Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CLAIRE
Claire’s plan was simple: hit the shops to fill the afternoon hours until her date with Jay, because staying sequestered inside her hotel suite all day would be brutal.
She roamed Knightsbridge, drifting in and out of luxury clothing stores, her hands skipping along racks of high-end items. After two hours without a single purchase, she ducked into a coffee shop to rest and refuel.
Disappointment filled her when she found a line of people at least ten deep, with a small gathering of patrons waiting at the end of the counter for orders.
Three baristas darted around, shouting to one another in coffee-coded language but all wearing smiles and not seeming the least bit stressed.
Claire checked her watch, deciding to wait it out because she had nothing else to do.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked her email and various socials.
There were no texts—not that she expected anything.
Should I text Jay? Something playful? A funny meme?
Or maybe something simple and flirty, like ‘thinking of you.’ Is that too pushy?
No, better to wait until tonight.
It took fifteen minutes, but she finally secured a latte and an enormous scone.
She squeezed into a seat at a wobbly table in the corner, watching the foot traffic on the busy street.
This day would be a lot more fun with Molly, she decided, catching sight of a couple walking hand-in-hand—the man, gray-haired but lean and fit, and much older than the striking woman beside him.
It had taken her forever to fall asleep, as images of her best friend and her uncle branded her brain like a red-hot poker.
The anticipation of seeing Jay again and continuing what had started the night before—or back in Negril, really— should have been enough to quiet her thoughts.
I can’t wait to tell Dad about this turn of events. He’s gonna shit a brick!
“Order for Calvin!” a barista called out.
Claire’s head whipped in the direction of the counter, her stomach plunging down to her toes.
Thoughts of Molly and Hamish and Jay were immediately forgotten as she prepared for the horror of seeing his face once more.
A swollen face that had been all cuts and bruises during the final moment together.
Oh God… surely not.
As stealthily as possible, she leaned back in her chair and zeroed in on the crowd standing at the end of the counter. Frantically, her eyes scanned faces, bodies, and backs of heads but didn’t lock on anyone who looked like Calvin.
It’s not him. Just relax… and stop being so damn jumpy.
Chair upright and eyes back on the street, she continued to people-watch until tears blurred the moving masses beyond the glass.
Calvin wouldn’t be standing at a counter ordering coffee. He’d be seated… in a wheelchair… because Calvin’s legs were crushed in an accident that I caused.
With Jay only minutes away, Claire stood before the full-length mirror in her hotel suite, examining herself as she pushed a pair of sparkly chandelier earrings into place.
She nodded at her reflection, pleased with choice of classic little black dress with a slightly revealing neckline and a shorter-than-she-would-normally-wear hemline.
The addition of a shiny trench coat in a dramatic shade of gunmetal elevated her chic look even more.
Her blonde locks were styled in soft, loose waves, and she ran her hand through her hair for a quick fluff.
She definitely looked like a woman ready to step out on the town, though her eyes told a different story.
Despite a pair of much-hyped eye patches and a cold compress, hers were still a little puffy.
The scare at the coffee shop tore open a wound that ended her shopping trip early and prompted a tearful return to the hotel.
Her cell buzzed with a text, and immediately her stomach filled with nervous energy.
He’s here! She quickly pulled her phone free from the charging cord and texted him her room number.
She made a quick sweep of the living area, tidying up but leaving the flowers, Jay’s freshly cleaned tuxedo jacket, and the bunny slippers in plain view.
She transferred the necessary contents of her large handbag to a petite clutch.
She'd just dropped a tube of lipstick in her bag when a soft rap sounded behind her. Her eyes fell closed and said a quick prayer—for what, she wasn’t exactly sure.
To keep her guilt at bay? To reveal the truth about Calvin?
A combination of the two? One thing was certain: she wouldn’t do anything to ruin Jay’s evening.
He’d been so kind and attentive. He deserved the very best Claire could put forward.
Shoulders back and standing tall, she crossed the room to the door, her knuckles popping with each step.
Claire stood frozen in the doorway upon sight of him.
Though he'd looked handsome in his tuxedo the night before, tonight’s look screamed magazine cover.
His suit—perfectly tailored to his tall, toned frame.
Her mind shuffled through a list of possible adjectives.
Gorgeous didn’t begin to cover it. The feeling that consumed her the night before as he'd held her on the dance floor returned, causing her heart to beat faster. Much faster.
"Good evening, Mr. Avery."
He took half a step toward her and brushed her cheek with a light kiss. When he drew back she found his eyes lit with the same spark they held the night before.
"Claire, you look incredible."
"Thank you. I wasn't sure what you had planned. I hope this is okay." She touched the lapel of the trenchcoat.
"It’s more than okay.”
"I just need to grab my purse. And I had your jacket sent out. Thank you again."
“You didn’t need to do that.”
She moved away from the door, and Jay took a few more steps inside the suite. Claire followed his gaze, immediately drawn to the two large bouquets on the coffee table.
"You certainly have your share of admirers,” he said, pointing to the flowers.
"The flowers you sent are gorgeous. The other bouquet is from Hamish and Molly." Claire dropped her room key in her purse.
"A thank you for last night?"
"I’m not totally sure,” Claire said. “Might actually be more of an apology."
"Apology?" Jay repeated.
"It's a long story—one I'd like to forget about tonight."
"Maybe I should send Hamish some flowers—for stealing his best girl away from his party."
"Oh, he has someone to fill that role, for the moment anyway. Shall we?"
She tucked her purse under her arm and followed him back out into the hall.
"What are your thoughts on French?" he inquired as they walked toward the elevator.
"I can count to ten, ask for directions to the beach, and order a Coke. Why?"
“Not the language—the cuisine,” he said. “There's a great little bistro near here. Impressive wine cellar and the most fabulous Creamy Crab au Gratin in a mustard brandy sauce."
"Sounds delicious,” Claire said. “Let’s go.”
Walking to the restaurant, their conversation flowed as easily as the night before.
They talked about everything, just as they had in the piano bar.
Never a lull, no uncomfortable moments, not even when Jay reached for her hand.
He didn’t make eye contact but kept his gaze fixed on the busy streets in front of them.
Several times his thumb rubbed gently against hers, and by the time they arrived at their destination, their fingers were laced tightly together.
The same held true inside the bistro. Dishes were brought and cleared.
Other patrons dined and departed. Jay and Claire sat completely captivated by one another and totally oblivious to the world around them.
It wasn't until the server delivered two cappuccinos that Claire realized that despite the hours of conversation, she still knew little about Jay.
Her internet sleuthing turned up zero about his personal life. No Instagram. No Facebook. Nothing.
“May I ask you a very personal question?" she said with a soft voice, resting her cup neatly on her saucer.
"Of course," he said.
"How did you lose your wife?"
"A car accident.”
Silence grew between them. For a moment, Claire fell back in time to her Christmas nightmare.
The helpless feeling that consumed her while standing beside Calvin’s ICU bed, taking in every inch of broken body.
The memory created an ache in her chest, threatening to drive more tears from her eyes.
She quickly downed a glass of water to steady herself.
"Oh, Jay, I am so sorry,” she finally said.
"Thank you. It was quite a shock. A knock on the door at four in the morning rarely brings good news.”
She recalled the fear on Liz’s face that early morning. Underneath the table she popped her thumbs and waited to see if Jay would share more details. To her relief, he adjusted the napkin in his lap and changed the subject instead.
“This lip color you’re wearing tonight. Is it another one of mine?” he asked.
Claire exhaled, banishing all thoughts of Liz and Calvin from her mind.
“I’m a little embarrassed to say that it isn’t.
It’s just an old tube of L'Oréal—one I’ve worn for years—until they discontinued the color.
This is the last tube in existence, as far as I know.
I’ve searched the far reaches of the internet with no luck. ”
“You women really get hooked on certain lip colors, don’t you?’
“It never fails. As soon as I fall in love with something, it disappears.”
“So, funny story. That’s actually the whole reason I started my business.
My mother’s favorite shade of Clinique lipstick got discontinued.
She was furious and hit every makeup counter in a three-state region buying as many tubes as she could find.
One day, I caught her digging the last bit out with a Q-tip, cursing with every stroke. ”
“You started Silver Screen to make your mom her favorite lipstick?”