He had to tamp down a smile, which wasn’t a familiar spot for him to be in. She was going to be so happy when Esme showed up.
As they were making their way out of the restaurant, one of the women who’d clocked Blair stood abruptly as they passed, causing Blair to startle.
He reached for her hand, pulled her behind him, and gave the woman his bestExcuse me?face.
The woman apologized and launched into an awkward speech about how big a fan she was. “I loved you inTrue Colors. That movie is like my personal bible.”
“Aww.” Blair sounded amused.
“Can I get a picture?”
“No picture tonight, but can I sign something for you?”
Blair had to tug her hand from Jack’s grasp, and he watched her write “Britt Moone” on a receipt the woman produced.
“Good night,” he said loudly when the woman seemed on the verge of another monologue. He rested a hand on Blair’s back and steered her out of the restaurant, picking up the pace when they hit the main room. “Who the hell is Britt Moone?” he asked once they were safely in her car. Barb Tybee, Britt Moone. How many names did she have?
“An actress. People confuse us a lot. Blair Kellermoon, Britt Moone. She’s blond, too, and short. But she’s from New Jersey.”
“You just signed her name!”
“It’s easier that way. Then I don’t have to listen to a big apology. And that woman thinks she met her idol—she doesn’t have to be disappointed that it was just me. Win-win.”
“You are—”
She turned and shot him a look. “What?”
Good question. What had he been going to say? He settled for “Something. You are something.” It was an imprecise word, and not what he meant at all.
When they got home, Blair suggested a drink by the pool, and Jack thought, why the hell not?
While Blair was inside getting drinks, he stretched out on a lounge chair and thought about his book. It felt less heavy than it had a day ago. He supposed that was the “getting out of one’s own head” bit. It wasn’t rocket science, but it made him mad that he was so… ordinary. He wanted to be above having such simple, easily influenceable appetites.
But lighter: he would take it.
A rustling in the trees drew his attention. It wasn’t the army. Just a generic bird.
He sat up. Holy shit, he had an idea.
She emerged from the house but stopped in her tracks near the edge of the pool. “What happened to the pool?”
He followed her gaze to the water, which was green.
“Was it like that when I swam this morning?”
“I… don’t think so.” He would like to think he’d have noticed such a color, especially in the bright LA sunshine, but he had toallow for the possibility that black birds and black bathing suits had blinded him to green water.
“Well, that doesn’t look good.” She handed him a martini. “I didn’t ask about garnish, but I don’t have any lemons, so you get an olive.”
This was the part where normally, he would take his leave. The idea he’d just had needed tending. But what if, he wondered, hedidn’tdo that? What if he just let the idea sit for a while? Rattle around in the background?
“Olives are great, thanks.” He nodded at the trees. “Though I will point out that you have lemons right there. Unless those are fake. They kind of look like it.”
She stretched out on the chair next to him. “You think they look fake?”
She had changed into jogging pants and a sweatshirt and big fuzzy socks. It was kind of cute how she bundled up in such mild weather. “They’re so perfect, they seem not real. Like a wax figure of a person.”
“They’re real, but there’s something going on with this tree.” She got up and went and picked a lemon. “The fruit used to be fine when I was here the first time around, but these days, they’re all woody. If I cut this in half, it would be almost solid inside.”
