The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(104)

I laughed again. "You kissed him?"

"He kissed me!" John corrected. "Just like you told me. I didn't initiate anything! It was all him."

"Really?" Even I was enjoying a small portion of this TV-worthy drama.

John nodded proudly. "Yes. I told him you were going to get the coffee because you thought I would screw up your order. So he invited me to see his boat. We talked, flirted, et cetera. And then he leaned in and just went for it."

I shook my head in disbelief. "I can't believe this."

"Yeah. Me neither." John cocked his head to the side. "I mean, how did he even know I was gay?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

He looked down at his outfit again. "What? Is it really that obvious?"

I decided not to even go there. Besides, I had bigger things to worry about than whether or not John thought he looked gay.

"So I guess now the only problem is: How on earth do I report something like this back to his wife?"

John shook his head and offered me a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, you're on your own for that one, honey."





24

The Two-Date Itch


I SAT across from Sarah Miller, and for the first time in a long time, I was actually fidgeting. I couldn't sit still. I had to literally hold my hands together in my lap to keep them from wandering up into my hair, to the back sides of my earrings, into my mouth. This kind of post-assignment review was definitely a first for me.

"Snickerdoodle?" Mrs. Miller offered, pushing a small plate of unidentifiable chocolate lumps toward me. I would have normally said no, but I suddenly felt bad for her: cooking up a storm, trying desperately to win back her husband's attention by becoming the next Betty Crocker, when, in the end, all he wanted to do was find a Bobby Cocker.

So I grabbed a lump off the plate and took a small nibble. "Thank you. This is delicious."

"You're welcome." Sarah sat upright in her seat and folded her hands neatly in her lap.

"I don't know how to tell you this, Mrs. Miller, so I'm just going to come right out and say it."

"He cheated, right?" she asked, with hope in her voice.

I tilted my head to the side. "Well, actually... not in the way you would think."

This seemed to throw her off. She delicately scratched an itch at the base of her hairline and looked to me for further explanation.

"As it would turn out, your husband really wanted nothing to do with me...in an intimate sense."

She nodded, unsure of where this was going, and motioned for me to continue.

"He was actually more interested in my friend ...my male friend."

Mrs. Miller pressed her lips together tightly, and I could see a puzzled expression come over her face. "How do you mean? As in a business sense?"

I shook my head. "No, as in...my friend is...um...gay."

It took her a few moments, but she eventually got it. "Oh dear," she said, her eyes narrowing, her lips curling into a solemn frown.

I felt a wave of sympathy suddenly wash over me. This poor woman. I couldn't even imagine what she must be feeling right now. But as I studied her face, for some reason, I got the sense that her reaction to the news wasn't exactly sincere. She didn't at all resemble a person who had been dreading this kind of truth, trying to prove it wrong, trying to ignore it until she just couldn't ignore it any longer. She more resembled someone trying to hide some kind of self-indulgent amusement with a mask of surprise. Which confused me even more. Just when I thought I had figured her out, figured out exactly what was going on behind the closed doors, I suddenly felt like I was right back where I had started: sitting across from a robot wife who likes to wear aprons and hum while she does dishes.

"I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you this," I offered, almost as if I was poking at the wound, trying to see if I could rouse any predictable responses.

"Yes, yes," she repeated softly. But it was as if she had something else on her mind. Something quite far from the topic at hand.

And as she ushered me politely out the door less than five minutes later I tried to remind myself that all people grieve in different ways. And I was in no place to judge the way Mrs. Miller reacts to shocking news. After all, I wasn't being paid to contemplate the various emotions that every person must feel on their own. I was being paid to deliver my findings and leave. Which is exactly what I did.

But it still didn't stop me from wondering what the hell was going on in that house after she closed the door.



WHEN I got home and changed out of my slacks and cardigan sweater set, I noticed Jamie's business card, still sitting on my dresser where I had left it the day before.

Oh, that's right, I reminded myself, as if I hadn't tenaciously stuck it at the back of my mind for the last twenty-four hours. I was going to cancel our date.

I picked up the card again and stared at the phone number. I reached for my phone and held it tightly in my hand.

Just do it, I repeated to myself. You know it's for the best.

I started dialing the area code but my fingers felt heavy and almost numb. I was having trouble pressing the right buttons. As I went to press the number 4, my finger slipped over to the 5. When did the buttons on this cell phone get so goddamn close together? I hit Clear and started again.