by Tawna Fenske
“The glasses, of course. I’ll take the green one.”
She laughed and began to pour, while Jenna put down the cheese grater and reached for the tomatoes. “Well, hopefully Adam’s techniques are successful,” Jenna said. “Seems like some of the rumbling is dying down about a nursing strike. That’s a step in the right direction.”
“True. I just hope the whole thing goes quickly. Having Adam around is just too weird.”
Jenna bit her lip. “How so?”
“Would you want to work with your ex?”
“Good point.”
Mia sighed. “I don’t know, I guess I just got comfortable thinking that part of my life was behind me. We moved 2,100 miles away, I got a new job, I started using my nickname professionally, Mark and I got married instead of being this scandalous, adulterous couple. I felt like I had a fresh start, you know?”
Jenna nodded and sliced into a tomato. “At least you only have to see Adam a few times a week.”
“True. And at least he’ll be gone as soon as this negotiation is over.”
“Amen.” Jenna swallowed back the pang of melancholy threatening to throb its way up from her chest. Part of her wanted to confess everything, to break down this stupid wall she’d built between herself and Mia.
Most of her wanted to put up a fresh coat of plaster and hope to God it held so everyone could stay safe and warm and happy.
“So what are we watching tonight, anyway?”
“I think we’ve got three episodes of The Bachelor on TiVo,” Mia said, handing her a glass.
“Three? We only missed one week.”
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure yesterday’s was a double episode. Hang on a sec, let me look it up.” She started down the hallway, then turned. “Shit, I left my laptop at work.”
“Use mine,” Jenna said, nodding toward the briefcase she’d dropped at the edge of the counter. “I forgot to dump it out of my bag when I ran home. I think I’ve even got that celebrity gossip site bookmarked if you just open my browser.”
“Cool, thanks. You don’t have to chop all those, Jenna. I didn’t invite you over to slave away in my kitchen.”
“It’s not a problem. Put your feet up and point to where you put the onions.”
“Bottom crisper drawer. I got the green ones you like.”
“Perfect.” Jenna pried open the fridge and pulled out the bottom drawer while Mia flipped open the laptop and hit a few keystrokes. As Jenna set the onions on the counter, she heard a gasp from her friend.
She looked up to see Mia’s eyes glued to the screen. She wore a look of horrified fascination that sent Jenna’s stomach plunging to her knees.
“Oh my God, Jenna. What the hell is this?”
Chapter Seven
Jenna’s heart lodged thick in her throat as Mia stared unblinkingly at the computer screen. Had she seen the shirtless photo of Adam? The Facebook exchange from last night?
When Mia lifted her eyes to Jenna’s, her expression was unreadable.
“Wh-what’s what?” Jenna stammered.
“This article about bestselling author G.G. Buckingham and her Panty Dropper series. That’s Aunt Gertie, right?”
“Right,” Jenna said, sagging against the counter in relief. “I mean, no one else knows that, and I haven’t talked to her about the bestseller thing, but—”
“This article says someone’s outed the author—that they’ve discovered her secret identity.”
“Wait, what?”
Mia looked back at the screen and began to read. “‘According to an anonymous source, the reclusive G.G. Buckingham is actually an elderly man living in rural Canada. Calls to Buckingham’s agent went unanswered, but if reports turn out to be true, this could be a juicy twist in the summer’s runaway bestseller about kinky sex and secret liaisons.’”
“Oh, God.” Jenna set the knife down on the counter, but missed. It skittered across the floor, nearly skewering her foot, but she barely noticed. “Where did you see that?”
“It’s trending on this gossip site I just pulled up, but there are links to other articles. The cat’s not exactly out of the bag, but it’s clawing at the edges.” She looked up at Jenna and frowned. “Are you okay? You don’t look so hot.”
“I’m fine, I’m just—does it say anything else?”
“It says the author photo on her book jacket is some model in Australia, and that the bio is totally fabricated. How’d they pull that off?”
“I don’t know,” Jenna whispered. “I think her agent and editor handled all the details of the pseudonym. They created the whole G. G. persona to be the author, and they seemed like they knew what they were doing.”
“If it makes you feel any better, it sounds like they haven’t actually pinpointed who G.G. Buckingham is yet. Do you think Gert knows?”
Jenna shook her head, thinking. “Maybe not. Maybe the whole thing will blow over. They think she lives in rural Canada? And that she’s a man?”
“That’s what the article says.”
“So they’re on the wrong track.” Jenna unclenched her fist and bent down to retrieve the dropped knife, her hand shakier than it had been five minutes ago.
“I don’t know, Jenna. If people want to figure it out, it might not take them very long. Should we tell her?”
“No!” Her voice came out more snappish than she intended, and she pressed her palms against the counter to keep them from shaking. “I don’t want to worry her unnecessarily.”
“You think she’d care that much?”
“Privacy is very important to Gert.”
“Huh.” Mia didn’t say anything, but the look on her face was skeptical.
Privacy is very important to me, Jenna thought, then bit her lip. And my career.
“Why don’t we just sit on this for now?” Jenna said. “I’ll put out some feelers with Gert, maybe try to get a sense of what she knows. She’s got a great agent. If Gert doesn’t want to be found, I’m sure Michelle can do something to throw them off track.”
“And what if she wants to be found?” Mia tapped a fingernail against the screen. “This article is trending, which means a lot of people are seeing it. The book is selling like hotcakes. Maybe a scandal like this is exactly what Gert wants.”
“I don’t think so,” Jenna said turning back to the block of cheese in front of her. She took a deep breath and said a small prayer she was right.
Jenna’s week crawled by in a shimmery haze of avoidance. She avoided Adam’s eyes in the mediation sessions, and avoided the temptation to stalk him on Facebook.
She avoided Mia’s teasing about her love life and the jumbled thoughts of how Mia might react if she found out about the fling with Adam.
She avoided talking to Gert about her books or the risk to her anonymity, though she did manage a conversation with Gert’s agent.
Jenna tracked down Michelle’s number from the caller ID on their landline, and she plugged it into her iPhone with a pang of guilt. True, she’d spoken to Gert’s agent a few times over the years, making idle chitchat when Gert was slow getting to the phone.
But she’d never gone out of her way to call Michelle. Never gone behind her aunt’s back to discuss her career. Michelle was guarded at first, but she warmed up when Jenna asked about the article threatening to out G.G. Buckingham.
“I saw it on one of those gossip sites,” Michelle said, giving an indignant snort. “An elderly man in Canada? Please.”
“Still, they’re not too far off. What if they find her?”
“I’ve got it under control. I’m meeting with a PR firm tomorrow. Tell Gertrude not to worry about it.”
“I don’t think she is,” Jenna said, biting her lip. “The thing is, I’m not sure she knows, and she was sick last week—”
“Gertrude is sick?”
“Well
, not on her deathbed or anything. Just a touch of food poisoning, but she’s an old woman. Her health is frail, and I don’t want anything to upset her.”
“I hear you.” Michelle fell silent a moment, thinking. “Listen, I’ll do my best to keep the speculation going without letting them actually track her down. A little mystery is good for book sales.”
“I can imagine. I’ve been watching her sales rankings online.”
“Great, right? You don’t think Gertrude has noticed?”
“No. She said something this morning about not being online all week.”
“She does that when she’s on deadline. Doesn’t like the distraction.”
“Good,” Jenna said. “That’s good. I don’t want her distracted, either.”
“I’ll definitely need to talk this over with Gertrude if the bloodhounds sniff any closer.”
“Got it,” Jenna said. “I’ll, um—I’ll try to keep her calm.”
“Calm, hell—just keep her writing. She’s been ignoring me all week while she works on the next book in the series. I hope it’s going well?”
“I’m sure it is,” Jenna said, feeling a little guilty about the conversation. She didn’t talk to Gert about her writing career, so was it wrong to talk to her agent? “She’s been very focused the last week. We’ve hardly had time to talk, what with me working late and Gertie holed up in her room with her laptop.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Michelle said, and disconnected the call.
By Friday evening, Jenna was jumping out of her skin. She’d only been home an hour, but she’d already changed into jeans and a comfy sweater. She glanced at the clock, dismayed to see it was only six fifteen. Why hadn’t she made plans with friends or done something to keep herself occupied?
She wandered down the hall, poking her head in to see what Aunt Gertrude was up to. The old woman was fluffing her hair in front of the mirror, her cheeks flushed and rosy. She looked up and smiled.
“Hello, dear. Good day at work?”
“Long day.”
“Oh? How are the negotiations going?”
Jenna shrugged. “I can’t really talk about it, but it’s okay. It’s just tough balancing my regular workload on top of the stuff with the bargaining team, you know?”
“I can imagine. You’ve been putting in some late hours this week.”
Jenna shrugged. “At least it’s Friday. Any chance you want to order pizza and watch a movie?”
“I’d love to, dear, but I have a date.” Gertie fastened a clip-on earring to her lobe and eyed Jenna up and down. “Speaking of dating, isn’t it time you got out there?”
“I’ve been out there. I’m just not sure I’m ready for a relationship right now, and anyway—”
“Sweetie, it’s been two years since you broke off the engagement. Besides, who said anything about a relationship?” She patted Jenna’s hand and gave her a kindly smile. “I just want you to have some sex.”
Jenna felt the heat creep into her cheeks. “I did. A little over a week ago, remember?”
“Please, dear. A woman needs more than one little fling.”
Tell me about it, Jenna thought, but she was saved from answering by the ring of the doorbell.
“Good night, dear!” Gert called as she headed toward the door and flung it open to greet her new gentleman friend. A tall, dark-haired man stood on the porch looking fit and handsome and at least ten years younger than Gertie. Gert tossed a sly look over her shoulder, winking at Jenna. “Don’t wait up.”
“I won’t,” Jenna murmured, her voice echoing in the suddenly silent living room.
It was too quiet. The grandfather clock Gertie brought with her when she’d moved in made a rhythmic ticking in the corner, and the whoosh of cars on the street outside reminded her that other people were out enjoying their Friday evening. Dammit, now what?
“Pizza,” Jenna said aloud just to break the silence.
She could order in, but something urged her to get out of the house.
She knew what that something was.
Two years ago today . . .
Jenna shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. How would her life be different now if it hadn’t happened? Would she have married Sean? Would she be happy to stay home on a Friday night chasing a baby who would have started walking by now?
Jenna shook her head, shaking off the dark thoughts, too. Admittedly, nostalgia wasn’t the only thing drawing her to Rigatelli’s. Hadn’t she told Adam about the amazing pizza and Friday karaoke? It was only a few blocks from his hotel. Maybe he’d be there.
All the more reason not to go there tonight.
She grabbed her purse and strode out the door, not even sure where she was headed. The next thing she knew, she was standing in front of the counter at Rigatelli’s, definitely not waiting for Adam. The smell of pepperoni was heavy in the air, and Jenna breathed in the scent of bubbling cheese and wood-smoked nostalgia.
“Jenna? Is that you?”
She blinked, then blinked again. Sean? He was striding toward her, looking as surprised as she probably did. His dark hair was neatly combed, his shoulders still broad and muscular beneath a polo shirt she knew was one of at least two dozen in his closet.
Her ex-fiancé hadn’t changed much in the year since she’d last seen him, or in the two years since she’d broken off the engagement. That was disappointing. It might have been better if he’d gained fifty pounds or sprouted another chin.
That’s not nice, she chided herself, trying to remember some of the touchy-feely things Adam had been teaching them in mediation this past week.
“Sean,” she said, running a hand over her hair. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh, getting pizza?” He said it with a smile to take the edge off, but Jenna still felt idiotic. “I assume you’re doing the same?”
“Yeah. I hadn’t been here since—well, for a long time. I just thought—”
“I know,” he said, reaching out to touch her hand. “Two years ago today, right? We must’ve been thinking the same thing.”
Jenna gaped at him, a little dumbfounded he’d remembered the date at all. He must have read her thoughts, because he offered a sad little smile. “Don’t look so shocked, Jenna. It was a big deal to me, too. Come on. Want to split a pizza?”
She tried to think of a good reason not to share a meal with her ex-fiancé at their old haunt on this cheerless two-year milestone, but all she could come up with was, “Um.”
Sean nodded, taking that as concession, so he took her hand as well. Jenna let him lead her to a booth near the back, far away from the karaoke stage. She was numb enough that she almost didn’t notice it was the same booth they’d been sitting at when they had their first date five years ago.
“You want the usual?” he asked, and Jenna nodded, figuring it was easier than trying to remember complex words like pepperoni and olive.
She glanced toward the bar. “Split a half carafe of their house red?”
“Coming right up.”
She started to open her wallet, but he waved her off and headed for the counter. Okay then. She put her wallet away and tried to calm her nerves. She wasn’t nervous about seeing him again, at least not that way. She didn’t still love him. She wasn’t even sure she liked him all that much, but she was surprised to realize the resentments had cooled and the sadness had ebbed, leaving behind something that felt like—
Like what, exactly? Numbness? A sense that she should be feeling something—anything—but really she just wanted to paste a smile in place and plow through the awkwardness as quickly as possible.
Was this what closure felt like?
“Here you go,” Sean said, dropping into the chair next to her and handing her a glass of red wine. “Pizza will be up in a few. So how have you been, Jenna?”
“Good,” she s
aid, taking a tentative sip. “Aunt Gertie is healthy and happy. Work’s going great.”
“Work,” he said, nodding as he pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and set it on the table beside his own glass. “That’s great. You’re still at the hospital?”
“Yes. Did I hear you changed to a different accounting firm?”
“Yeah, I’m with Grover and Frank now. It’s really great. They’ve got an office right on the river.”
Jenna watched as his fingers slid over the power button on his phone. His eyes were still on hers, but she could tell his brain was already wandering through his in-box.
“Must be nice working that close to home,” she said.
“Actually, I moved. I’m over in Lake Oswego now. The commute is a bitch, but I love the new house. The views are great.”
“Great,” she said, doing a mental head-slap at the fact that two educated people couldn’t seem to come up with a better adjective than great. “I’m very happy for you.”
His phone vibrated, and she watched his gaze flick away to read the message. He moved his eyes back to hers an instant later, doing a perfect impression of a man connected to the conversation. “You still living in the old place and walking to work all the time?”
“Yes. I love having a little bit of fresh air and exercise at the beginning and end of each day.”
“Uh-huh.” His eyes flicked back to the screen, though he left the phone flat on the table, tucked behind his wineglass. At least he was trying to be discreet about it. At least she no longer cared, no longer felt the urge to reach across the table and grab his cell phone so she could beat him over the head with it. His inability to carry on a conversation without checking his goddamn phone every ten seconds was no longer her concern.
Was it someone else’s? She tried to decide if she cared. She didn’t, at least not in the sense that it bothered her if some other woman was now sharing his bed, his life, his dreams.
He tapped a couple words on the phone, and Jenna had to admit it still grated on her nerves. She took a deep breath, remembering the tip Adam had offered in mediation about breathing before speaking. She did it a few more times for good measure.