Not In My Wildest Dreams (Dream Series) (21 page)

T
he moment I stepped inside, and flicked on the lights, I missed Jack’s presence. He made me so comfortable, even with the hard stuff. Telling him that I was home to water the stupid grass. Was Jack right? Was my heart the one I should listen to? Or was it my head? Truth was that my heart
did
feel complete with Jack.

I looked at the entry table. Greg’s keys weren’t there, where he’d always left them. I looked at my watch. It was a quarter after ten. Was he still at the office? I looked around the house, ending up in the bedroom, thinking maybe he’d come home so tired and just brought his keys to the room and left them on his dresser.

Nope. Greg wasn’t home.

This was wrong. It was
all
wrong. That I had left three weeks ago was wrong. That I had come home last week was wrong. How had I started down this slippery slope of stupid choices?

With a heavy heart and not knowing what to do, I slipped into my pajamas and into bed. What was supposed to be a second honeymoon was definitely over.
Shit
. Who was I kidding? It never began.

It had been an emotionally exhausting day. Jessica’s doctor’s appointment. Seeing Jack. Greg canceling dinner. Going out to dinner with Jack. I let the exhaustion of the busy day wash over me and put me to sleep, with a small joy in my heart. Tomorrow I would see Jack again.

S
lipping into the house quietly, well after midnight, I checked the bedroom. Elizabeth was tucked into bed and sleeping quietly.
Thank goodness.
I wasn’t in the mood for her throwing herself at me like a common slut. The wounds were still too fresh, especially when my liver was soaked.

Whenever she came home from dinners with her girlfriends, she was usually tipsy. And when her new personality, little-miss-I-like-sex, was tipsy, she was aggressive in bed. I should have liked it, but I didn’t. I didn’t like her in control. But the control she wanted me to take, I wasn’t willing to exercise. And all this came from either Jack or Kevin…

What a bitch!

I
drove back to the Hilton Sonoma filled with hope. I’d get another day with Beth. But what in the heck was the “watering the grass” shit she was talking about? I felt it was pretty obvious that things hadn’t gone as planned with Beth coming back, and that her ass of a husband wasn’t “trying” as Beth had said back in New York. She was home less than a week and he was letting her go out, not aiming to spend every minute with her? For her to give him that leeway that “it will take time.” Did she really feel that way? Did she really think so little of herself?

I knew I was an ass for pursuing her, but I couldn’t help myself. She was my breath. But she wasn’t even home a week and he was already bailing on dinner? I felt somewhat guilty for fighting for a married woman, but so much of Beth screamed ‘not-married.’ And there was so much comfort in the two of us. Conversation flowed, we laughed easily, there was no apology when we were together.

Tomorrow, lunch with Beth in a vineyard. I fired up my laptop and looked for places to supply a picnic lunch. Brittany’s Baskets Catering had great reviews and terrific looking menus, so I ordered a nice French themed basket of cheeses, fresh fruits and bread, with a bottle of Napa Chardonnay. I hoped that a pick up time of eleven would work.

I could see the whole thing play out in my head. We’d look over her friend’s vineyard for the photo shoot—that wasn’t on the books—I’d deem it perfect, and then I’d pull out the picnic basket, spread a blanket and it would be impossibly romantic. I couldn’t wait.

The next morning, I was up before the sun. But for my internal clock, which was still on East Coast time, it was already seven in the morning and I was usually working out at this hour. Not one to break with certain routines, I hit the gym, even though it was four a.m. After all, keeping this body in top shape at my age required just as much work as it did when I was twenty.

Following my workout, I made a couple of business calls to New York, checking in with Becca and Peter. Things were going as scheduled—or
re
scheduled, as it was, and I could rest easy. Around nine, I put in a call to the Napa Valley Women’s Medical Center for Jessica’s results to be addressed sooner than later, and made a more-than-generous donation to the facility.

Finally, Beth called around ten and said that Mark and Ana had the more incredible vineyard, that we could visit at noon, and that she’d meet me there. As much as it irked me to let her drive herself to the vineyard, I knew that if I was going to win her back, it was going to be on her terms. So, I agreed to let her drive herself. Besides, it allowed me more time to find this Brittany’s Baskets place and pick up our lunch. She gave me the address for my GPS and made a quick goodbye.

Not wanting to seem over eager, I took my time and got to the vineyard shortly after twelve. I pulled up into the parking lot and nearly crashed the rental when I got a glimpse of Beth. She was chatting with another couple, but looked up when she heard my car and the smile that burst across her face seized me. She wore a long, white, flowey, hippie skirt with a silk, turquoise tank top. As perfect as the salmon color was on her skin with her hair, the turquoise was equally stunning. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of panties she was wearing, or if she was wearing any at all.

I got out of the car and fought the urge to run to her, pull her into my arms, and kiss her deeply. Something about this whole region was making me a soft romantic, but I didn’t care. I locked the car and strode up to Beth and her friends.

“Jack. I was starting to worry that you’d gotten lost,” she smiled. “I’d like you to meet Mark and Ana Lawson. They’ve owned this vineyard for twenty-three years already. Wait until you see the gazebos they have at the back of the field by the lake.” I shook hands with Mark and Ana and instantly liked them.

We toured a few places on the ranch that would make for nice backdrops for a photo shoot. When Ana pressed me for details about the photo shoot, I made up a story about wanting to feature some of the new faces our agency had brought on. I took notes in my iPhone, including my bullshit story, so I could send them to the PR department and pray that they could set something up.

Around one-thirty, I thanked the gracious couple, and asked if
Elizabeth
and I could use one of their gazebos by the lake for a light lunch. They said it would be perfectly fine and we parted company.

“Lunch?” Beth asked, turning to me after she hugged and kissed our hosts.

I shrugged. “I picked up a little picnic. I hope I wasn’t too presumptive.”

She looked at her watch. “I guess I have time. What did you bring?”

I ran back to the car, pulled out the perfectly packed lunch, and returned. She was surprised with the basket and we made our way to the quiet gazebo tucked back off the lake. I unpacked the spread on the floor of the gazebo and watched Beth as she took it all in.

“I’ve said it before, but you’re amazing,” she said.

“
You
are inspiring,” I replied. I reached out and took her ankle, the one that had the temporary tattoo Kevin had given her for her birthday. I rubbed my thumb over where the offending—albeit temporary—ink sat. Then again, I should have her branded as my own. I could just imagine the name
Jack Stevens
penned permanently around her delicate joint. The thought made me chuckle. I extended my hand and helped her down to the blanket.

I was opening the wine, which had stayed nicely chilled in a space aged bag when Beth’s phone rang. The ring tone made me laugh. Where she’d assigned her sister an old time car horn, this ring tone was Cindy Lauper’s eighties hit
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
.

“Oh! That’s Jess, hang on a sec,” she said digging into her purse. She saw me raise a brow at her, “What?” she asked me, giggling. “Hey, babe.” she said answering the call. “Yeah, sure, what’s up?… Uh-huh… Right…Omigosh! You’re kidding! No, of course you’re not kidding! Jess, that’s awesome!… I love you… I will… Backatcha.”

“Well, that sounded like a good call?” I asked, pouring the wine.

“The goodest!” she squealed. “Sorry, the best! Jess just heard from the labs. Her samples are benign. I can’t believe that we didn’t have to wait until tomorrow for the results. They always tell you one or two or three days, and it’s always three days or four.”

A smile burst on my face. “That’s terrific.”

She eyed me carefully. “What are you not telling me?”

“I know that waiting for critical news is a bitch. I called the clinic and had them move her samples to the top of the pile. I told you I would.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass I offered her.

I clinked the glass she held. “To
friends,
” I whispered.

“And wherever that road leads us,” she finished the toast I had offered that first night she was in my living room, before she sprayed my carpet with the wine. I smiled, hopeful that all was not lost. If she remembered that small toast, she likely remembered so much more.

L
unch continued, laughing and chatting, in the comfortable way that Beth and I had. The combination of the setting and the way she touched her neck, and the twinkle in her eye, I desperately wanted to lay her back and make sweet love to her.

“This is nice,” she said, popping the last wedge of peach into her mouth, past those incredible lips, with a drop of the juice resting on them.

I wanted to lunge at her and slurp up that drop. The one question in my mind that I wanted to ask but I didn’t want the answer to, slipped out of my lips instead.

“Has your homecoming been what you were looking for?”

She drained her glass of wine. That couldn’t be a good sign. “Not exactly,” she whispered.

With those two words, my heart was torn. On the one hand, she wasn’t being treasured the way she deserved. And on the other—the hand I preferred—the door was open more than a crack for me.

“Come back to New York with me. I’ll make sure you have the homecoming you deserve.” The fact that she didn’t blurt out
‘No!’
was definitely encouraging. I reached forward and dragged my finger across her lower lip collecting any of the juice I could find, and dipping my finger into her mouth.