Chapter 22
JAMIE
The patio is icy when I carry my morning espresso outside.
It’s at least twenty degrees cooler in the mountains than it is down in Pine Haven.
This morning, it’s a chilly thirty-two degrees.
My nipples are so fucking hard that they could cut glass, but I don’t care.
I’m keeping my tradition until I leave. I inhale frigid air until my lungs burn, and then I go back inside.
It’s been two days since Blaire and I returned from Salem. We didn’t see each other last night because she was exhausted from jet-setting, then working all day.
The silence of this big-ass house gives me too much time to think.
The words the energy-reading witch told me won’t stop repeating in my mind. “… leave her in November. No matter what.”
Sophia peeled back my layers and spoke to my soul. I’ve not been the same since.
A part of me has been trying to figure out how to make this work, how I can extend my stay a little longer to see if Blaire is the one for me.
The mood ring from the museum gift shop hasn’t left my pointer finger, and it hasn’t turned any color other than purple since I put it on.
Blaire’s hematite necklace rests on my chest under my shirt.
When I was in New York, I wore a watch every day.
Now I can’t remember the last time I put it on. My life is changing with the season.
By nine thirty, I take the Mustang down the mountain and keep the top up with the heater on full blast. Main Street is packed with seasonal traffic.
People stroll the crosswalks with cider in both hands.
Paper bats and big pumpkins are in front of most of the boutiques, and the temperature is perfect. Pine Haven goes all out for October.
Roasted Bean smells like brown sugar. Plastic pumpkins crowd the antique shelves, and I read the chalkboard under the hand-drawn ghost twice while I wait my turn. There are tons of drinks and treats listed.
Doris Jean and her matchmaking friends are parked at the long table by the window.
They’re bent over, staring at something on a cell phone.
Blaire waits at the pickup counter in her green coat with her back to me.
This is the one place I know I’ll run into her as long as I’m here before her shift starts.
We do our stranger routine. She collects her cinnamon maple macchiato with a small smile and a twinkle in her eye. She’s gotten it the last few times she’s visited. I order a large black coffee because it doesn’t take long to make. I meet her by the condiment station.
Since Salem, things have been more intense between us.
I linger too close, and I can’t help but notice how her breathing changes.
Weeks ago, we stood in these same spots, and it wasn’t like this.
The act has gotten harder to continue. I want to turn my face and kiss her good morning in front of everyone. Then I remember our rules.
Four tourists take a table in the middle of the room. One of them props her tablet against the napkin holder and reads to the others.
“Oh, what I’d do if I ran into him,” the woman says to her friends. “Somebody posted that they saw him in Salem this past weekend with another woman. I heard he was here.”
“Isn’t he married? To the coach’s daughter.”
“That’s the scandal. His wife is back in New York, and he’s out there, holding hands with some mystery woman.”
This makes my Spidey-Sense go off. I add cream and sugar I don’t even want while Blaire sprinkles cinnamon in hers.
“Salem must be a popular place,” she whispers.
I keep my voice low. “I have to get out of here.”
She meets my eyes but stays where she is.
I slip out of the front door and walk away from the crowd until I’m on a side street.
I pull out my phone and google myself, but nothing comes up.
I google my brother, and there are images of Blaire and me in Salem, along with a rumor that he’s cheating on his wife.
The first photo is the kiss beside the caramel apple truck.
Blaire is on her toes, smiling. The second is us standing in line for the museum.
The final is us on the harbor bench at sunset, laughing together.
For about two seconds, I forget what I’m looking at and enjoy the day all over again.
Whoever took them followed us everywhere.
So far, she’s been listed as the mystery woman, but I know the internet doesn’t sleep.
It’s only a matter of time before the sleuths find Blaire. The paparazzi will track me down.
In the first two pictures, it really could be anyone. In the last one, she’s looking right at me with the sun on the side of her face. Anyone who has ever met Blaire would know exactly who she is from that photo alone. But I can’t help but notice how absolutely fucking happy she looks with me.
They slapped Patterson’s name on the headline because it’s a bigger scandal if he’s cheating than if I’m flinging.
My involvement with someone could affect my contract renewal because the women and parties needed to stop.
Before marriage, Patterson would cover for me when I got mixed up with shit like this, but it’s no longer an option.
Any rumor about him cheating was a line he drew in the sand, which I promised I’d respect.
I have some time to prepare for the paparazzi hell storm, but not much.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
I call my brother to try to figure out how we’re going to solve this scandal before it gets any bigger. He doesn’t answer.
Just as I open his contact to text him, I receive one.
Blaire
You left like you saw a ghost.
Jamie
It’s better than the alternative.
Being blasted online is a normal occurrence for me. But I know it won’t be for her.
Blaire
Can I see you tonight?
Jamie
Yes. Please.
I rub my fingers over the necklace, wanting it to calm me.
Jamie
Meet me at my place for dinner?
Blaire
I’d love to. Warning: I’m already starving. For you.
Blaire
Oh, and I’m sorry again for falling asleep last night.
Jamie
It’s no problem. We’ll just have to make up for lost time.
Blaire
I plan on it.
I chew on my lip, then tuck my phone back into my pocket.
It’s wild how a simple text from her turns my frown upside down.
Unfortunately, I haven’t cooked a proper meal for anyone in a very long time. The only thing I’ve prepared in Patterson’s celebrity chef–designed kitchen since I arrived was a protection spell. Pretty sure it didn’t work.
However, there’s one dish I know how to build from scratch by memory.
Years ago, I flew to Italy and took a homemade pasta course because I wanted to impress a woman.
She might be long gone, but the recipe stuck.
I almost laugh at myself as I unlock the car.
I shut the door, lower my hat on my head, and make a quick grocery list.
Once I’ve got everything written down, I realize I’ll be cooking my crush meal for Blaire.
Damn. I’m under her spell, and I really don’t give a fuck about it.
The four-block drive to the store takes twenty-five minutes.
Walking would’ve been quicker, but I can’t risk being spotted on the streets right now.
That woman said she heard Patterson was staying in Pine Haven, which means it’s only a matter of time until someone believes I’m him. Or they figure out it’s me.
Tonight, at dinner, I’ll warn her, lay it all out with the understanding that this could be the end.
Secrecy was her rule, the first one she made.
I agreed to it with her mouth an inch from mine.
I’ve spent weeks learning I don’t want to hide her.
She signed up for a secret fling that ends in November.
I’m afraid she’ll cut her losses to protect the shop.
I get out of the car and pass the wooden crates of pumpkins by the entrance.
The last time I was here, they were stacked high; now over half of them are gone.
I grab a cart as classical spooky music plays overhead, and it’s unsettling.
The same teenager works the register and scrolls his phone. If only I could multitask like that.
Picking items off a shelf and adding them to my cart is the most normal task I’ve done in years. Something as simple as buying a fresh loaf of baked bread from the bakery makes me smile. I grab everything I need in twenty minutes flat.
A display of dark red, yellow, and orange dahlias is by the front. I pick a few bouquets for Blaire because a pretty girl deserves pretty flowers.
I step up to the register, and behind me, I hear a familiar voice. I glance over my shoulder and see Winter, Autumn’s little sister. She looks inside my cart like she’s memorizing what I’m buying.
“Jamie. Right? My sister told me about you,” she says.
“Yeah. I’m sure she did,” I say, placing my items on the belt. “Bet it was all great.”
“Oh, who’s the lucky person you’re cooking homemade pasta for?” she asks, grinning. She clocked the flour, eggs, tomatoes, and basil.
“You’re just like Autumn,” I say. “Nosy.”
“Ah, I’m soooo much worse. I’m a psychiatrist.”
“Dangerous woman,” I mutter.
“Yes, indeed,” she says, keeping her focus on me. “So, are you dating Blaire? Is it a temporary thing?”
“Excuse me?” I stare at her, then glance around the grocery store to make sure no one else is around. But I’m also stuck wondering if it’s that obvious.
She keeps that sweet smile planted.
“That’s not a no,” she adds.
“It’s not an anything. Do you make it a habit to interrogate everyone in the checkout line about their personal life?”
“Only the ones buying three bouquets of flowers and ingredients to make some delicious pasta on a Tuesday,” she says.
“What if I was buying myself flowers?” I ask, keeping my face neutral.
Judging by her smirk, she’s not buying that as an answer. The teenager rings everything up without looking away from his screen until the bouquets slide past.
“Oh, you are having a date tonight,” he says.
“You hush,” I tell him, pulling out my card. “I’ll pay for her candy bar too.”
Winter slides it toward the guy, and he scans it in. “Thanks. You know, Blaire texted me thirty minutes ago and told me she had dinner plans tonight so she would be home late. Weird coincidence, isn’t it?”
He bags everything into paper sacks and hands over my receipt.
“Have a good day, Winter.”
“I’m sure yours will be much better than mine.” She’s handed her candy bar and unwraps it. Then she takes a bite.
I carry the four bags to the car and place them in the tiny trunk. Before I pull off, I call my brother again, but I get his voicemail.
“Call me back, Pattycakes,” I say. “We need to talk.”
I almost spilled it all after the beep, but I know he’ll get back to me.
It’s mid-season, and I need to be patient.
His days are spent at hockey practice, filming, volunteering, and then napping like a toddler.
I don’t want him being bombarded with cameras before I can warn him, even if he didn’t always give me the common courtesy.
This is the best I can do from two thousand miles away.
Over an hour later, because of traffic, I’m finally up the mountain and pulling into the private gate that leads to the glass house on the ridge. After I park and unpack the groceries, I clean before Blaire comes over. It’s not dirty, but more for my nerves than anything.
I put the flowers in a vase in the center of the table and find some candles with the plastic still on them. When I’m halfway through wiping down counters, my phone vibrates.
Blaire
Should I bring anything tonight?
Jamie
Just you.
Blaire
Clothes optional?
Jamie
Always.
Blaire
Hmm. Might have to test that theory.
Jamie
Wish you would.
Blaire
A jolt of electricity shoots through me. I set the phone down and stand there with a rag in my hand.
She’s mine until Halloween, and I find myself already wanting more time.
Based on my past relationships, this is usually where I typically find an ick.
This is where I start answering texts more slowly and become busier until I break away.
I stop showing up mentally and lose interest. Right now, I don’t think there’s one thing about Blaire I don’t like, other than her inability to see how fucking special she is.
But that’s something I’m helping her with.
I remember her in love list and go down it, one item at a time, like I’m checking off each sensation.
Excitement and the adrenaline.
The tingly feelings.
The daydreaming, constantly, badly.
And the last one, future planning.
Last night, I lay in bed, wishing I could fly her around the world with me.
We could just live in the moment together.
When she’s close, everything in me settles.
It’s the first quiet I’ve had in years, and I don’t have to perform for her.
I’ve spent my adult life being wanted by people who never knew me.
Blaire only knows Jamie Cross. The real me.
Sophia’s words arrive right on time. “The two of you are fated.”
I wash my hands and start cooking. As I line up my ingredients, I think I could get used to being useful for someone.
I haven’t made this dish in years, but I still know the order by heart.
I crush the tomatoes and let the sauce cook, tasting and seasoning it as it thickens.
While I wait, I open one of the bottles of Bordeaux I ordered.
By late afternoon, the garlic and basil aroma has taken over the entire house.
I make a flour well and crack, then mix my egg inside.
When the dough is the texture I like, I roll it out and slice it into strips.
They come out even, and I lay them in loose nests on the floured board.
Between steps, I check my phone. The screen shows no messages or calls, so I pour another glass and get back to it.
I’m nearly drunk by the time the sun sets, but it’s one of the best afternoons I’ve spent alone in this house since I arrived.
Outside, the valley fades to dark. Porch lights flick on, followed by streetlamps down in the valley where Pine Haven sits. The Ferris wheel twinkles in the distance, as does the rest of the festival.
If she still wants me after she hears everything, I’ll count myself the luckiest man in the mountains.
I set two places at the table that overlooks the mountains, knowing she’ll arrive at any moment.
I can’t fucking wait.