Chapter 8
Carter
The gate’s buzzer woke me from my fantasy – a totally inappropriate dream about Veronica and me beneath the stars, on a picnic blanket, naked. God damn. I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, then grabbed the alarm clock on my bedside table and glared at the red digits. “Shit.” It was past 10 am.
I usually slept in on Sundays but this was past my usual waking time. The buzzer rang again, and I opened my mouth to call out for Jeffrey, my live-in butler, then shut it again. I always gave him Sundays off.
I flopped out of bed like a fish out of water and scrambled for my glass of water. Empty. “Fuck it.” I’d gone overboard on the drinks with Lucas last night.
The buzzer on the intercom went off again, and I stumbled to the pad next to my bedroom door. I fumbled with the buttons, then pressed one. “Hello?” I cleared my throat. “Hello?”
“Uh, is this the Jones’ residence?” a woman asked. “Carter Jones?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Hi, it’s – uh – this is Veronica? I need to talk to you,” she said.
My stomach dropped. Veronica was here. The Veronica I’d fantasized about all last night. I let go of the button. “Shit,” I whispered.
“Sorry?”
She’d heard me. Double shit. “I’ll buzz you in. Be down in a second.” I pressed the button to let her in, then scrambled to my dresser. I tossed clothes over my shoulder, finally settled on a pair of jeans and a shirt, then tugged it all on.
By the time I got downstairs, everything still blurred around me, Veronica was already in front of it, waiting patiently. I unlocked and opened up. “Hi,” I said. I couldn’t block my nasty breath and my insides curled into a ball of humiliation.
Veronica took a step back, eyes watering. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That obvious, huh?” I asked. “I’m not much of a drinker. My buddy took me out on the town, last night. Come on in.” I stepped back and she entered. “Mind if I get some coffee while we talk?”
“Of course not,” she said. I took a second to admire her, hair pulled back in a messy bun, her tight jeans stained with paint, and a loose, violet blouse that hinted at the curves beneath it. She was even better in person that I remembered.
I forced myself to break eye contract, then led her through to the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee, too?”
“Yes, please,” Veronica replied. “I didn’t get a chance to pick some up this morning. The coffee place downstairs is closed on Sunday.”
“How hipster of them,” I said.
She laughed behind me and her breath brushed the back of my neck. The hairs rose. I entered the kitchen and busied myself with the coffee pot. “So, what brings you here? The last time we spoke you seemed set on, you know, never seeing me again.”
“I didn’t mean it quite like that.” Veronica drew back one of the chairs at the kitchen table – a small square thing I’d picked up in an antique store in Manhattan – then sat down. “It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t everything?” Perhaps, my hangover had made me a little grumpier than usual. I’d never been a morning person. “Sorry, I’m being a dick.” The coffee pot burbled and I faced her, palms planted on the counter. “It’s the hangover.”
“No, it’s all right.” Veronica kept pressing her lips together and releasing them again, like she was on the verge of some great diatribe.
“Are you okay?”
“I spoke to Jayne yesterday,” she said. “She called me. Well, she called because I asked her to. I wanted to know why she left her locket behind and if she’d be coming back because if she’s not then I have to find a roommate and if –” She cut off for a breath.
“She upset you,” I said.
“You can tell?” She barked a laugh. “Yeah, she upset me.”
“That’s why you came here?” To talk about Jayne. Great. Just what I wanted to talk about with the woman I’d mentally drooled over for the past week. My wife. My soon-to-be ex-wife, if I could just track her down and get over my fear of marital failure.
“Yes.” Veronica did that lip-pressing thing but it was kinda cute. Kinda made me want to kiss her. Nah, there was no ‘kinda’ about it.
“What about here?”
“She’s – she’s cheating on you. I’m so sorry. I think you mentioned infidelity before but this is different. It’s happening right now. I don’t know where she was or who it was, but I heard him kissing her.” Veronica blushed bright red. “I wasn’t going to come over here but I just figured I had to do the right thing. I had to let you know.”
The first time I’d found out Jayne was cheating on me, I’d been broken. The second, raw. This time, I felt nothing. A vacuum of emotion embraced me, and I floated weightless in its arms. Jayne didn’t matter to me anymore. She was the past.
She was the past.
That struck home so hard it should’ve been matched by the knell of a church bell. “It’s okay. Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re not upset,” Veronica said.
“I’ve come to terms with Jayne’s behavior,” I replied. “I’ve already planned a trip to go out and see her, you know? Hand over the divorce papers and get this over and done with.” The papers had been drawn up here in New York, which worried me a little. What were the legalities? We’d been married in Italy, and I didn’t remember signing a marriage license – I’d been buzzing at the time, half on Jayne’s love and the other half on cheap Ouzo.
“You have? That’s – that’s good news,” Veronica said.
“Yeah. Let’s hope she doesn’t head back to the States and make a nuisance of herself with you when it’s over,” I said. If she did that I’d lose it. Picturing Veronica upset with Jayne pressing her greedy thumb down on her sister’s finances brought me to the edge of anger.
I poured us two coffees, handed her one, then joined her at the table.
“I can’t believe you’re so okay about it,” Veronica said. “When I heard him with her it made my blood boil.”
“Why?” I took a sip of coffee and sighed. That was it. Much better. And it worked wonders on my breath, too.
“I just got angry, I don’t know. I guess it’s because Jayne’s always been selfish and this just proved to me that she doesn’t care about anyone but herself,” she said, then bowed her head. “And I didn’t like the thought of you getting hurt.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
I slid my hand across the table and brushed my fingertips down her forearm. “Thanks,” I said.
She didn’t move away. “I – it’s okay. I just wanted to do the right thing.”
“Go out with me,” I said.
“What?”
Shit, that’d come out all wrong. Why did I fuck up around her? “Shit, ha. I meant, will you go on a date with me? I can take you anywhere you like.”
She pulled her arm to her chest and out of reach. “I’m not like that. I don’t want to go anywhere I can’t personally afford. Which limits my options right now,” she said, the skin around her eyes crinkling up. She saw humor in her situation.
I liked that she wasn’t a quitter. “Okay, so place is a problem but not concept?”
“Meaning I want to go on a date but I can’t afford it?”
“Uh – no? Not quite what I meant.”
She laughed this time, three cute ‘hics’ of humor. She didn’t object to the observation, though. Did that mean what I thought?
“Let’s call this a date, then,” I said. “I’ll make you breakfast here, we’ll talk, no pressure, and if we want to meet up again, we can.” The last time she’d shot me down, but I sensed a change. Something in her attitude. I let the hope build.
“O-okay, yeah. That would be great,” she said.
“Awesome.” That hope exploded into happiness. And that became uncertainty in turn. Why did it matter to me so much? Why did I care about this woman I barely knew? “So, what would you like to eat?”
“It depends on what you can make,” she replied. “I expected you to have a personal chef or something.”
“I do,” I said. “But he takes Sundays off. And hey, I’m no slouch in the kitchen. I can whip us up some French toast or omelets or something. You name it, I’ll make it.”
She clicked her tongue. “Hmmm, let me think.” She put her arm on the table again, close to my hand and I risked sweeping my fingers up it. She smiled. “How about lobster thermidor?”
“Okay, clearly, you’re overestimating me.”
“I’m totally kidding.” She winked. “French toast sounds amazing.”
“Great. I’ve got every topping imaginable. Strawberry jelly, maple syrup, uh, cinnamon sugar, cheese, and savory stuff, too.” I got up and walked over to the counter, the tiles cold underneath my feet. “Talk to me while I slave over the stove, will you?”
“I can help,” she said and made to get up.
“No, it’s my treat. Next time you can cook for us.”
“Next time,” she whispered, and her voice wavered. I chose to ignore that. She was as dubious about this as I was.
“Do you cook?” I asked, just for a subject change.
“I dabble,” she replied. “My sister and I were very competitive growing up. My mom started teaching her to cook so I took it upon myself to learn as well. It seems petty in retrospect but I got something good out of it.”
I fetched the eggs out of the fridge and placed them on the counter. Her voice soothed me while I worked.
“I remember that once we made cakes. And we had a little competition to see who’s was the best. Mom and Dad both tasted. Dad said they were equally matched in total deliciousness. Direct quote. Mom was the tiebreaker. She chose Jayne. Mom always chose Jayne. Ugh, now I sound petty again,” Veronica continued. “I guess I’m just used to my sister stealing the show wherever she goes.”
“I wish I could relate,” I replied. “I don’t have any siblings. I guess that’s a good thing.”
“I always thought there should be a sisterly bond between us but it never happened. We’re only, what, two years apart? And it just never happened,” Veronica said. “Wow, is it weird that I’m talking about her with you? I mean, she’s – you know.”
I walked around to her side of the table and took her hand. I bent down beside her. “Let’s just focus on the now,” I said. “On us here, having toast. I don’t mind hearing stories about her, Veronica. She was a part of my life and she was a part of your life.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want that to be what brings us together.” She blushed. “Not that we’re being brought – uh, you know what I mean.”
I lifted her hand and brushed my lips across the back of it. A wave of pleasure almost blinded me. That touch alone. My lips on her skin. Wild thoughts emerged from the tangle of fears and emotion. Our bodies twisting together. Her clawing my back, legs wrapped around my waist.
It was beyond animal attraction. It was beyond anything I’d experienced before. Maybe the universe had tried showing me Veronica but Jayne had blocked her from view instead. Maybe, she was the one I was supposed to have found in Milan.
Veronica’s lips parted ever so slightly. She let out a whisper of a moan.
“French toast,” I said. “That’s what I was doing, right?”
“Uh huh.”
I put her hand down, ever so gently, and returned to the counter, trying but failing to hide my reaction to her from view.