Eleven

If Jack’s words had reassured her that he, too, felt a special connection between the two of them, they didn’t exactly calm Claire down. Her heart was racing the rest of the walk back to the hotel, and her mind was doing the same.

What did that mean, exactly? What did the rest of the evening have in store for them, considering all that they had shared? Should they keep hanging out, maybe sit together in one of their rooms and watch a movie or make plans to meet up again once they were both settled back in the US? Claire wished there were someone she could talk all of this through with…and that’s when she remembered.

“Oh, shoot!” She slapped her forehead with her palm. “I’m supposed to talk with my agent tonight. I totally lost track of time.”

They had entered the lobby and were making their way to the elevator. Jack glanced at his watch and frowned. “Surely she’ll understand if you need to reschedule. Can it wait?”

Claire shook her head, feeling some of the career panic that she had shoved down earlier start to resurface. “It’s, like…career stuff, you know? She said she had to tell me something, and I’m honestly just dreading it. I feel like it’s going to be bad news, and the longer I anticipate it, the worse it gets. If she just tells me tonight, then at least I’ll stop eating myself up wondering what it is.” Her hand found its way to her stomach, soothing in its touch. “Maybe I’ll stop having constant stomach aches once I have some clarity about what’s about to happen.”

Jack pushed the button for the third floor as the elevator doors began to close. “But why would it be bad news? It doesn’t take an expert publishing eye to see that you’re successful, Claire. And as far as I know, agents don’t fire their successful clients unless they’re complete fools. Is your agent a fool?”

“She definitely isn’t. She’s wonderful, actually. I owe my whole career to her, or at least all the successful parts of it.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “It’s just something about this trip, though. The fact that she wasn’t here for it, that she’s been way less communicative than normal during it. It makes me wonder if there’s something uncertain about the future. I don’t know if it’s my future, hers, or the publishing company’s, but either way, it makes me nervous as hell.” She shot a glance at Jack. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. Forget I said it.”

He frowned. “Why? Because you’re speculating about the future of one of the big New York publishing houses?” He lifted a reassuring hand, waving it in front of him. “Rest assured, I don’t have any reporters on speed dial who would just be dying for a tip off like that. And keep in mind that it’s not exactly insider information, either, Claire. It’s just a feeling. And before you can argue, I’m sure you’re an intuitive person and often the things you feel are almost eerily perceptive. It’s what makes you a good writer, and to the untrained eye, it might look like you have some kind of mind reading skills. Or you’re a witch with psychic abilities.” He winked at her then. “But I know the truth.”

“What’s that?” Claire gulped, her throat feeling dry as he continued to study her.

Jack stepped closer to her then. “The truth is, that sometimes your intuition is correct about something, and sometimes it’s wrong about other things. You focus on the ones that were correct, especially in a moment like this. But can you think back to any other moment in your life when you just knew something was about to happen…and then it didn’t?”

“P-probably,” said Claire with a small shrug. At that moment, she couldn’t think of a single moment from her entire past, not with Jack standing that close to her. 

“What about today?” he asked, his eyes still on hers. “What about me? Oh, it’s not exactly the same thing, but didn’t you have some feeling about me right from the beginning? Some snap judgments about the kind of person I am, how little you would want to spend time with me, how boring I would be to talk to?”

“Tech Bro.” She said, nodding. “That’s how I referred to you when I texted my friend Emma. And you’re right. You did surprise me. Although I did get the ‘bro’ part right. And I guess the ‘tech’ part, too. It’s just when you put them together that they lose their meaning and no longer accurately describe you.”

Jack’s smile was small as he lifted a hand to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “If I could surprise you like that, is there any chance that your agent could surprise you, too?”

Claire shook her head. “Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, does it? You were the best surprise I could imagine, and I couldn’t even imagine you. So now what? Bianca is going to tell me that I’ve been nominated for a Pulitzer? A Nobel Prize? I’m getting my own talk show? They’re naming the auditorium after me at my university?”

A frown crossed Jack’s face. “Would you want any of those things?”

“Not really.” Her voice sounded small even to her own ears.

“Why can’t it be something wonderful and something you can’t even begin to guess? Why not just stay open to that possibility of something good?” He licked his lower lip and her eyes darted there to track the movement. “Or, barring that, you could at least acknowledge that everything is an unknown. All of this anxiety and worry, and she might just be calling to tell you that she didn’t come along on the tour because she developed late-onset motion sickness.” Jack shrugged. “It could happen, you know.”

“You’re right,” said Claire, “And I’m a big enough person to admit that. I don’t know what’s about to happen and…yes, it’s entirely possible that I’m not going to lose my job. This might have nothing to do with me at all.”

“Exactly,” Jack agreed. “And it might even be wonderful.” 

The elevator dinged to announce their arrival, pulling them apart and propelling them out the doors toward their rooms.

As Jack unlocked his door next to Claire, he turned to her again. “If you want to talk after your call, you know where to find me.” He smiled. “I’m sure it will all be fine, but I’d still love to hear it from you.”

“Thanks, Jack,” she said with a forced smile. “Good night.”

Was it her imagination, or had Jack’s smile faltered at her words? “Good night, Claire.”

Inside the room, Claire leaned against the closed door and let out a deep sigh. She wanted Jack to be right. Of course she did, even if she didn’t dare hope he was. She wanted a lot of things where Jack was concerned, as it turned out. She stepped away from the door and into the room, pausing in front of the adjoining door between their two rooms. He was right there, right on the other side of the two doors. If she opened her door now, all that would separate them was his door. Would he open it? Was it already open?

She felt a thrill rush up her spine at the image of his door open, just waiting for her to open hers and discover it. Those two doors, open on either side of the tiny space separating them, just the thickness of the wall, would turn their two rooms into one large shared space if they were open. 

Claire dug her phone from the pocket of her coat, smiling at the image of her cozy room turned into a large shared suite of sorts. She had no intention of being the first one to bridge that gap, didn’t need to see the horrified look on Jack’s face if she knocked on that door and burst the bubble of whatever this thing between them was. Sure, he liked her. That much was clear. But would he still like her if the walls literally came down, and they lost every semblance of mystery and privacy?

There was no way that was going to happen.

Claire sent a text to Bianca. “It’s late, I’m sorry. But I’m here now if you still want to talk tonight. Let me know when you’re free.”

She reclined on the bed, scrolling through the apps on her phone while she waited for Bianca’s call. Her dear agent was nothing if not devoted to her clients, and she had the unfortunate habit—well, it was only unfortunate if you were her friend, but it was very fortunate if you were her client—of being glued to her phone. It was bound to be just a few moments before she called. After all, Claire had been on the other side of this plenty of times—Bianca answering her phone during lunch, firing off a quick text with one hand while holding up a finger in the middle of Claire’s sentence.

In the end, though, Bianca must not have called because Claire woke up in the dark room with her phone on her chest, still fully dressed. She groaned and checked the time on her phone—it was well after midnight now, and she needed to get some decent sleep if she was going to weather the journey tomorrow.

She hauled herself out of bed, peeling off her jeans and flinging them in the direction of the dresser. Her bra was next. It was only when she was digging her toothbrush and toothpaste from the bottom of her bag that she remembered her promise to share the toothpaste with Jack.

“Aw crap,” she muttered. It was late. He was probably asleep. But she had promised he could borrow it, even told him not to bother buying his own tube. And if he was awake and could hear her rummaging around over here, wouldn’t he wonder why she hadn’t bothered about him?

At the same time, though, he might not be awake. She hadn’t been, not until just a moment ago.

Claire picked up her phone again. She wouldn’t dream of knocking on the door between their rooms, and she certainly wouldn’t be venturing out into the hallway half dressed…but she could at least send Jack a text.

“Are you up? This isn’t a booty text. I was just wondering if you still needed toothpaste. I fell asleep and forgot about it until just this very moment.”

There was no immediate response from Jack, so Claire shuffled into the bathroom and splashed water on her face, before squeezing the toothpaste onto her brush and setting to work on cleaning her teeth. Her phone buzzed then with a message from Jack.

“Yes, please. Want me to come over and get it?”

She looked down at herself in horror, cataloging the sheer expanse of leg that was visible now that her jeans were ancient history. She hadn’t thought this through, had she?

She wrote her response quickly, panic at the thought of hearing a knock on the door, speeding her fingers along. “Why don’t we just open the adjoining doors a crack and I’ll slip it to you? I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion, so definitely don’t come over.”

The sound of the text slipping through hyperspace to the room right next door had her rereading her words and slapping her forehead again. Did she really need to create a mental picture for Jack of what “dressed for the occasion” meant? Semi-consciousness was clearly not the best state to be writing impromptu messages in, and especially not ones where you had any interest in preserving some sense of mystery and mystique at all.

Claire spit out her toothpaste and rinsed her mouth, aware of the click of Jack unlocking his door, followed by a soft tap on hers. She screwed the cap back on her toothpaste, unlocked her own door and opened it just a crack, making sure to hide as much of her body behind the door as possible.

“Hi,” she said, just her face and an arm extended to offer the toothpaste visible. “Sorry again for falling asleep. I really should have given this to you before all that happened.”

“Not at all,” said Jack, and he looked amused as he accepted the toothpaste. “Do you want me to give this right back to you?”

“No need.” Claire waved a hand. “I’m going to sleep now, anyway.” She let out a rueful laugh. “I’m dressed for it already, so I might as well.”

Jack swallowed. “Yes, um…well. The way you’re hiding behind that door there is making my imagination run wild. I’m thinking you’re either wearing an embarrassing t-shirt that has a picture of your eighth-grade school photo or…orthodontic headgear?”

“I wish, but just remember that I’m the loser who didn’t pack a change of clothes in my carry-on.” She gestured to Jack, who was wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “So I’m full-on Winnie the Pooh-ing it with a shirt and no pants at all. A. A. Milne would be so proud.” 

“Right,” said Jack with a gulp. He held up one finger. “Hold on just one second, okay? Don’t close the door.” 

He closed his own door until it was just ajar and disappeared. When he returned a moment later, he held out the toothpaste and another white t-shirt, which Claire accepted. She gave him a puzzled look, her eyebrow climbing her forehead.

“I borrowed some toothpaste, but I figured you would need it again in the morning. And you won’t feel fresh tomorrow if you sleep in the same shirt you’re wearing again. I had another one—a clean one, of course—and figured you might want to borrow it.”

“Oh, that’s…really nice. I’d give you a hug, but…well.” She felt her cheeks heating just a bit and chuckled softly at herself. “Good night, Jack. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Claire.” His grin was wide. “What time are you getting up? We can go get breakfast together.”

She rubbed her eyes. “I actually, believe it or not, didn’t even set an alarm before I fell asleep. I was waiting for Bianca to call me back, but…”

“Right.” Jack grimaced. “I didn’t even ask about that. No call?”

Claire shook her head. “No call and not even a response to my text, so things are looking just super in my little world.” She stifled a yawn. “Will you just knock when you wake up?”

“Of course.”

They smiled at each other before closing the doors behind themselves. Claire lifted Jack’s shirt to her nose and sniffed it, wondering what the inside of his luggage must smell like if an unworn t-shirt already carried the scent of his shampoo, his soap, and his presence. She chucked off her own shirt, letting it land with the rest of her discarded clothing before sliding Jack’s shirt over her head. She flicked the lights off, collapsed onto the bed, and sank into a deep sleep.

…or at least she tried to. 

But it was at least an hour before Claire’s eyes closed for the night. As comforting as Jack’s presence was in the form of his soft, cozy shirt, her mind was running through all the possibilities of what Bianca ignoring her text message could mean. It could be bad news for Velvet Leaf, of course, a possibility she never failed to consider. It could be bad news for her personally. But what if something had happened to Bianca? What if she had been mugged on the sidewalk, her purse stolen?

It was in the refrain of “what ifs” that Claire finally exhausted herself and fell fitfully into something resembling rest. She couldn’t unearth the meaning behind Bianca’s silence, no matter how many angles she approached it from in her mind.