Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(63)

I lean back in my office chair and the donut pillow under me squeaks. I gave in after too many miserable days of sitting on my needle punctured welt-ridden bum and bought a little ergonomic chair pillow. Lavinia raised an eyebrow the first day I brought it in, but otherwise, no one said anything.

I’ve decided progesterone shots are the worst. The worst.

Who decided it was a good idea to shoot yourself in the butt with a needle day in and day out? It bruises, it welts, it hurts, and then what? How are you supposed to sit?

I look around the office. It’s nearly six and everyone is already gone for the day. I’m nearly wrapped up, Ian’s virtual Live Your Best Life Conference is soon and I’m concentrating on making sure all the partner presentations are complete and on-message. I also wrote another draft of my remarks since Ian asked me to introduce him on the first day. Unfortunately, I had trouble concentrating.

I open up my phone, tap on my calendar, and write trouble concentrating, symptom?

When I look up from my phone, I see Ian. He’s standing at my desk, smiling down at me. He looks good today. He’s dressed in what I’d considered his Hamptons outfit, a dressy casual outfit that would work in a boardroom or on the deck of a yacht.

“Oh, hi,” I say. I slide my phone back into my purse and bite my bottom lip. “How are you?”

Ugh. Brilliant.

Ian grins his bright, white toothy smile. “Ready for the weekend?”

I pat my suitcase, a little overnight bag that I put under my desk this morning. Ian said we’d be leaving from the office.

“Yup. All set, mhmm.” I fidget with the hem of my new dress. I went out with Carly over the weekend and she helped find outfits that “showed off my assets.” I’m in an Audrey Hepburn-inspired dress, with a silk scarf tied in my hair. It’s a long, long way from my usual chunky sweater and legging get-up. It makes me look sophisticated and elegant, so I’m not sure why I’m so uncomfortable.

“Shall we?” Ian asks. “The car is ready.” He holds out his arm. I hesitate for a moment, then Ian says, “I’ve never regretted the doing. Only the not doing.”

I tilt my head. “Is that a new quote?” I haven’t seen that in any of his books or materials before.

“Hmm. Let’s just say, I felt it fit the moment.” He holds out his hand, and when he does, the fluorescent lights of the office shine down and hit him just right. There’s a glow around his black hair, like he’s been anointed by the angels. I’m reminded that he’s Ian Fortune, the man that pulled me out of my self-loathing and hurt after my divorce. He’s Ian Fortune, guru extraordinaire.

And he’s reminding me to live my best life.

He’s right, you never regret the doing, only the not doing.

Josh hasn’t called. Josh hasn’t texted. Josh hasn’t…

I stand and put my arm in his.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Ian says.





The candlelight is low, the red roses are beautiful, and the music is romantic. Everything about dinner in the Hamptons is perfect. Except…I keep waiting for that spark, to feel that unfurling of love or even lust (remember the mind-blowing sex fantasy?), but it’s not there.

Don’t get me wrong, Ian is attentive and charming and easy to talk to, but…

He’s not Josh.

I regret the doing.

I shouldn’t have come.

The waiter clears away our dessert dishes and presents us with a silver coffee service. Decaf for me. I take two scoops of sugar and stir them into the steaming liquid. I pour cream, and keep my gaze down, giving myself time to think. I’ll have to take a bus back, or a taxi or…I think Carly said she was coming out here for the week to get “some space.” Maybe I could call her.

“So, Gemma, is your brother still friends with Josh Lewenthal?”

I quickly lift my head and look at Ian. It’s strange he’d mention Josh. Especially when my thoughts have been drifting to him during the entire eight-course meal.

Lime zest shavings in the curry soup—Josh.

Julienned carrots in the salad—Josh.

Oregano and basil on the lamb, tastes like pizza—Josh.

Ice cream and profiteroles for dessert—Josh.

Abstract flower paintings on the walls of the restaurant—Josh.

Gah.

“Why do you ask?” I manage to say without showing too much interest. At least, that’s my hope.

Ian lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “We went to university together, then we were at the same start-up. Let’s just say, I’m curious what became of him.”

I lift my eyebrows, “I didn’t know you were at that techie start-up. And here I thought you were always a guru.”

He chuckles and then I watch as he spoons sugar into his cup and then pours a small drizzle of cream so that his coffee turns a caramelly brown. His fingers are so long and elegant, his movements so precise. A month ago, I would’ve fantasized about his hands. But now…nah.

“So what is he up to these days?” Ian asks when he’s done taking a sip of his doctored coffee.

What to say. What to say.

“He has a web comic, I think it’s popular. I don’t know, I haven’t read it.”

Which I should. I really should.

Ian lifts a winged eyebrow and says, “Still not a fan? We share that sentiment, I suppose. Although not many people do.”