“It all makes sense,” she declared, breaking the silence.“I totally get it.”
“Get what?”he asked.
“Gelato,” she replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Everything really is richer and more intense… when it’s had time to churn at a slower rate.”
"Gelato was never this good," Jay said, tightening his grip around her.
Blissful sleep crept over her.She hated surrendering to it, afraid she’d wake and discover it had all been a dream.Her thoughts drifted for a moment, and Calvin’s body replaced Jay’s in her mind.She tried to picture him lying beside her.Touching her the way Jay had.Wanting her the way Jay did.Their sex had felt amazing in the beginning, like it often does when emotions are fresh and hungry for adventure.But they had never shared a deep, intimate connection—not like the one she now shared with Jay.
Calvin never held her through the quiet moments afterward, and he never wanted to be held.Sex always ended with a hot shower and an urgent need to check in with his media empire, leaving Claire alone to bask in the glow of whatever flickered across the flatscreen television in his bedroom.He never said “I love you” either, convinced people had drained the words of all meaning through overuse.At first, she accepted that reasoning, content to express her feelings in other ways.But now, lying beside Jay, she understood those words carried a power she had never known before.
“I had another dream about you the other night,” Jay said.
“What kind of dream?”she asked.
“The kind I didn’t want to wake up from.”
"Was it hot?Sexy?"She pressed her foot against his.“Was I a haughty dominatrix in leather, Stilettos, and a silver-studded dog collar who tied you to the bedpost?"
"You were the soft, tender lover wearing one of my old shirts and a diamond wedding ring."Jay hooked a finger under her chin, turning her face up to his."I don't know anything that's sexier than that."
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
JAY
Jay opened his eyes.In less than a nanosecond, he remembered everything that had happened a few hours earlier.He turned toward Claire and found her curled up with her back to him.The sheet and blanket barely covered her shoulder, leaving much of her bare back exposed.He longed to touch her, to feel the silkiness of her skin, but he let her sleep.Carefully, he slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of boxers.Then he tiptoed out of the bedroom, taking his glasses and cell phone with him.
He shuffled into the kitchen and started the coffee maker.Then he pulled everything he needed for French toast from the refrigerator.He had just started scrambling eggs in a small stainless-steel bowl when his cell phone erupted with alerts.Jay wiped his hands on his boxers and grabbed the phone, finding half a dozen texts from Rob.
Rob: Call me
Rob: ASAP
Rob: I’m not fucking around
Rob: I need to talk to you right now
Rob: Some shit is going down
Jay stood frozen, reading the texts again and again.He knew one thing with absolute certainty: Rob Bradley was no alarmist.Jay fought hard not to become one himself.He checked the time.Seven-thirty here.Eleven-thirty back home.Had something happened to Abby?One of the kids?He tapped the Favorites icon and placed the call.Rob answered on the first ring.
“Are you alone?Or somewhere you can talk?”Rob asked.
“Claire’s here but she’s asleep.What the hell is going on?”
“Abby and I were invited to a private showing at an art gallery tonight.A friend of Abby’s had tickets.She couldn’t make it, so she gave them to us.The artist is a director here in L.A.who was injured in a car wreck.Evidently he’s a very private guy, so this event was a big deal.Jim fucking Carrey was there.Matt Damon and his wife.Anyway, he claims some woman showed up out of the blue right after he wrecked.Keep in mind this was late at night, and he was pinned in his car.The woman called 911 and then stayed with him until help arrived.He doesn’t know the woman’s name, but he remembers her face and painted this portrait of her.Tonight was his big gallery event, featuring this exact painting.He’s trying to find this woman to give her the painting for saving his life.”
“Okay,” Jay said, confused.“So?”
“Jay.I know the woman in the painting.I know her as well as I know you or Abby or my kids.But no one knows her better than you.”
“Who is it?”he asked.
“It’s Hope.”
