Page 63 of Let’s Make a Scene

“Interesting. What will our code word be?”

Hannah purses her lips. “Coffee beans. You call and ask me for coffee beans and I’ll know that you’ve murdered Jack and you need me to roll up with a body bag.”

“But what if I actually want coffee?”

“You make a good point. Perhaps we’re not cut out for a life of crime.”

“Don’t say that, we’re extremely capable. We could be in our Thelma and Louise era.”

“Thelma and Louise both die at the end.”

“Right, I always forget that part.” I sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to refrain from murdering Jack tonight.”

“You know, he doesn’t seem so bad,” Hannah says, grabbing her handbag off the table. “A lot more evolved than he was thirteen years ago. Maybe if you gave him a chance the two of you could… bury the hatchet.”

I look at her suspiciously. “Why did that sound dirty?”

She laughs. “Because I meant it to. He’s also got even hotter in the last thirteen years. I’m just saying!” She waggles her fingers at me. “Anyway, I’m off, have fun.”

“Thanks.”

I manage to keep a smile on my face until I hear her close the front door behind her and then I lean my head against the cool marble countertop. Please, please, please let this not be a disaster.

I POTTER AIMLESSLY AROUND THE house for another hour, one eye on the clock, until I’m alerted by a buzz from the gate that Jack has arrived. Taking a deep, calming breath I go to meet him outside the front door. The paparazzi are forced to remain on the other side of the gate, but I know that’s not going to stop them from getting pictures up the driveway.

Sure enough, as Jack’s car pulls up, several long lenses appear over the top of the closed gate, flashes still popping like mad.

Jack parks and gets out the car. He grins and I try not to dwell on the little jolt of pleasure I feel at the sight of him.

“Hey,” he says. “I think half the photographers in LA are camped outside.”

“Better give them something to talk about then.” I sigh like it is a hardship.

With a laugh, he pulls me into a hug. His body is hard and warm under his T-shirt.

“There, that’s not so bad, is it?” Jack’s voice rumbles under my ear.

I pull back from him, look up into his face. He’s wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses that hide his eyes, but I can still feel the amusement coming off him. Hannah was right when she said he’s changed, I realize. He seems so much easier in himself than I remember.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly nervous. “Um, why don’t you come in?” I say. “That should have given them enough to keep them happy.”

“Sure,” he replies, and he reaches into the backseat of his car to grab a holdall and a grocery bag. “Lead the way.”

When we get inside, he looks around with appreciation. “Your place is lovely.”

“Thanks,” I say, leading him through to the kitchen. “I’ll give you the tour later if you like. Just dump your bag in here for now. Can I get you a drink?”

“I’m good at the moment,” he replies, although he eyes my fancy coffee machine with obvious interest. “But you should put this in the freezer.” He places the grocery bag he brought with him on the kitchen counter, and I peep inside. It’s full of tubs of ice cream from the place we visited last weekend, all with neatly handwritten labels attached, including one that says lavender and honey in swirling cursive.

“Oh!” I exclaim. “That’s so nice. Thank you.” Inexplicably, I feel my eyes fill with tears, which I try desperately to blink back. Has it really come to this? A small act of kindness and I’m coming apart.

Jack only shrugs. “I didn’t want to turn up empty-handed, and I already know you like ice cream.”

“Still,” I say, shifting on my feet and clearing my throat. “It was thoughtful.” I start to put the ice cream away into my giant freezer and find there’s a nice bottle of white wine in the bag as well, so I grab a couple of glasses.

There’s an awkward silence.

“I thought I could cook dinner,” I say finally. “If that’s okay with you? If not, we can get takeout.”