“Then send her out, Claire, honestly! What are you talking about, anyway? You can’t be in love. You haven’t even told me you were seeing someone!” Davie’s carefully polished persona was slipping in his agitation, and he stammered on the line. Clearly, he was not taking this news well nor was he going to let it go. Claire could hear him slamming things around. He always got fidgety when he was angry. How Davie could go from smooth and playful to short-tempered, moody, and over-protective in five seconds was a constant source of amazement for Claire. His mood swings were worse than hers could ever think about being. And really, Davie needed to get over it. She was almost thirty, wasn’t she—and it was her choice to fall in love.
“It’s only been a few dates, but he’s so wonderful—” Claire tried win Davie over, but he cut her short.
“Don’t be childish, Claire, you can’t ‘love’ someone after only a few dates.” Davie’s words were scathing. “Jake, you said his name is? Tell me, Ms. Baker, how much have you learned about this Jake over a few dates?”
Claire sulked in her chair. The abrupt shift in attitude was quick, even for Davie. It was almost as if she’d been dialed by Dr. Jekyll, and Hyde had stolen the phone. “I know a lot, okay?” She hated how immature she always seemed to sound when she argued with Davie, who was far superior in the art of debate. “He went to Julliard and teaches music in the city. He—”
“A music teacher?” Davie scoffed. “Come on, Claire, be serious.”
Claire snorted back at him, determined to give him the cold shoulder via phone line. She could see him standing, hands on his hips, glowering down at her like he’d done so many times, with great satisfaction, when they were kids and she’d infuriated him. She hoped he could see her, too—arms crossed over her chest, head turned away, nose toward the sky. Yes, it might not be the most adult way for her to behave, but oh well—if he was going to treat her like a child, then she was going to act like one.
He just had to give Jake a chance that was all. Davie always thought musicians were lazy, skulking drama queens, incapable of settling down into a normal, productive life. His own father had been a promising musician—had been, until his addiction had landed him and Davie’s mother in a world of trouble that ended with Davie entering into foster care. But, Claire would never dream of mentioning that to Davie, especially when he was agitated. He simply had no idea how brilliant a musician Jake was, much less how adoring he was and how happy he made her. If Davie would just give Jake a chance, he’d come around to her way of thinking and be happy for her. Claire was sure of it.
The line stayed silent as they both battled to win the last word in the most heated quiet game ever played.
“Um, I don’t mean to interrupt this touching love-fest or anything,” Nik chimed in from the corner, “but we’ve got an urgent spread meeting in the conference room in, like, three minutes for that last minute special holiday issue. It’s now or never to go to print. Holiday parties, cocktail dresses, the best of local stocking stuffer accessories you can’t live without, whatever.” She was busy waving people out of Claire’s office doorway with dismissive flicks that made the dozen or so bracelets on her wrists clang against each other like little cymbals. No one ever challenged Nik. For as tiny as she was, every inch of her small stature was a little more terrifying than the last, until all four foot eleven of her was the equivalent of a short-fused packet of fireworks. They always say dynamite comes in small packages.
“Claire? Are you there?” Davie’s voice was softer but still carried an edge, like a slightly dulled blade that needed only a few good flicks of the stone to be razor sharp again. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I just don’t want you to…get hurt.” Claire stayed silent. Apparently, she’d won the silent contest, but it was a bittersweet victory at best. “Are you still there?”
“Two minutes. Make up already you two,” Nik tapped her stiletto heel behind Claire. If Nikole Pendergrass could be counted on for anything, it was her crazy hairdos, dangerously tall shoes, and punctuality.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Claire mumbled into the phone, turning back to nod her acknowledgement to Nik’s countdown. It wasn’t Davie’s apology that she really wanted. She wanted him to be excited for her. She wanted to imagine him running his fingers through his hair like he did when he was really into something, not surrendering so she wouldn’t be mad at him. She had known he’d grouch at her when she told him about Jake—that was as certain as his phone call this morning would be, but she hadn’t expected him to throw such a temper fit. “But I’ve got to go now. I’ve got a meeting.”
“Forgive me, Claire? Let’s talk about this later, okay? Tonight?” Davie’s voice melted into the deep tenor reserved only for when he was being apologetic, or pleading, neither of which were very often.
“Sure. Okay.”
“I love you, Claire.”
“I love you too.”
Nik grabbed Claire’s hand almost the second the phone landed in its cradle, pulling her out of the chair. With those heels, she actually towered over Claire. The pixie standing on stilts titled Claire’s head up and fixed her slate-gray eyes with the intense stare of pretty blue ones. “Look, we both know Davie can be a jerk, but it’s only because he loves you. And, I still think he’s secretly in love with you, in a non-incesty, not-really-brother-and-sister kind of way anyway. So, that makes him a super-jerk sometimes. But, either way, he’s a dude, and dudes can be jerks for no good reason anyway. We let that just roll off, savvy?”
Claire raised an eyebrow at the thought of Davie in love with her. She knew Nik was just trying to numb the sting of his sharp words, but as convincing as Nik could make anything sound, it wasn’t possible. He was like a brother after all, even if it was by design and not by blood. And yes, she knew he loved her dearly, but the difference between brotherly love and romantic love was so vast that Claire couldn’t fathom ever crossing that distance. Claire thought affectionately of Davie, but as her eternal playmate. Surely he thought of her the same way, but with the added protective nature of any good big brother and nothing more. Sure, they were adults now, but he’d always be her protective Davie, sheltering her from the storms of life. Some things didn’t change with time, right?
But Nik was right even if crude. David Hunter could be a jerk, even a super one. Claire shrugged her worries away and let her thoughts return to Jake’s perfect grin and those three little words. With thoughts so sweet, her lips couldn’t help but bloom into a small smile. Davie could be upset all he wanted, but he would get over it. She was in love whether he liked it or not.
Releasing her wrist, Nik plucked Claire’s heels from where she’d kicked them off under the desk. She didn’t even try to hide her disdain as she eyed them with a small scowl of disapproval. Nik had tried more than once to persuade Claire into buying torturous looking devices that only vaguely resembled footwear, but so far had been unsuccessful.
“Come on, princess,” Nik winked suggestively. “Let’s get you to the ball.”
Chapter 4
“Ms. Baker, there is a delivery for you in the foyer. Shall I send Carlo up?” Claire’s assistant, Monica, breathed in the phone’s intercom. Monica had that throaty, vapid voice that Claire was convinced all Manhattan assistants possessed.
“Okay,” Claire shot the first word she could think of out of her mouth without thinking. She shook her head and took a deep breath to try again. “Yes, please, Monica,” she said, hoping she sounded more composed and in charge of the situation this time. Monica clicked sharply off the intercom without responding. Was it possible for the sound of a line clicking off to sound annoyed? In the months since she’d had an assistant, Claire still hadn’t gotten quite used to someone else’s attention to her daily details, or the buzz of the intercom for that matter.
The truth was, Monica—a severe brunette with legs for miles—intimidated Claire, scared the hell out of her, really. It was as if their roles had gotten reversed. Monica was a much better fit for the power suit than Claire, wh
o often felt like she was playing office, with her messy curls and homemade cardigans. Though they barely interacted beyond Monica delivering messages or occasionally coming into Claire’s office to take notes, Monica’s prim self-confidence made her seem formidable. People often believed that the boss was the dominant one in the boss-assistant relationship, but it wasn’t so. The assistant was the one with all the power and Monica was a beast. Next to Monica, Claire felt like little more than a mouse.
Claire had been lost in thought, twisting an estranged curl between her fingers and staring out of her office window at the smoggy New York sky. But she wasn’t thinking about work. She’d been sliding her thoughts back and forth between things far closer to her heart—daydreaming about Jake, the curious boy who’d captured her heart, and worrying over Davie, the most important person in her life, whose reactions she never could quite understand. Thinking of Jake, she felt alive, as if small flickers of electricity were popping and buzzing inside her body in tiny little sparks. On the other hand, thinking of Davie flooded her with warm, comforting currents, but with an unpleasant undercurrent of some kind of sadness and a feeling that was like drowning. Jake made her heart beat faster with excitement and anticipation for things new and undiscovered, but Davie slowed her heart back down with a sense of calm and steadiness. She’d never known the feeling of having her heart beat fast and slow almost at the same time.
“Package for you, Miss Claire,” Carlo the deliveryman greeted Claire from her office door. His thickly accented voice boomed out from beneath a mass of black mustache that crawled across his face like a furry caterpillar. His beige delivery uniform was the same cardboard brown as the tiny package in his paw of a hand. Standing large in the doorway, he waited for Claire’s permission to enter. Carlo’s face was one of Claire’s favorites in the office. A fellow from New Jersey, how he suffered the commute to the city every day Claire would never understand. She was glad he did though. He was kind and considerate and often stayed a few moments to chat about his family back over the bridge. His wife was from Italy, and sometimes he’d have a leftover bit of something to share with Claire, which was always delicious.
“Thanks, Carlo,” Claire said, taking the package. She penned her signature on his clipboard, trying to guess the contents of the small, paper-wrapped square. Of all the deliveries Carlo made—and he made deliveries to Claire’s office daily, sometimes several times a day—she couldn’t ever remember being given a parcel so tiny. She weighed the small box in her palm and eyed the slip of paper attached to its top suspiciously. She could see a handwritten message inside its folds but couldn’t make out the words.
Carlo smiled at Claire, tipped his beige hat at her, and strolled out of the office with a wink. Perhaps he’d read the note and already knew its secret. Claire knew he’d walk back by the front desk to say goodbye to Monica as he always did. Really, everyone always felt compelled to walk past Monica, whether for permission or for a look at those legs of hers. Claire did, too, but mostly because she was trying to pretend that she wasn’t terrified of the woman behind the desk.
Claire peeled the notecard from the top of the package with crimson red nails that blotted like a scarlet kiss against the flimsy white paper. The handwriting on the note was thin and careful, but it carved each word deep into the paper with the writing of someone who crafted a note word by word. She recognized both the writing and its author immediately.
Claire Darling, an acorn for your thimble. Meet me at your window tonight, 7p.m. Love, Jake
Claire’s heart skipped a beat. She unwrapped the package, tenderly folding the paper away from a deep jewel-blue velvet box underneath. Free of the dingy brown paper, the velvet jewelry box was the color of the midnight sky. If the box itself was so beautiful, what it hid inside Claire couldn’t begin go guess. With her teeth pressed down into her bottom lip, and one eye shut, she lifted the lid of the box to look inside.
Nestled in a soft bed of creamy satin lay a breathtaking charm pendant on a short rope necklace chain. A faceted crystal acorn topped with an encrusted cap filled with dozens of tiny, glittering pinpoint crystals sparkled up at her. It twinkled like a trinket plucked from the forest floors of Neverland itself in the fingertips of sunlight peeking in Claire’s office window. A gasp escaped the corner of Claire’s lips. The acorn was the loveliest thing she’d ever seen.
That evening, Claire tamed her long curls into a low ponytail that swept over her shoulder and brushed against the top of the deep blue sweetheart dress she’d picked from her closet. With a bodice that shimmered with a beaded silver sequin trim like a starry night sky, the dark blue of the dress reminded her of the velvet jewelry box. Dressed in blue and sparkles, Claire hoped Jake would appreciate her resemblance to his own incredible gift as she leaned out the window to look for him. The acorn pendant was cool were it rested against the warm skin of her collarbone, landing perfectly in the folded cushion of flesh around the top of her breasts. Since Carlo had delivered the beautiful necklace, Claire had thought of nothing but Jake and wished the clock would hurry to seven p.m. Her other troubles were, at least momentarily, forgotten.
At five minutes till seven, Claire’s cell phone rang, singing the default ring tone she’d never figured out how to change. She’d expected to see Jake appear like Pan outside her window, but perhaps that had been silly—after all, Jake couldn’t fly. He must be ringing from outside. Her heart flipped in nervous somersaults as she hurried to find the phone, scolding herself for having such silly thoughts.
But it wasn’t Jake calling at all. It was Davie.
Claire sighed and sank onto her bed with the phone still ringing in her hand. Since their argument earlier that morning, Davie had tried Claire at least a dozen times. Her cell phone, office phone, and email had been littered with his attempts to apologize. Even Monica had breezed into Claire’s office, her headset cocked above her lip and heels somehow still rapping sharply on the plush carpet. “David Hunter is calling again, Miss Baker,” she’d announced with all the confident neutrality of a Swiss supermodel.
Claire had shaken her head no to motion that she wouldn’t take the call. Even though she knew good and well that Davie was on hold, she worried that he might somehow hear her betrayal slip through the phone line. Monica, of course, had dismissed him with easy diplomacy, asserting that Claire was in a meeting “at the moment.” Sure, a meeting of cowards. Claire had felt terrible about lying to Davie. She didn’t think she’d ever lied to him before.
“Hi, Davie,” she answered on the fifth ring. She lay back on the bed and put her hand over her eyes like some pitiful shield, bracing herself for what she was sure would be an onslaught of Davie’s temper. If he got so upset over being ignored when she was distracted by Nik’s antics, he was going to be a force to be reckoned with after she’d avoided his calls all day.
“Claire, oh my God.” Davie’s voice was soft, almost timorous, and completely not the heated rumble she’d expected. He breathed an audible sigh of relief across the line, waited a few breaths. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
Claire’s startled gray eyes peeked out from behind her palm, lured by the tender tone in Davie’s voice. She’d expected him to be angry with her, yell maybe, but not to be relieved to hear her voice. “Worried?” She tried to keep suspicion and surprise from leaking into her words.
“Yes, Claire, I…” Davie said, quietly. He paused, took a slow, deep breath. It was another breath before he spoke again. “I worry about you. I’m worried about what’s going on. I…I’m just worried.”
Claire could hear ruffling against the mouthpiece of Davie’s end of the line. He had a nervous habit of rubbing his jaw when he was anxious, though she hadn’t seen him do it in years. When they were young, she’d often catch him pacing the gardens behind their foster parents’ house and rubbing his jaw until it burned red. These days Davie was all cool confidence, the nervous little boy of their youth replaced with a savvy businessman, strong and capable. A loud, muffled voic
e shrilled in the background.
“Davie, I’m fine. I’m better than fine. I promise,” Claire said eagerly, trying to ease Davie’s worry. She couldn’t stand it when he worried about her. She straightened up on her bed. “Everything here is so great, Davie. I have so much to tell you. I must tell you all about Jake and our picnic and how much everything is changing. You’ll be so excited for me. I know you will. So, don’t worry, ok? But I have to go. He’ll be here any minute. I’ll call you tonight, okay?” She gushed into the phone until she was out of air, a fish out of water.
The other side of the line stayed quiet, save for the occasional blare of the muffled voices in the background. Claire waited out a few beats of her heart, listening to the proverbial crickets fill the silence. Another screech of the muffled voice. Claire thought she heard “David Hunter” somewhere in the garble. “Where are you anyway?”
“I’m at the airport, Claire,” Davie’s voice was still low, soft, but becoming harder, that familiar edge creeping back into his words. Claire wished she had some idea at what was causing Davie’s colossal mood swings. Sure, he was moody, but not like this. He was too moody for her to even joke about his moodiness, which was a dangerously uncommon thing.
“Oh.” Claire hadn’t realized he was leaving on another business trip. She normally knew every time his feet were off the ground, had his itinerary in her inbox. “Where are you going?”
“There is somewhere I need to be,” he snapped.
“Oh,” Claire said, again, dumbly. It was already impossible to keep up with the changes in Davie’s voice, never mind get past his cryptic response. She let the line fall silent again. It was not like him to take such a tone with her, and Claire couldn’t decide if she was hurt or worried. She decided to play it safe and say nothing.
The Acorn Tattoo: The Neverland Series Part 1 Anniversary Edition Page 3
