has bad luck sometimes, I think. But you seem like a keeper.”
But we’re not…oh, never mind. Claire massaged her temples, her head spinning. “I think I had too much to drink…I’m sorry, I didn’t even catch your name.”
“Malcolm,” the man replied. “And, yeah, Paul mixes a mean sangria. There’s a secret ingredient in there that gives it an extra punch. He made up a batch once for a party and it kicked off a three day pub crawl that was pretty epic.”
Claire laughed and quickly regretted it as the sound reverberated around the inside of her skull. “Well, Malcolm, there will be no pub crawling for me tonight. But there won’t be any driving, either, so I might end up crawling home.”
“You could always crash here. That’s what most of us do. There’s plenty of room.”
“No, I can’t. I have a hotel in Boston I need to get back to.”
“Where in Boston?” After Claire told him, Malcolm scanned the room, his eyes landing on a skinny guy in a red shirt who was jangling a set of keys in one hand. “Hey, Adam! You heading home right now? Think you can give Jamie’s girlfriend a ride?”
“No, I’m not—” there was no sense arguing the point now. “I don’t want to be any trouble. I can take a taxi.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Adam assured her after Malcolm told him where Claire needed to go. “I go right past there on my way home. But I’ve gotta go right now. I’ve got an early morning. So, you coming?”
Claire nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to get back to her hotel room, take some aspirin, and go to sleep. She glanced furtively around the room but there was no sign of Jamie. She didn’t want to leave without seeing Jamie. “Wait, my car. What am I going to do about the car, and Jamie? I need to say goodbye.”
“Don’t worry about the car, or Jamie,” Malcolm said. “I’ll look around for her and explain. She’ll understand, and you can think about the car in the morning.”
Claire nodded again, too exhausted to argue, then slipped out the door and down the steps to where Adam was parked. The cold leather of the seat sent a chill through her bare skin, and the memory of Jamie’s radiant warmth pressing against her filled her with a visceral wave of longing.
I've had way too much sangria.
Something told her she’d have a lot more than her rental car to think about in the morning, but now was not the time to worry about that.
* * *
Back in the house, Jamie filled two empty pitchers with ice as Paul mixed a new batch of his secret recipe from the array of bottles on the kitchen table. Sliding her body away from the soft, warm comfort of a gently sleeping Claire was the most difficult thing she could remember doing in her adult life, and she silently cursed her best friend for needing her help.
“So, how’s it going with Claire?” Paul asked with a wide grin.
“A lot better before you dragged me away,” Jamie snapped.
“Relax, Girly, I just needed an update. She hasn’t caught on about you being Jay?”
“No, not yet. And thanks for reminding your fr
iends to call me Jamie tonight. They didn’t think it was strange?”
“They were already drinking when your text arrived. I doubt they gave it much thought. And I saw your Sleeping Beauty out there, all cuddled up next to you, by the way,” he teased. “Things will probably go even better after she wakes up, don’t you think?”
“No, Paul. I don’t think. That should be obvious.” Jamie sighed, raking her fingers across her scalp. Her head throbbed from stress, though not from alcohol. Jamie was familiar enough with Paul’s sangria to steer clear of the stuff, especially when she had a secret to keep. “I don’t think very much at all, lately. I was supposed to have dinner and say goodbye and get on with my life. Instead, I brought her home so my best friend could get her intoxicated, and now I still have to say goodbye, but thanks to you I get to do it with the knowledge of exactly how good it feels to have her asleep in my arms. So, yeah, thanks for that.”
“I did it for your own good, Girly! Trust me. I know I said the other day that you needed to move on and all that, but the minute I saw the two of you, I had a feeling. I think she likes you!” His voice sang this particular bit of news. “Why do you think I refilled her glass all night? Now she can’t drive home, so she’ll have to stay here, and then you can just see what happens.”
Jamie squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the action would stop her brain from exploding out of her skull. “That’s your plan? Get Claire drunk and see if she turns into a lesbian? You don’t just have a few drinks and turn gay, Paul.”
“Actually, with this stuff, some people do. Seriously, there was this party last year, and this one really hot model from the shoot—”
“Ewwww! Stop talking right now, Paul.” Her head was already killing her, she didn’t need to be nauseous, too.
The kitchen door swung open and Paul’s friend Malcolm walked in. “Jamie,” he said, “I was just looking for you. Your girlfriend wanted me to tell you that she got a ride home with Adam.”
Telling Lies Online Page 6
