Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
JAY/CLAIRE
"Morning, Rob." Jay carefully positioned himself in the chair across from his best friend.
"Morning? It's practically afternoon,” Rob corrected.
"It's not even ten o'clock. I'm not that late. And I see you didn't bother to wait." He pointed to the empty plate on the table between them.
With a wave, Jay secured the attention of the server, eager to order breakfast—namely a large cup of black coffee. The open-air dining area inside the resort sat deserted, and Jay figured most guests had hit the beach at daybreak.
"I'm sure you've got one hell of an excuse. You always do." Rob rolled his eyes.
"Let's just say I had a very rough night, no thanks to you." Jay smiled with relief at the approaching server bearing a silver coffee carafe.
"Me? I didn't even see you. I turned in right after dinner, remember? I thought you were doing the same."
"I told you I was gonna grab a drink before heading up."
"Yeah. One drink."
"One sometimes turns into two."
"Or three." Rob grinned.
"It might have been more if you hadn't called and ruined everything," Jay said, pointing at the menu and giving the server another nod.
"I called your cell phone and your room multiple times, but you never picked up. I was just making sure you were okay."
"I'm fine, Rob."
"Well, yeah, I can see that now,” Rob replied.
“I’m not going to do anything desperate, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” Jay looked his best friend square in the eye. “In fact, last night was the first time in a long time I felt like myself.”
“Ok, so then how did me calling the bar ruin your whole night?" Rob asked, his tone accusatory.
"Technically it wasn’t you. It was the bartender.
He told the server to tell me that my better half was on the phone.
" Jay took the first healing sip from the steamy mug, his head now paying the price for his late-night overindulgence. “I’d been having a nice talk with this woman and as soon as I stepped away to take the call, she vanished—”
“Because she thought you were married,” Rob finished. “Man, I’m so sorry. We should probably let the bartender know we’re not a couple.”
“I don’t care if anyone thinks we're a couple. I would have explained all this to her as soon as I got off our call, but she was gone.”
The server placed a plate in front of Jay. He salted his eggs while Rob watched with a curious look.
“Well…” Rob smirked.
The glimmer in Rob's eyes meant one thing—he wanted details. Jay didn’t provide an answer right away, which was an answer in itself. He also couldn’t hide the tiny curl of a smile on his lips—the first one he’d managed in months. Another telling sign.
“Are you gonna tell me?” Rob asked.
"Tell you what?"
"What happened in the bar last night with this woman?"
“It wasn’t a big deal.” Jay kept his focus on his plate, avoiding Rob’s eyes.
“Your poker face is shit. Of course it was a big deal. Let's start with the obvious. Does she have a name?"
"She does, and it’s Claire. No last name—just Claire."
It was the first time Jay said her name aloud. He instantly liked the way it rolled off his tongue. His smile grew wider as he recalled a number of clever exchanges they'd made in the bar.
"Is it that woman we saw at the airport? The one who kept giving you the eye? You know, the one who looked like a model?"
Jay took a bite of toast and mumbled, "Nope."
"Where's she from?"
"No idea. She’s American. Has a bit of a southern drawl."
"What does she do?" Rob asked.
Jay shrugged. "Not a clue."
"What did y’all do?"
"We sat by the piano and talked."
Rob’s expression turned from excited to disappointed. "That's it?"
"That's it." Jay nodded firmly.
"What'd you talk about?" Rob pressed after a long pause.
"I don't know, Rob. What do strangers in bars talk about? She sat down and we started talking about singers and composers and movies and basketball and it just sorta went from there."
“Let me guess. Long dark hair. Big brown eyes. On the petite side.”
“Nope. She’s a dead ringer for Kate Winslet—face and body-wise.
I did a double take when she sat down. She's not rail thin either.
She has curves. And she's tall. Like maybe five-feet-ten.
She reads. She travels. She can talk sports like no woman I've ever known.
And she's smart—probably Mensa level,” Jay rattled off without as much as a blink.
"That makes two of you."
"She's funny and she has a really great laugh. Oh, and the most incredible green eyes you've ever seen."
"You found all this out in one night, but got no last name?" Rob asked.
"I asked, but she didn't offer. It doesn't matter anyway."
"Why is that?"
"Because she's married." Jay said, tapping his ring finger.
"Married?" Rob’s eyes widened.
"Now hold on before you start in on me." His hand went up again, silencing further judgment. "She was coming on to me, not the other way around.”
"Where was her husband?"
"No idea. Asleep, I suppose. Or maybe he was trying to score elsewhere."
Rob shot him a look. "You, of all people, I would think, would not find that the least bit funny."
Jay looked away, his mind on a bullet train back to the night he and Hope had almost called it quits after a New Year’s Eve party.
Jay had watched Dr. Brett Monroe all evening, tipsy and circling his wife like a hawk.
He stood a little too close to Hope during small-group conversations.
When he refilled her champagne, his hand lingered on hers a few seconds too long as he returned the flute.
Other partygoers might not have noticed, but Jay did.
When midnight arrived and celebrations reached their zenith, a fully intoxicated Brett had stumbled over and kissed the collective cheeks of several women clustered together in a tight group.
When he reached Hope, he went all in, slinging a heavy arm up on her shoulder and pressing a kiss to her mouth.
Of course, Hope pushed him away immediately, but Jay saw something behind her eyes.
It lasted only a second, but long enough for him to make a Xerox copy in his mind.
An outward look of surprise and disgust, yes, but one that screamed, “My God, not here, Brett!” instead of “Get away from me, you drunk idiot!” The marital tensions that had been lurking in the shadows of their relationship were suddenly thrust out into the open.
Though Hope repeatedly denied a tryst, nothing had been the same between them since that night. Not that it mattered now.
Jay stabbed a piece of fresh melon and pushed the painful memory from his thoughts. "C'mon Rob, the whole thing was completely innocent. We sat and talked, and then she got up and left without a word.”
His mind centered on Claire’s eyes, and the way they sparkled in the candlelight. For the first time since Christmas morning, he truly relaxed. Her smile had given him the courage to let go and forget about his tragic past… at least for a little while. She’d made it easy from the word go.
"Maybe you'll run into her today and you can ask her what happened," Rob suggested.
"Right,” Jay said sarcastically. “I'm sure her husband would love that.”
She ran ahead of him, dressed in just his ski jacket and black lace panties. Her laughter sounded like music, and it echoed all around them. She stopped and scooped up a handful of snow that she quickly formed into a ball.
"You wouldn't." He shook his head.
"I would." She bit her lip with a seductive grin.
She hurled the snowball at him. Yet when it made contact with his face, it exploded into hundreds of tiny basketballs.
"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" she screamed, running to him.
"I can't feel my nose!" he shouted. "You broke my nose!"
Hands cupped against his face, he turned away from her and dropped to his knees.
He stayed down for a few seconds before scrambling back to his feet.
She grabbed his shoulders firmly and spun him around, fearful of the damage.
She pulled his hands away, finding they were filled with fresh powder which he rubbed into her face and hair.
Sputtering and coughing, she tried to pull away.
But he was too quick, taking her by the shoulders and silencing her admonishments with a playful kiss.
She'd thought about how his lips might feel for hours. The kiss, while brief, didn’t disappoint.
"Can you feel that?" she asked, touching her nose to his.
"Can you feel this," he whispered, pressing his aroused body against her.
Gasping for breath, Claire sat up in bed, not immediately recognizing her oceanfront retreat.
Her hair held to the back of her sweaty neck, and she kicked off all the bedding to cool herself.
The alarm clock continued to sound, and she struggled to focus her bloodshot eyes on the numbers glowing in the dark.
After several moments of fumbling, she silenced the clock and fell back against the pillows.
She closed her eyes and dissected the bizarre dream.
After several minutes of reflection and a good laugh, she convinced herself it was nothing more than a combination of sun, fatigue, and way too much rum.
Damn you, Jefton.
She turned onto her side, hoping to grab a few more minutes of sleep.
She'd take her time, shower, and check out. The decision to end her vacation two days early had been made after watching the piano bar scene with Plain Ol’ Jay on an hours-long mental loop.
A call to the airlines confirmed her decision—she could change her ticket without issue.
She sent a text to Molly but didn't elaborate on her sudden change of plans.
Claire waited in line to check out of the resort.
She scanned the lobby covertly, hoping to catch a glimpse of her late-night bar mate.
She'd strolled near the piano bar and lingered by the entrance, pretending to study various groupings of artwork along the hotel walls before departing.
Plain Ol' Jay was nowhere to be found. Inside, Claire felt a tinge of disappointment.
Yes, I know he's married, but I just want one more peek. Is that so wrong?
Exhausted and lightly sunburned, she dropped her bags inside the door of her flat and headed straight for her kitchen in search of a beer, sighing in relief with the first cold sips.
Shoes off, she headed into her bathroom, eager to slip into a bath.
Stripped down to just her panties, she caught her reflection in the mirror.
She smiled and thought of a certain ski jacket and how ridiculous she'd looked in her dream.
As she removed her jewelry, her cell phone rang.
"Hi Mol," she answered.
"Are you home?" Molly asked.
"Just got in. I guess you got my messages."
"I did. Aren't you proud of me? I collected all your mail and didn’t kill your plants. So how was it?"
"It was very intriguing," Claire answered.
"Intriguing, huh?” Molly made a noise. “I'm afraid to ask."
"It was nothing, really. And it turns out he's married, so I won't even bore you with the details."
"He? Who?"
"Just some guy,” Claire sighed. “It doesn't matter. There's not much to tell anyway."
"I'll be the judge of that. What's his name?” Molly asked.
"Jay."
Claire couldn't help but smile when she said his name. It just fit him. He was definitely a Jay. Like Gatsby. A handsome, classy Jay.
Molly peppered her with questions. “What’s his story? Where’s he from? What’s his last name? I want to look him up on social media.”
"I don't know anything.” Claire sat down on the edge of the tub. “He's American, but never said where he lives or what he does. Never got his last name. He wasn’t wearing a ring but his wife called down to the bar looking for him."
Molly gasped. "No shit? How much time did you invest before his cover was blown?"
"Not much, thankfully,” Claire said.
"I'm guessing he was monumentally embarrassed."
"He seemed more annoyed than anything, but I didn't give him the chance to explain. He hobbled over to take the call and I left."
"Hobbled?" Molly asked.
"He was in a leg brace. He tripped over a suitcase. It's a long story."
"And that was the last you saw of him?"
"Yes. Well, no.” Claire laughed. “I actually had a dream about him."
“"What kind of dream?" Molly asked.
Claire laughed again. "The rum-induced kind. Snowballs. Basketballs."
"Blue balls?" Molly teased with a chuckle.
"Molly Winnifred Wise!"
"Don't triple name me, Claire Margaret Jordan."
Claire conceded and gave Molly a complete play-by-play of the encounter in the piano bar. As she described Jay’s physical attributes, her memory lingered on the softness of his eyes.
"If this Jay guy hadn't been married, would you have come home early?" Molly asked.
Claire’s cheeks flushed. "You might never have seen me again."