* * *
She could seethe exact moment when his mind switched from sated bliss toI need to get the hell out of here. She leaned forward, kissed him on the mouth, took his full measure, then she lay back, mostly separating herself from him, feeling the cool draft between the sticky warm skin of their bodies.
“Mae, I have to go now. Ben is waiting with the plane.” He sat up. She stared at the ceiling, determined not to cry. She’d enjoyed Joe—no, shelovedJoe—but there was no commitment between them. Barely a promise of a future visit. She would treasure what she had. Look forward to a visit.
Damn her silly romantic notions and double damn her tears.
“Don’t.” He whispered the word and wiped the tear from her cheek. She smiled up at him, but didn’t dare speak. No more tears.
He moved and sat on the edge of the bed. She watched the bunched muscles of his back, coiled and strong. Then he stood and picked up his clothes and she watched him dress. He stared back at her, his face tense but neutral, no sadness, no gladness. Maybe some concern. She wanted to see caring.
But she’dfelthis caring, hadn’t she? In his lovemaking. She knew it was there.
She had no idea if it was enough.
Buttoning his jeans, he stood at the side of the bed and leaned over her.
“You’re not walking me to the door, are you?”
She shook her head, stayed brave and tearless. He leaned in, cradling her face in his hands. With a slight tremor, he held her face and kissed her one last time, deep and slow, and she let the love and sensual joy wash over her, soaking it in. His lips separated from hers, then his hands left her face and he stood.
“I’ll be back, Mae.” He turned and walked from the room.
He finally left. She heard her front door closing. She didn’t get out of bed, stayed behind to let her tears have their way with her. She cried, but this time she was consoled by his promise to come back.
She tried not to believe in a Hollywood ending.What are the chances he really will be back?
She called her mother, of all people, and told her everything, expecting her mother to talk sense into her, to remind her not to have high expectations. But her mother surprised her.
“If I were you, honey, I’d pack my bags and book the next flight to Boston. But that’s me and we both know how impulsive I am about men.”
Mae laughed, but found herself considering a visit to Boston. Then she remembered that Joe hadn’t invited her. Not exactly.
She walked through the shambles of her kitchen and was picking up her cell phone from the counter when it rang. It was Paul Johnson, the assistant producer for the show.
“Hello, Paul.”
“You ready to work tomorrow? We have fittings, I’m told.”
“I’ll be there.” She had the first three outfits for the pilot ready for the lead actress to try on, including a custom bathing suit for the surfing scene. It would be a showstopper, would help her launch her line of clothing if it had the impact she hoped it did. The buzz of excitement that took her over felt like a mosquito’s worth compared to the beehive of buzzing that it should be.
She reassured Paul and ended the call. Then tried turning her mind to her work.
“You’ll get past this, Mae,” she told herself out loud. She didn’t believe herself.
* * *
After a weekof forcing herself to return to her office—the proverbial scene of the crime—she could step inside without palpitations. Paul had offered to move her to a new office, but she’d refused. She needed to get past it. She needed to get past a lot of things.
At home, she’d had new furniture delivered. Her entire house had been redecorated by a top designer and her only thought when she looked around the place was that it was sad Joe wasn’t here to see it.
It was no secret that she still hoped he would be true to his word and visit her. But it was also no secret that Joe hated LA and everything about it. Except maybe her. Sunny was convinced he’d be there. “In due time,” she’d said on more than one occasion.
Mae’s mother had said, “Planes fly both ways you know. Just sayin’.”
But even if she wanted to visit Boston—which she did—and even if Joe had invited her—which he didn’t—she couldn’t leave now while she was in the middle of working on this pilot. So she was doomed to play the waiting game, one game she was a total loser at.
But this morning, exactly one month after she last saw Joe and one month and one week since she’d met him, she started thinking about what it would be like to live in Boston. Heart palpitations kicked in at the thought of leaving LA, but she forced her imagination to consider it as she roamed with her cup of coffee around her chic, empty house.