Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CLAIRE
Heavy raindrops pelted the windows. The day so perfectly matched Claire’s mood.
She sat at her desk in front of the large picture window analyzing proofs from a recent photoshoot.
But the weather, coupled with images of Jay’s face, made it difficult to keep her mind on her work, and her eyes kept turning back to the city beyond the damp glass.
Something behind his eyes still eluded her. Despite his intelligence, quick wit, and genuine laugh, something about him unsettled her. He carried a sense of disconnection that went beyond the death of his wife—something deeper, more intense. Something she often recognized in herself.
A whistling kettle brought her thoughts back into focus.
She shoved the photos into a large folder and hustled to the kitchen.
Cup of tea in hand, she snuggled on the sofa in her living room, thankful to spend the rainy Sunday afternoon in quiet solitude.
She reached for her cell and placed her weekly covert check-in call.
"Hello?" a woman answered, almost out of breath.
"Carol? Are you okay? You sound like you just ran a marathon."
"Never a dull moment around here. How are you, honey?"
"I’m great. Sorry to bother you. Thought I'd see how he's doing."
"He’s his charming, snarky self, same as always. You know how Harry is.”
"I most certainly do."
"I'll call you if there's anything to report. He’s moving around much better, I promise. Even promised to take me dancing soon, but we won’t take a single twirl until he’s fully ready."
"He’s so lucky to have you,” Claire said.
“I keep telling him that,” the woman said with a laugh.
“You’re a godsend, Carol.”
"Hey, how was Hamish's big shindig?" she asked.
"It was wonderful. He was man of the hour… in more ways than one."
The two women chatted for a few minutes before ending the call.
Claire sat on the couch, struggling against a sense of helplessness as she replayed the conversation in her mind.
Aside from a few minor details, they exchanged the same information every week.
Carol truly was a godsend, handling all the things Claire would—and should—have been doing for her father if she hadn't moved away.
Guilt twisted in her gut, steady and persistent like the rain tapping against the windows.
She scrolled through the numbers on her phone, needing to hear the one voice that could always quiet her doubts.
"Hello?" he answered.
"Hi, Dad. How are you feeling today?"
"I feel wonderful. Fit as a fiddle."
"How's the back? And your knee?" she questioned, not fooled by his chipper tone.
"Not bothering me one bit."
"Don't lie."
"Well, it's still a bit tender but I'm feeling better every day. Should be back up on the treadmill in a day or two."
"Stay off the treadmill. I don't want you up on anything other than your pain meds for the next couple of days."
"How was the big soiree?" he asked.
"Amazing. I wish you could have been here."
"I've tried to reach Ham several times, but the man is never available."
"Oh, he's available,” Claire said. “You just have to be wearing a skirt to get his attention."
She and her father talked for half an hour, with Claire breaking the news of Hamish and Molly's tryst. Harry laughed hysterically when he learned the details. Claire didn't see the humor.
"Hamish is Hamish, my dear. He loves women. Always has."
"He's sixty years old, Pa."
"Only on paper, my dear,” Harry said. “In his mind, he just turned twenty-one."
"What would Mom think? Knowing her baby brother just bedded her daughter's closest childhood friend?"
Harry laughed again. "Perhaps you should be taking notes."
"I’m sorry, what?" Claire raised her voice in shock.
"Molly and Hamish are out living life. You should give it a try."
"I am living life,” Claire said defensively. “I have an exciting job with a company I love."
"Yes, but you know the old saying—all work and no play…” Harry cautioned.
"Makes my father a very nosy old man,” she finished.
Claire spent the remainder of the afternoon curled up on her sofa with a book.
The rain continued to come down in heavy, gray sheets, making it difficult to concentrate.
Her mind roamed along dark and shadowy corridors, returning to the night at Jay’s place.
There hadn't been an ounce of tension between them.
He'd kissed her with longing, just as he had on the street near the bistro. Was it payback? For leaving him high and dry at the bar? Surely not. He doesn’t have time to play stupid games like that.
Though she could literally count the days they'd spent together on one hand, it didn't change one very simple fact: he'd touched a place inside her that no man had before.
Reaching into the pocket of her sweatpants, her fingers brushed against the matchbook. She'd picked up her phone numerous times to call him, but the look in his eyes as they stood in front of the hotel confirmed his wounds were still fresh.
Her cell phone buzzed, jarring her back to reality.
"Good afternoon. Jordan Geriatric Escorts," Claire answered with a pleasant professional tone. “Our Oldies are all Goodies.”
"Would you stop it? Please?" Molly begged.
"Are you looking for an escort this evening, ma'am?"
"Claire."
"If you'll give me just a minute, I'll check my book,” Claire said. “Ah, yes! I see we have quite a few handsome, mature gentlemen available this evening. With or without a walker? What's your preference?"
Molly sighed with annoyance. "Are you done?"
"Are you done?” Claire shot back. “With my uncle, that is?"
“I can't answer that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know if I am or not."
"Are you planning on seeing him again?" Claire asked.
"Not if it means destroying our friendship."
"You certainly weren't thinking about our friendship Friday night."
Molly sighed. "Claire, c'mon. If it was any other sixty-year-old man, would we be having this conversation? Honestly? We both know sixty is the new forty. Hamish is hot and fit."
"But it’s Hamish."
"What about Johnny McAllister?" Molly threw out a name from Claire’s past.
"What about him?"
"Hamish is my Johnny McAllister."
"It's not the same thing, Molly,” Claire insisted.
"Are you telling me that if given the chance, you wouldn't throw caution to the wind for one night with Johnny McAllister? Just to see if he lived up to your schoolgirl crush?"
"I was just a kid,” Claire said. “He was at least thirty-five if not older."
"So, he'd be what? About mid-sixties now? Just a few years older than Hamish. Would that be so wrong? Now that you’re a grown woman?"
Claire paused and bit her lip, thinking back to a handsome man in a pilot's uniform who regularly played golf with her father.
"So, did he live up to the fantasy?" Claire questioned.
"He certainly did," Molly said.
“Excuse me while I vomit.”
“Claire, please stop,” Molly begged.
"Hamish couldn't keep his eyes off you. He knew every move you made inside that ballroom. I think I saw it coming but didn't want to admit it."
"Are you really mad? Because if you are, I'll end it. I love you, Claire. I would never do anything to hurt you."
"I'm not mad or hurt," Claire admitted. "I guess more than anything, if I’m being totally honest, I’m a little jealous."
"Mark it down, ladies and gentlemen. Claire Jordan is jealous of moi for a change."
"All I want is for you to be happy—really happy. And if being with Hamish does that, then you have my blessing." Claire paused. “But I will not call you Auntie. Not now, not ever.”
"Thank you,” Molly said. “And now that we have that out of the way, you can tell me what happened last night with Prince Charming."
"We had a lovely evening," Claire said.
"A lovely evening, my ass. Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out. Start from the minute he showed up."
"There’s nothing to tell. We had dinner. We talked. We laughed. I came home.”
“You brought him back to your flat?”
“No, no, I mean I went back to the hotel. I checked out first thing this morning. I’ve been here working for most of the day.”
“Any plans to see him again?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
"That’s all I get?" Molly asked after a pause.
"I don't feel like talking about it."
Claire's tone signaled one thing. The subject of Jay Avery was off limits. At least temporarily. While they shared secrets and a common love for many things, Claire kept her dalliances more private. A character trait Molly respected, though it didn't stop her constant needling for intimate details.
"Did he blind you with science?" Molly teased.
"He blinded me with something. I honestly can’t focus on anything else.”
"I’m worried about you,” Molly said with concern.
Claire didn’t respond. The web of guilt and regret that seemed to steer her life for months had suddenly taken a backseat to a host of new feelings. Feelings she'd never experienced, driving down on her with great speed.
"He lost his wife in a car accident—at the end of last year,” she finally said.
"Wow,” Molly said. “Talk about coincidence. Did you tell him about Cally?”
"No." Claire paused. "He doesn’t know anything about him.”
“Do you plan to tell him?”
“I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other, Molly. Not after the scene on his sofa.”
"Wait—you hooked up on his sofa?"
"It's not what you think. I mean, we may have been heading in that direction and that's when he…”
"When he what?" Molly pressed.
"When he realized he was making a mistake," Claire said. “He just stopped cold, sat up, and excused himself. A minute later I grabbed my things, and he took me back to the hotel."
“What the hell?”
“I know,” Claire said softly. “I was stunned.”
“Did he say anything? Offer any sort of explanation?" Molly asked.
"Not much. He just apologized and said it had nothing to do with me."
"Sounds like residual guilt."
Claire sighed. "That's what I think too."
"Have you talked to him since?"
"No. I thought about calling him, but I think it might be too confusing. For both of us. Obviously, he's not over his wife. And I'm not interested in being Rebound Girl or Help Me, I'm Lonely Girl or even I'm-Rich-So-Use-Me-'Til-My-Head-Clears Girl."
"So, what are you going to do when he does call?” Molly asked. “Because he will call, Claire. Men just don’t walk away from you without a word."
"Maybe I won't answer."
Claire looked down at her feet, nestled in pink bunny slippers.