Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
CLAIRE
Claire eyed her reflection in the entryway mirror and quickly brushed her fingers through her hair.
A nervous energy zipped through her as the designated time approached.
Other than a short text confirming her address, she and Jay hadn’t spoken all day.
She double checked her table setting. Elegant but not over the top, she decided.
Jay had never been to her flat. He'd never asked and she'd never offered, opting instead to wait for just the right moment. The fact that they were even meeting after sundown spoke volumes. They'd spent only daylight hours together since his return and filled the nights with phone calls. He’d suggested the arrangement, wanting their relationship to grow from more than the physical connection they’d initially shared.
Over two weeks of lunches and laughter, Claire learned a great deal about the brown-eyed man from the West Coast—his likes and dislikes, his family history, his aspirations, and his regrets. Even so, she wanted to know more.
Her eyes shot to her watch when he buzzed the main door. Right on time. She took inventory of herself once more, happy with her choice of a fitted black sweater and jeans. She took a deep breath, let it out, then hurried downstairs to let him in, her face glowing with happiness.
"Punctuality is the politeness of kings," she announced after opening the door.
"And the courtesy of princes." He gave a slight bow.
She leaned against the doorframe, drinking him in from head to toe. Baseball cap. Blue jeans. A gray backpack slung over one shoulder. Casual Jay—a look she instantly approved.
"I worried you might not come."
"I almost didn’t, what with all the tales of your culinary disasters," he teased.
Jay followed her up to her flat. Inside, Claire hung up his jacket while he fished around in his backpack. He pulled out a bottle of wine and a yellow gift bag.
"What have you done? I purposely did not have Anna return the black one this afternoon because you have to stop with all these surprises."
"Well, it's not exactly a surprise. It's more like the missing piece of a puzzle."
"A puzzle?"
"I'll let you stew on it." He placed the bag on her coffee table. "I wasn't sure what you'd planned in the way of this evening's menu. I played it safe and went with Chardonnay. You did say we’re dining at Chez Claire, right?"
"French in name only, not in cuisine."
Another buzz echoed through the flat. Jay shot her a confused look.
"I didn't know you were expecting additional guests.”
"I'm not,” Claire said, with a sly grin. “Give me two seconds. I’ll be right back.”
She slipped out but left the door cracked. Jay followed her but stopped at the top of the stairs. He watched as she greeted a young man, mid-twenties, wearing a vintage Ziggy Stardust T-shirt and checkerboard skate shoes. He carried bags stamped with the logo of a popular gourmet burger joint.
"Forty-three pounds and fifty pence," he announced.
"I got it," Jay hollered down, reaching for his wallet.
"Absolutely not. My invitation, my treat," Claire called back.
She fished around the front pocket of her jeans, shifting her weight as she pulled a collection of wrinkled bills free.
"Keep the change," she told him, smiling as she closed the door.
Claire climbed the stairs, laughing when she looked up and caught Jay wagging an admonishing finger at her. During two weeks of lunch dates, he’d never let her pay for a meal. Of course he wanted to cover dinner too. Claire shook her head and shot him a look that said, sorry, buddy.
"How did you manage this?" Jay asked, following her into the tiny kitchen.
"Manage what?" She placed the bags on the counter.
"I've called this restaurant before,” he said. “They do not deliver."
"Sure they do. You just have to know how to ask."
"So, you weren't lying yesterday? About your lack of culinary talent. That story about the apple pie fiasco?"
She shrugged. "One hundred percent true.”
"So, my dream of Apple Pie à la Mode for dessert…” he said, his mouth turned down in a pout.
"Will only happen if we decide to hit a diner later. Now, I have a lovely table reserved. Shall we?"
He made a flourish with his hand."After you, my good lady.”
They sat across from each other, candlelight illuminating their faces.
Though the hour of their daily mealtime had changed, the flirtatious banter did not.
Claire's cheeks ached with a familiar burn—an abundance of smiling. She fought to keep a straight face whenever he dipped a fry in her ketchup. Twice, his hand found hers, causing her insides to flutter. They hadn’t truly touched since the night at his apartment.
Sure, they’d exchanged friendly hugs at the beginning and end of each lunch date, but nothing overtly physical—certainly nothing sensual.
Now, as darkness settled around them, she could no longer deny how deeply that night still affected her emotions.
"Is everything still on track for your father's visit?" he asked.
"He lands Friday morning,” Claire said. “I hope you don't have any plans for Friday night. I want you to join us for dinner."
"I'd love to, but I don't want to infringe on your father-daughter time."
"You have to come. He's dying to meet the man behind the gift bag."
Jay leaned back in his chair. "You told him?"
"Of course I told him,” Claire said. “I tell him everything."
"Everything?" Jay’s eyebrow arched.
"Well, not everything everything, but most things."
"You're really close to him, aren't you?" Jay asked.
Claire shared a soft smile. "We've weathered a lot of storms together."
"I can’t wait to meet him."
"Oh, he’s a character—equal parts honey and vinegar. He'll charm you one minute and jump your case the next. He never backs down from a challenge and thinks he's an expert in most everything he does. He drinks like a fish, smokes like a chimney, and has a heart of gold."
Claire pushed her chair back and reached for his empty plate. With the table cleared, they moved to her sofa. Jay reached for the gift bag and placed it in her lap.
"The apple was great,” Claire said. “A nice little snack before my meeting."
"I'm telling you, you should give that apple pie thing another go. I’ll pitch in, too. Cooking is really just science."
"I'll think about it," she said.
She reached in the bag and pulled out a brand new DVD—An Affair to Remember.
"You thought you'd stumped me, didn't you?” he said with a smirk.
"I honestly didn't think you'd guess."
"Well, I have to be honest. I had no idea when I first read your quote."
"So, how'd you figure it out?" she asked.
"Simple. I consulted the internet."
"Jay Avery! That's cheating!” She popped him lightly on the shoulder with the case. “We said no internet."
“I’m kidding,” he said. “Of course I knew it. It’s my all time favorite Cary Grant movie.”
With the movie queued in the player, she solicited his help to locate the missing remote. He found it, hiding between the cushions along with a tortoise shell hair clip and a familiar matchbook.
"What's this?" He flipped the matchbook open.
"Just some guy's number," she said with a playful eyeroll.
"Some guy? Should I be worried?"
"Of course you should be worried. A little competition is good for the soul."
He tossed it on the coffee table. “I must say, he has nice penmanship."
"Nice penmanship?" She laughed. "Oh, he's so much more than his penmanship."
"Really?" He moved a little closer to her. “Like what?”
She placed her hand on his chest, halting his advance. "I'm not one to kiss and tell. Let’s just watch the movie."
They sat side-by-side, watching as the sexual on-screen tension created a sexual tension right there in her flat. She slipped her feet from her sexy boots, revealing an unexpected pair of socks featuring pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio’s face.
"You've got to be kidding me." Jay shook his head.
"What?" She looked down at her feet. “I can’t claim to be Kate Winslet’s twin without them.”
"Gimme those." He lifted her feet into his lap and promptly removed them, tossing each one over the back of the sofa with dramatic flair. He ran his hands across the tops of her bare feet, sliding his fingers between her toes.
"Um, what are you doing?" she asked.
"Shhh,” he said. “Relax and watch the movie.”
Claire wiggled and squirmed for another half-hour, trying to keep her mind focused on the movie and not on his hands massaging her feet.
She tried to sneak a couple of peeks at him from the corner of her eye, but he'd caught her in the act both times.
By the time they hit the midpoint of the movie, they'd removed the back cushions, opting for greater reclining comfort.
Their bodies lay spooned together, his arm draped casually over her waist. Her heart pounded for the rest of the movie, and she suddenly felt less like a woman and more like a nervous teenage girl.
She hardly dared to move or even breathe, afraid he might shift away from her or leave the sofa altogether.
The flutter returned—one of complete and total happiness.
"You tell lies," she whispered, just as Terry McKay locked eyes with Nickie Ferrante on the screen.
"What do you mean?" he asked, tightening his hold on her waist.
"You’re not much in the romance department? Yeah, right."
She laced her fingers through his.