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  “Okay, first things first,” he said, his gut giving a pleasant twist as she leaned against his arm, the side of her breast grazing his sleeve. “Let’s do a little role-play.”

  “I assume you don’t mean the kind where I dress up as a naughty schoolgirl and get called to the principal’s office?”

  He laughed, wondering if she was channeling her aunt’s note again. It seemed like a sex goddess sort of thing to say, not that Adam was complaining. He didn’t want to make her self-conscious, so he continued on.

  “We’ll save the schoolgirl costume for another time. With this sort of role-playing, you’ll be the sender and I’ll be the receiver. Let’s pretend you have something you’d like to express to me. For now, we’ll make it an appreciation, though this type of dialogue is also helpful for expressing something that’s bothering you.”

  “An appreciation,” she repeated, nodding.

  “You start by saying that—I’d like to express an appreciation. And you check to make sure this is an okay time for the receiver.”

  “I’d like to express an appreciation,” she parroted, smiling. “Is this a good time for you?”

  “I’m available now.”

  Her nose wrinkled, but she was still smiling. “This feels weird. It’s not a normal way of talking.”

  “It always feels weird at first. The point is that the normal way of talking isn’t working—at least, not with the bargaining team—so we’re trying something new with a structure we’ve all agreed on.”

  “Okay, I’d like to express an appreciation,” she said, smiling up at him as her knee pressed against the side of his leg. “I appreciate your eyes. You have great eyes.”

  He laughed, taken aback. “An appreciation isn’t usually meant to be of a physical trait, but thank you.”

  “No, really—I like the way you make eye contact. You look me right in the eye, always. Like, sometimes I can’t tell if you even blink.”

  Adam nodded, flattered she’d chosen something he’d worked to improve over the years. Eye contact used to make him uncomfortable, especially in the courtroom when he’d argue cases in front of hostile judges or defiant witnesses.

  Your lousy eye contact makes you seem untrustworthy, Mia had told him years ago, the irony of the suggestion lost on him until much later. Still, he’d vowed to work on it.

  It said something that Jenna had noticed, though he wasn’t sure what.

  “Okay, so now it’s my job to mirror and check for accuracy,” he said. “I’d say something like, ‘let me see if I’ve got you—I heard you say you like the way I hold eye contact. Did I get that right?’”

  “Yes,” she said, the syllable a little breathless tripping from her tongue. “That’s right.”

  “Is there more?” he asked. “That’s part of the dialogue—I ask you if there’s more, which opens the door for you to share something else. Like maybe how it makes you feel or why eye contact is important to you.”

  “Okay,” she said, “I was engaged once and my fiancé had this habit of looking at his phone all the time, even when I was talking. It drove me batty, made me feel like he didn’t care what I had to say. I love that it always feels like I have your undivided attention.”

  “You do,” Adam breathed, losing his place in the conversation. “Okay, now I use the mirroring technique again. I heard you say your fiancé spent a lot of time checking his phone instead of looking at you when you were talking, and that frustrated you and made you feel like he didn’t care what you were saying. You appreciate having my undivided attention, and the eye contact lets you know you have it. Is there more?”

  “More?”

  “The point of the exercise is to continue drawing out what you’re trying to express to make sure you know I’m hearing you. This is a good place for you to tell me more about how the eye contact makes you feel.”

  “God, this is a bizarre way to talk,” she said. “Okay, yes, there’s more. When you make eye contact, it makes me feel listened to. Understood. Noticed. Appreciated.”

  Adam nodded, struggling a little to remember his lines. “And this is where I summarize. What I hear you saying is that you like when I hold eye contact because it makes you feel listened to, understood, noticed, and appreciated. Did I get it all?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  She bit her lip, and Adam had the sense she was about to say something a little outside her comfort zone. The thought of it thrilled him, and so did the next words out of her mouth.

  “It also makes me feel a little turned on.” She smiled. “If I’m being honest.”

  Adam swallowed, fighting to keep his head in the game. “Honesty is good.” His voice cracked on the last syllable, and Jenna smiled and leaned closer.

  “I picture you undressing me with your eyes, and it makes me want to take my clothes off.”

  “Okay,” Adam breathed, aching to claim her mouth with his. “Now it’s my job to validate you by saying something like, ‘what you say makes sense, and I understand that feeling listened to, understood, noticed, and appreciated is important to you.’”

  “And turned on,” she repeated, emboldened now. “Don’t forget that.”

  “I couldn’t possibly.”

  Her face was inches away now, a cue Adam couldn’t possibly miss even if he wanted to.

  “So what comes next?” she murmured.

  “In the Imago Dialogue?”

  “Sure.”

  “Um—something about empathy or accuracy-checking or some shit like that. Dammit, Jenna.”

  His mouth was on hers in an instant, kissing her hard despite the buzz in the back of his brain that told him it was a bad idea to let his libido make decisions for the rest of him. Why was that again?

  His fingers tangled in her hair and she gave a soft moan against his mouth and he felt his brain dissolve. His hand slid down the side of her neck, tracing the soft, warm hollow as he moved down to the curve of her shoulder. His palm grazed the top of her breast and she whimpered against him.

  Jenna moved up onto her knees, her whole body leaning into the kiss. She caressed the back of his neck and he realized absurdly he was still gripping the saltshaker. He couldn’t think of a good way to put it down. Couldn’t think of anything, really, except how good it felt to kiss her like this, in spite of everything in him that said it was a bad choice.

  Real love is a decision, not a feeling.

  The words buzzed in the back of his brain, and he tried to remember which part of his training they’d come from or why they’d chosen that moment to resurface in his mind.

  Don’t think. Just feel.

  Something clicked behind them and in the distance he heard a gasp.

  “Jenna? What the hell?”

  Chapter Five

  Jenna jumped at the sound of Mia’s voice, her teeth clacking against Adam’s as she jerked back.

  “Ouch.”

  From the corner of her eye, Jenna saw him raise a hand to his lower lip, but she was already on her feet and blinking against the glare as her best friend strode toward them in the sunlight.

  Jenna swallowed and folded her hands in front of her. “Mia! What a surprise.”

  She hoped her voice didn’t sound as guilty as it did in her head. What had Mia seen? It was possible the rooftop glare provided enough cover, but equally possible they were busted.

  What the hell were you thinking?

  Mia smiled and stepped around a fluttering page of newspaper with a hand shielding her eyes. “I thought that was you,” she said, dropping her hand from her brow to rest it on her pregnancy bump instead. “Didn’t realize that was Adam sitting there. God, the glare up here is awful. Why the hell would they paint a roof silver?”

  Behind her, Adam rose to his feet. “The aluminum particles have reflective properties designed to resist ultraviolet
rays and keep the building cool, plus the material is used to fill small cracks and extend the lifespan of a flat roof.”

  Both Jenna and Mia turned to blink at him. His lower lip looked swollen, and Jenna wondered whether to blame the kiss or the dental collision. She ached to reach out and touch the spot with her fingertip, but instead she edged closer to Mia.

  “Right,” Mia said, nodding at her ex. “I forgot your fondness for useless trivia.”

  “It wasn’t that useless, since it answered your question,” he pointed out.

  Jenna took a step closer to Mia, not sure who she wanted to shield from the tension she felt rising between the two exes.

  “Anyway,” Mia said, “I needed to get away from those beasts I share DNA with. What are you two up to?”

  Jenna swallowed, hoping the guilt didn’t show on her face. “I came up here to get some air and found Adam working. He startled me and I spilled wine on myself, so he was helping me get the stain out.”

  “Oh—that’s why you were sitting like that?”

  “Salt,” Adam announced, holding the shaker out like some sort of talisman. “Works magic on wine stains. Learned it from that book.”

  A grin broke over Mia’s face, and she pushed a shock of red hair off her forehead. “God, that’s right—101 Ways to Clean Everything! The most romantic wedding gift ever, courtesy of my mother. What ever happened to that, anyway?”

  “I got it,” Adam said, his tone flat and unreadable. “Remember? I got all the cookbooks and how-to manuals, you got the small kitchen appliances and silverware.”

  “Right, right. Except the knife set from your Nana because she bought it on that trip to Germany. How’s she doing anyway?”

  “She’s had a rough year,” Adam said, running his fingers through his hair. “She’s nearing the final stages with the Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t remember anyone in the family most of the time, not even Gramps.”

  “Oh, Adam—I’m so sorry. Tell everyone I said hello?”

  Jenna looked down at her bare feet, suddenly feeling like an outsider instead of like the woman who’d helped Mia shop for nursing bras the day before.

  Or like the woman who swapped spit with Adam five minutes ago.

  God, what had she been thinking? Guilt surged through her like a hot rush of poison, and she swallowed hard to keep it from drowning her. No matter how long ago Mia had divorced Adam, this still felt like a betrayal. The fact that Mia wasn’t freaking out must have meant she hadn’t seen the kiss, or if she had, the rooftop glare had been sufficient to disguise groping as innocent stain removal.

  Seeming to remember the third party present at their discussion about custody of the toaster, Adam and Mia turned back to her.

  “Good thing you were drinking white wine,” Mia said, eyeing the front of her dress. “At least you look more like an inkblot test than a knife-fight victim.”

  Jenna nodded, wondering if her friend suspected anything. “I’ll have to see if my dry cleaner can save it.”

  “You’re lucky Adam was here with his geeky knowledge of fabric cleaning,” Mia said, linking her arm through Jenna’s. “Come on, I’ve got three bags of clothes in my trunk I meant to haul to Goodwill before the reception. None of it fits me anymore, but there’s bound to be something you can change into in the meantime. There were a ton of really cute dresses in there—even that yellow silk one you always loved that just made me look like a big banana.”

  Jenna let Mia tow her away, trying not to look back at Adam. They’d almost made it to the stairs when Jenna gasped.

  “The door!” She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the prospect of being stuck on a roof for even five more minutes with her secret fling, his ex-wife, and her own best friend—no matter that two of those people were one and the same. Christ, could this be any weirder?

  “The door,” Jenna repeated, frantic now. “The door locked behind you. We’re all stuck up here and—”

  “Relax, girl,” Mia said, giving her arm a squeeze in the crook of her elbow. “I used my wedding program to prop the latch open. We’re fine. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Relief flooded Jenna’s limbs as she let Mia drag her away. She could feel Adam’s eyes on them, and wondered if this was as weird for him as it was for her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him watching them with an unreadable expression.

  “Thank you for the salt,” she called.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied evenly, shaker still clutched in his hand. “Call me anytime you need cleaning tips.”

  Jenna nodded, her gut clenching with guilt. For the kiss, or for the fact that they’d worked together to cover it up? She couldn’t say for sure.

  Jenna dropped her keys in the little dish by the front door, smiling at the freshly crocheted doily beneath it. Gertie wasn’t good at sitting idle, not even when she was sick.

  “Aunt Gertie?” she called, then kicked herself. What if the old woman was sleeping?

  But Gertie’s voice called back from the bathroom at the other end of the hall. “Just a second, sweetie. Oh, dear—this stomach bug doesn’t seem to want to let go of me, I’m afraid.”

  “I stopped at the store and got some ginger ale and soda crackers on the way home. Why don’t you get back into bed and I’ll bring them to you, okay?”

  “That would be lovely, dear. Thank you.”

  Jenna toed off her shoes and padded into the kitchen with her shopping bag, glancing at the dining room table where Gertie’s laptop sat open and glowing. No screensaver, which meant Gert hadn’t been away long.

  Something on the screen caught her eye, and Jenna blinked at it, then angled closer, feeling like a horrible snoop, but curious just the same.

  New York Times Bestseller!!!!!!!!!!

  That was the subject line on an e-mail chain that had started earlier in the week. Jenna glanced toward the silent hallway that led toward Gert’s room, then back at the laptop. She took a step closer, peering at the screen.

  At the top of the message was a screenshot of what Jenna could only presume was the week’s New York Times Bestseller list. A familiar name was in slot number three.

  G.G. Buckingham.

  Gert’s pen name. Not that they’d ever discussed it. It wasn’t that Gert kept things a secret. Honestly, she’d probably be thrilled to chat about it.

  It was that Jenna didn’t want to know. She wanted to keep pretending, to stick to their tacit agreement never to speak of Gert’s crazy life penning tales of lust and passion and illicit trysts.

  It had never mattered before. Gert got to earn extra income to help pay her medical bills, Jenna got to pretend Gert sat here all day crocheting doilies and baking pies.

  Jenna shook her head, torn between pride in her aunt’s achievement and confusion about what it all meant. She looked back at the e-mail. Beneath the screenshot, there was a typed message.

  Gertrude,

  Congratulations again! As I said on the phone, we need to schedule a call to discuss what this means for the future of your writing career. How’s next Monday for you?

  It was signed Michelle. Gert’s agent, another secret Jenna knew only from the monthly royalty checks that showed up in the mailbox. Gert pretended they were from Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes, and Jenna played along because it was easier that way.

  It was stupid, really, but what choice did she have? Even when the ex-CEO had claimed not to know about his wife’s escort service, he still went down with the ship when the story broke. With negotiations as tense as they were at Belmont, Jenna couldn’t afford to have Gert’s secret get out.

  A toilet flushed at the end of the hall, and Jenna jerked upright. She turned and placed her shopping bag on the counter, then began pulling out her purchases. A box of crackers, a pack of chamomile tea, a six-pack of chilled ginger ale, and one of the gossip magazines Gert enjoyed reading. Je
nna reached into the cupboard above her for a plate and a glass, torn between guilt for snooping, pride in her aunt’s achievement, and a sadness she couldn’t quite place.

  She couldn’t congratulate Gert, right? They didn’t talk about it, so a pat on the back wasn’t the right thing. Still, it seemed like an occasion she should mark somehow.

  She heard Gertie’s slippered feet shuffling down the hall, and turned to see her aunt moving into the kitchen. Jenna placed a handful of soda crackers on a china plate and turned to face her aunt.

  “Aunt Gertie, I told you to get in bed and I’d bring these to you. You should be resting.”

  “I know, dear, but I couldn’t wait to hear about Mia’s reception. Were there a lot of people? What did she wear? Did she have flowers and cake?”

  Jenna looked down at the pink and white flowered lei Mia had looped over her head as she left the reception. She pulled it off and placed it gently around Gert’s neck, straightening it over her housecoat. Then she bent to plant a kiss on her aunt’s weathered cheek.

  “You look beautiful,” she murmured, surprised at how deeply she meant it. “You and mom always looked amazing in pink.”

  Gertie smiled, fingering the flowers. “Your mom was always the head turner. Remember that pink dress she wore at your sweet sixteen?”

  Jenna nodded, her eyes prickling with the memory. “She looked like an angel.”

  “And she got up and gave that beautiful toast about working hard to achieve your dreams.”

  “And you wore a red dress with those stiletto heels I would have killed for. And you slipped me that secret sip of champagne—”

  Jenna stopped, her throat clenching tight. She swallowed hard, torn between a sad ache for her mother and an overwhelming pride in her aunt. Gert blinked, her eyes the same shade of blue Jenna remembered in her mother, in her grandma, in every woman on their side of the family.

  Jenna swallowed again. “Ginger ale would be better for your stomach,” she said softly. “But there’s one of those mini-bottles of champagne in the back of the fridge. We could save it for later, or—”