In Love Again (14 page)

“Oh, Bron. Is it still so bad with you and Mother?”

“We are not going to get into a Sylvia discussion right now—”

“Okay, okay. So I’m going to jump in the shower and try to get to the restaurant by eight o’clock. Let me hop. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Promise? Let’s have brunch tomorrow. We leave for London on Sunday night and we all have to get together before then. Maybe with the dentist?”

“Bronte!”

“What? Bring him to brunch tomorrow. Maybe he’ll still be with you. You know, after a sleepover date—”

“Bron! You’re impossible.”

Bronte laughed lightly. “In fact, I think I’m leaning much more to the possible than the impossible. Have a wonderful night, Claire. You deserve it.”

Claire felt the warmth of that kindness spread across her chest. “Thanks, Bron. I think I will have a nice time. It’s been a good week.”

“Aw, listen to you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Do
not
avoid me!”

“Okay,” Claire said. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

Bronte said good-bye, and Claire tapped the speakerphone off.

After tying her hair up and taking a quick shower, she stood in front of the flashy green satin blouse. It had hints of turquoise and peacock blue when it caught the light. Claire heard a stentorian phrase of her mother’s reverberate through the back of her mind: “A lady does not need to draw attention to herself.”

It was a bit of a moral quandary, wasn’t it? Claire actually
did
want Ben to look at her, to like her. So was it more dishonest to be reserved? Was it a form of false modesty? Claire hung up her robe and chose her favorite bra and underwear set. It was a smooth, silky pale blue that wouldn’t snag against the satin blouse like one of her other lacy ones might. She pulled on the matching thong and realized she hadn’t dressed for a man in years.

Oh, maybe once or twice before a fancy party, she’d thought absently that she hoped Freddy might compliment her, but this was different. She actually thought of Ben the whole time she was putting on her lingerie. She thought about what he would think if he was watching her or what he would do…

Claire shook her head and smiled. “First things first,” she said aloud to no one in particular. She swallowed to build her confidence and grabbed the bright top. Back in London, she’d reluctantly packed it into her suitcase with the full belief that she would never in a million years wear such a showy thing. She slipped it over her head, and it fell with a sensual caress along her back and arms. The sleeves where made of a lighter, sheer version of the bodice. The delicate fabric bloused out and then came to a tight cuff at her wrists. It didn’t feel quite as provocative as Claire had imagined. She pulled on her jeans and stared at the four pairs of Sarah James heels that Sarah had had messengered down from her Madison Avenue shop as a welcome-to-New-York present. Claire took all four out of their boxes and set them in a row, like little soldiers.

Gold. Black. Gray. Red.

Red? What was Sarah thinking? When in the world would Claire Heyworth ever wear a pair of red high-heeled shoes? When Claire had called Sarah to thank her for the lovely gifts, she’d laughed at the possibility of ever having an occasion to which she would feel comfortable wearing bright red stilettos.

“Maybe to a private occasion, then?” Sarah had said suggestively.

Claire smiled at the idea of wearing those red shoes—and nothing else—for Ben one day. Or night.

She looked at her watch and realized she was running out of time to contemplate. It was time to act. She pulled the gray suede pair of shoes on. They were so high. Claire felt tippy.

“Oh well.” She grabbed her large tote bag then looked down at the serviceable satchel. Did she really need to lug all that around? She pulled her single apartment key off the key ring and put it in the front pocket of her jeans, then pulled out her credit card and cash and slipped them into her back pocket. She stared at her cell phone, still resting on the kitchen counter.
Why not
? she thought. Why not just go out with a feeling of being totally unencumbered? When was the last time she hadn’t been “available” to her daughter or her mother or her soon-to-be-ex-husband or her attorneys?

She cut that line of thought short before it led her into a cul-de-sac of sadness and disappointment. She shook out her hair—which had become even more unruly after the humidity of the shower—and left the apartment with empty hands and a light heart.

Ben stood outside the restaurant enjoying the cool night air. Lately, he’d been feeling a bit claustrophobic in the city, like a lab rat going from the box of his apartment to the box of the subway to the box of his office. Even the time he spent in bars and clubs with his band had started to feel like another box. He liked being out. Out-of-doors.

He thought about the expression and realized it described exactly how he felt. He didn’t just want to cross the transom of a door; he wanted to be out of
all
doors. Away from walls and windows and doors. Walking in woods and across fields with no doors in sight. He was letting his mind wander along those meandering paths when a taxi slowed, and he saw Claire through the back window as she leaned forward to pay the driver. Ben crossed the few steps to the curb and pulled open the taxi door.

“Oh!” Claire exclaimed. “Thank you.” Her long legs came out of the cab first, and Ben felt his stomach drop. She had on a pair of extra-long, fitted jeans that made her legs appear endless, and when she stood up in front of him, she was nearly as tall as he was. He slammed the back door shut and the cab pulled away. The two of them stared at each other.

“Did you leave your bag in the back of the cab?” Ben asked with a hint of worry.

She spread her arms wide. “No. I just slipped my credit card into my back pocket”—she turned slightly and patted her own behind for effect—“and my key into my front pocket. I thought I’d live on the edge.”

Ben stared at this new version of Claire and tried to keep steady. Her hair was mussed and loose around her face. She was wearing stunningly high heels with those infinite blue jeans, and he caught a glimpse of something shiny and touchable under her serviceable wool jacket.

“Oh. Good. I didn’t want to have to run screaming down the street after that taxi driver.”

Claire smiled, and Ben decided the friendship plan was the stupidest idea he’d ever had. There was no way he was going to be “just friends” with this woman if he could help it. And he hoped he could help it as quickly as possible. He didn’t care if she ripped his heart out again. It would be worth it.

“I might like to see that, but you’re right, no need,” she agreed. “Shall we go in?” She tipped her chin toward the entrance of the restaurant.

Ben reached out for her hand then thought she might not take it, so he touched the turn of her elbow instead. “You look lovely, Claire.”

“Oh! Oh. Thanks. I mean…thank you.”

Ben wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that she acted surprised when he complimented her. He’d always imagined her living in a sea of admirers, both public and private. He opened the door for her to pass into the warm, bustling air of the restaurant.

“May I take your coat for you?” Ben asked, lifting his hands toward her shoulders as they stood in front of the podium, where a tall, thin woman in a long-sleeved black T-shirt lifted her eyes to them.

“Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes,” Claire answered. “I think it will be under my name. Heyworth?”

Ben took a moment to feel the warmth of her skin as he pulled the shoulders of the wool coat from her arms. His fingers touched the light silk of her sleeve, and he felt it like an electrical current up his arms. He exhaled slowly and brought the coat over to the small coat check area next to the bar. He took off his jacket and passed both of them to the attendant.

When he turned back to Claire, the hostess was holding two menus and looking at them expectantly. “This way, please.”

He watched the sway of Claire’s hips as she followed the other woman to a table at the far corner of the crowded restaurant. It was a small table for two tucked against the back wall. Claire slid into the banquette, and Ben regretted the distance between them as he pulled out the seat and sat across from her. The hostess handed each of them a menu and left.

Claire caught his eye over the top of her menu then quickly looked down. Her eyes were a gorgeous greenish-gray that turned smoky when she cast her gaze away from him.

“So, what do you like?” Claire asked without looking up from the menu.

You!
Ben wanted to shout. He was turning into some sort of teenaged version of himself, overcome with hormones and a desire that felt like something slippery and out of his control. Despite all of his griping about feeling like an urban lab rat, Ben was not a fan of the alternative. Unforeseen, uncontrollable situations were his worst nightmare.

“Ben?” Claire had set her menu flat on the table and was staring straight into his eyes.

“Yes?” he answered quietly.

“Are you okay?”

He took a deep breath and decided to throw it all to the wind. He had a momentary vision of a fistful of wheat being thrown into the air and the chaff flying off in a light breeze. “I don’t think I want to be friends, Claire.”

“What?” She looked so hurt.

Oh, Jesus. Now he’d done it
. “I mean, I think, god—” Ben dragged both of his hands through his short hair and let them rest at the back of his neck. “I feel like I’m a teenager and this is ridiculous and I totally understand how you want to keep it light and friendly but I think…”

Claire’s hands were clasped so tightly together that Ben reached for her without thinking, the need to soothe her anxiety overriding his own desire.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I guess it was too much to hope that we could just hang out. After all this time. I was pretty awful, I guess, now that I look back on it. And it was dumb of me to think you would still care for me at all—”

He held her hands in one hand then brought the other up so he could hold both of hers in his. “Claire.”

“It’s all right. Maybe we should just go. I don’t know if I have much of an appetite—”

“Claire,” he said with more authority.

“What?” She looked up, startled, then contained. He saw the wall of ice, what he now knew to be the wall of insecurity and fear that he’d mistaken for arrogance.

“I don’t want to be your friend because I want to kiss you all the time and I can’t concentrate at work because I’m thinking about you incessantly. I thought I could just have dinner and be normal, but you’re so gorgeous, and I can’t imagine how I’m going to get through two minutes, much less two hours, without reaching out to touch your hair—or your cheek—and how I want to…do things to you, with you, if you’ll let me, if you want me…at all.”

“Oh, god, Ben.” Claire was breathless, her words rolling out of her unbidden.

“It’s too much too soon, isn’t it? I’m so sorry. It’s embarrassing—”

“No, it’s just—”

“It’s all right.” He tried to act normal, matter-of-fact. “I know you just want to be friends, and it wasn’t right to push that. I’m so sorry. It was wrong. I just thought—”

“Ben.” The air seemed to stop around them. She said his name with a finality that made him stop and really see her for maybe the first time since he’d started this rambling, run-on attempt to unburden himself, to release the torrent of feelings.

“Yes,” Ben answered.

Claire took a deep breath and turned her hands so she was the one holding his. “Every time I see your last name on a file at work, I have to remind myself to breathe. Every time someone at the office makes an offhand remark about the dishy dentist, I feel like all my clothes are too tight and something has gone amiss with the radiators in the office.” She shifted in her seat as if she were experiencing the same effect right then. “Is it too ridiculous? Are we too ridiculous? I feel like a teenager too. Are we just having some silly walk down memory lane? I can’t stop thinking about you…” Her voice trailed off then she continued in a throaty whisper, “Especially about that cruel, wonderful kiss on your porch.”

Ben was rubbing his thumbs along Claire’s knuckles. He licked his lips before he could speak again. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you, Claire.”

“What?” she gasped.

The waiter came over to take their drink order, and Ben waved him away with a harsh swipe of his hand.

“Go,” he snapped at the waiter, without looking away from Claire’s eyes. When they were alone again—or relatively alone, at least—Ben tried to stay calm, which was proving difficult with Claire looking like she was feeling everything he was. “The timing’s all wrong,” he started gently.

“I know!” Claire leapt in. “It’s too fast.” She shook her head with a discouraging back-and-forth. Ben looked momentarily disappointed, until Claire continued. “But then I feel like I just
know
you. And it’s already been too long. Do you know what I mean?”

He paused to revel in that, but she mistook it for skeptical hesitance.

“God, Claire. The minute I saw you on my porch in Litchfield, it was like a time warp. There you were, and I was nineteen again and the years had folded into nothing—since that last night in Antibes—and then the next day when you were gone. I was so…destroyed.” He added the last word quietly and looked down at the table, as if he were trying to avoid revisiting those feelings.

Eventually, he looked up and they stared at each other for a few long minutes after that, trying to process their delayed good fortune, staring with a goofy half-smile into one another’s eyes.

Claire finally broke the silence. “Will you kiss me again like you did on Saturday?”

“I was so sorry about that—”