47 - Love's Like a Diamond

And there it is.  He’s no longer stupidly perfect.

“So, you have another daughter,” Delaney reiterated with deliberate neutrality as dinner rumbled like Chinese New Year in her stomach. 

Jon pushed a hand through already disheveled hair and shook his head.  “No.  My memories of that night are almost nonexistent, but I told the girl – Chelsea – that, since there was a possibility, I’d do a DNA test.  Results prove she’s not my kid.”

What an awkward nightmare that would’ve been to suddenly inherit a twenty-four-year-old daughter.  Relief for both he and Dorothea flooded her veins but ebbed just as quickly.  Instead of gaining an unexpected child, they’d lost the family they’d spent almost thirty years building. 

“Not your kid, but Dorothea still couldn’t forgive you?”

“Nope,” Jon confirmed flatly before swigging another gulp of wine.  “It wasn’t the paternity issue, believe it or not.  She said she’d braced herself for something like that years ago.  Dorothea was more upset that I’d done the one and only thing she asked me never to do, and then lied about it – multiple times.  Said I could apologize until I was blue in the face.  She still couldn’t trust or respect me the same way anymore and wouldn’t spend the rest of her life trying.”

That explained Dorothea’s advice about finding the truth in Jon’s eyes, but didn’t keep those same eyes from tearing at Delaney’s heart.  It was almost as bad as comprehending this divorce wasn’t his choice.   

He’d still be happily married if Dorothea had been able to accept the circumstances.  If she ever reached that point of acceptance and was willing to give Jon another chance, there was every possibility in the world that he’d take it.   

So where did that put Delaney?

As the friendly rebound girl.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, regretting that she’d asked about his divorce.  Enjoying a relationship with him was easier before she found out he was probably still in love with Dorothea.  That was going to take some getting used to and, in need of a little space, she scooped up their plates.

“Sorry about what?” His voice followed her to the sink where Delaney scraped their leftovers.  “That I killed my marriage, or that you believed I was a nice guy?”

“You are a nice guy, Jon, but even nice guys screw it up once in a while.  I’m sorry you didn’t get to live happily ever after with your high school sweetheart the way you’d always planned.”

“I was, too.”  She jumped when soft lips touched her nape, unaware that he'd slipped up behind her.  Heavy arms looped Delaney’s waist, constricting to draw her against the solidity of his chest.  “Then I met you.  Now I’m not sorry at all.”

She should push him away to look at his eyes and see if he was trying to sell something, like Dorothea said.  She would if the weight of him didn’t feel so freeping right.  Call her crazy, but Delaney liked the immovable forearm making it just a little hard to breathe. 

“But you’re still in love with her.”

“Love’s like a diamond, Mou.”  His other arm snugged up under the first, supporting her breasts at the same time it constricted her ribs.  “It has a lot of different facets.  When one of them turns out of sight, it brings a different one into view, so yeah.  I’ll always love her, but as far as the passionate love between a man and woman…?  That facet faded out of sight a long time ago.  Sometimes I’m not sure we ever had it.”

Delaney pushed at his arms so that she could turn and meet the blue orbs that were watching her from beneath lowered lashes.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean that, if Dorothea and I were the average Americans, we would’ve divorced ten or fifteen years ago when we realized we were nothing more than friends with kids.  But it was just easier to stay married than deal with all the bullshit details of splitting up.  I’m also a stubborn son of a bitch, who doesn’t like to admit failure.”

There was nothing but honesty shining in the variegated depths of blue.  

Jon and Dorothea’s marriage hadn’t been storybook perfect like everyone believed.  It just hadn’t been storybook horrible, either. 

“If she decided to call off the divorce, would you reconcile?”

“No,” he said without hesitation, emphasizing it with a solemn shake of his head.  “The hard part is over.  Asset decisions have been made, everyone’s worked through their emotions and the media has lost their shit.  Now it’s just a matter of acclimating to separate lives in separate places.”

Delaney wasn’t really sure what the appropriate response was – or if one existed – so she opted to return to their dinner dishes.  That was the plan, anyway, but when she tried to execute it, he held tight. 

“We still friends now that you know what a dumbfuck I am?”

Laughing softly, she tilted her head back to scold him with a look.  “You’ve met Pearl and think I have lofty standards for friendship?  Seriously?”

“Point taken.”  Amusement gently creased the fine lines around his eyes.  “How about the other part of our relationship?  We good there, too?”

“What?  The part where you talk dirty to me at dinner?”

The gentle creases smoothed, but his eyes rained affection down on Delaney like a floodlight as he swept a feathery thumb across her cheek.  Very little compared the pulsation of excitement that came with being the sole focus of Jon’s attention.  When he zeroed in on her as if they were the only two people in the world, her knees shook, and her breath hitched. 

“The part where your body belongs to me.”

And when he claimed his ownership with that quiet air of caveman civility, her lady flower bloomed in the hothouse of her panties.  Delaney’s body knew it belonged to him.  Her brain didn’t need to be on board for that decision, but she couldn’t prevent it from trying to cast a vote.

“Does yours belong to me?”

“Yes.”  His response was instant and firm, without an ounce of uncertainty. 

“Then, yeah.  We’re good there, too.”

They may be calling this “friends and lovers”, but they’d dug themselves a hole that was deeper than that.  One that Delaney may not be able to climb out of before much longer.

{{{

The two of them were getting ready the next morning when Jon stepped into the bathroom unannounced.  He was wearing only half-buttoned jeans and pushed his phone at Delaney, announcing over the whirring hairdryer, “It’s your sister.”

“Why is she calling you?” she quasi-yelled back.

“How the hell do I know?  Probably because you aren’t answering.  Where’s your phone?” 

Cutting the power to the hairdryer, she laid it on the edge of the sink with a sigh.  She hadn’t seen the stupid thing since they met Avery yesterday.  “In the bottom of my gym bag, I guess.”

His mussed silver head shook with disappointment.  “You’re a beautiful fucking mess, Mou.”

“Only with phones.  And keys.  And little plastic cards.”  Huffing and rolling eyes that were tired from a night of strenuous mutual ownership, she extended an open palm.  “Point taken.  Gimme.”

Passing over the vibrating device, he bussed her lips and went back to the bedroom to finish dressing.  His plans for the day involved traveling to the Hamptons at about the same time Delaney had to be at work, meaning that their schedules coincided this morning.  It was one of the few times she’d wished for a bigger bathroom. 

“Hey, Petra.  What’s up?”

“Why can you NOT answer your goddamn phone?  Why do you even bother having one?”

“Because I’m an Apple lemming, following blindly along with the latest models and iOS updates,” she snarked, pulling her hair into a ponytail before looping half of it through again.  Messy bun to the rescue.  “Is this purely a lecture call or is there a legitimate reason you’re using the number I told you to lose?”

The low, throaty growl that signified her sister’s peak annoyance found its way over the line.  “Yes, there is a reason, you pain in the ass.  Pearl has been calling me for the last twelve hours.  Apparently, she’s going to the Hamptons and you’re supposed to be going, too?  I didn’t dare pass along Jon’s number, so I took it upon myself to call.”

“How very conscientious of you.” 

Makeup or no?  It didn’t really feel like a makeup kind of day, so she bypassed the cosmetics pouch and padded to the bedroom and her jewelry box.  Her rings were not optional.  She felt naked without them.

“So?”  Petra bit out impatiently.  “What the hell is this about the Hamptons?”

“Pearl is going to do some photography for Jesse at an event this weekend, but I’m not going.  Never was, so I’m not sure what that’s all about.”

“Last chance to go out with me,” Jon muttered under his breath, and Delaney hip-checked him away from the dresser and her jewelry box. 

“Why aren’t you going?  Won’t Jon be there?”

“He will,” she confirmed as the man in question buttoned the signature black shirt and ran a hand through his hair.  “But I told him this wasn’t a good weekend for me.”

“Oh, shit.  Does he know about your issues with this weekend?”

The little lightning zig zag ring found its seat on Delaney’s pinky, and the silver band slipped onto her middle finger.  “Yes, he knows.  He also knows why I can’t go.”

“Um.  You’re going to have to tell me why you can’t go.  Lack of hotel rooms?  Rat infestation?  Sudden onset dementia?”

She snorted at Petra’s sarcasm.  “No, you snarky biyotch.  Stephanie will be there.  I can’t do that yet.”

“Delaney,” her twin geared up for a lecture, which Delaney had sensed was imminent all along.  “It’s been five years.  Jon’s daughter has nothing to do with Violet, and if he wants you to go to the Hamptons, you fucking go to the Hamptons!  Do you know what kind of celebrities live out there?  And how gorgeous the houses are?  I’d give anything to see inside a couple of them.”

“Well, you’re not going to see inside any of them.”

At her staunch adamancy, Jon lifted his attention from the sleeves he was folding back.  “If you come, I can get Petra inside Oprah’s house.  She can stay with you and Pearl in the guesthouse.”

When her sister squealed, Delaney cut him a glare and tucked the phone under her chin to hiss, “Stop being helpful.  We’ve had this conversation.”

“Yes, but if Petra is the one bullying you, it’s not on my conscience.”  Jon tucked a knuckle under her chin so she’d look at him.  “I want you there, Mou.  Not for the wolves and not for Jesse.  For me.  Nobody has to know you’re there.  You can hang out by the pool or on the beach while I do my thing.  We’ll have dinner at the house in the evenings.  Jess is a helluva grill master.”

“Yes!  Goddammit, tell the man yes, Laney!”

Delaney reclaimed her face and shook the phone in his. “Do you see what you’ve done now?”

His features reflected a lack of complete unconcern when finishing up with the sleeves.  Notching both hands over his hips, he asked, “Would it make a difference if I told you Steph texted last night?  She isn’t coming out until Monday.  You could spend today and tomorrow, then come back on Sunday.”

“Delaney Petra Gardener, if you don’t tell that man yes, I’m coming to Queens and kicking your ass!”

Jon’s left eyebrow hiked with interest.  “If your middle name is Petra, what’s Petra’s middle name?”

“Delaney.”

His angled jaw opened partway but snapped shut again, making Delaney grin.  Speechless Jon wasn’t something she’d ever encountered, and he lightly tossed his hands in the air to concede defeat. “I got nothin’.  That’s too bizarre for words.”

“Laney!  Dammit, Laney!  Fucking answer me!”

Now it was his turn to grin.  Jon had dealt with Petra enough to know what he’d unleashed here this morning.  “Answer her, Mou.”

Grinding her back teeth, Delaney half-heartedly glowered at him.  In her heart, she would love to spend the weekend with him at the beach, so it was hard to be truly mad.  She just wished he’d told her about Stephanie earlier, before Petra called.  There would be no leaving her in the city now, and God only knew what kind of sophisticated trouble she was going to stir up.  Between her and Pearl, it was bound to be memorable – and without time to dwell on painful memories.

“I wish you’d told me about Steph earlier,” she grumbled before returning to Petra.  “Pack your bag, Pushy Pants.  I guess we’re going to the Hamptons.”

“Eeeek!  I wonder if I have time for a pedicure before we go?  How are we getting there?  What time are we leaving?”

“I don’t know.  I’m a mere pawn here.”  Tucking the phone under her chin once again, she tried to ignore the cloud of smugness enshrouding the man who tied his shoes.  “We need to get our own transportation, right?”

“Up to you.  If you want to avoid the hellacious traffic, I’d suggest going with me and the boys at ten.”

“Are you driving?”

“No, baby.”  He stood and shook out the legs of his jeans before smiling eyes met hers.  “Helicopter.”

Well, naturally.  How silly of her.  Who wouldn’t take a helicopter to the Hamptons?

46 - Merry F--king Christmas

“To your new home.”

“To my new home,” Jon echoed Delaney’s toast as their stemware chimed delicately together.   

After swallowing, she gently placed her glass on the butter yellow placemat.  “Chardonnay is supposed to go with kung pao chicken, but I wasn’t really sure if you drank it.  Hope it’s okay.”

“I have favorites but will drink anything.  Literally, anything.”

She shot him a condescending look over the food that caused her stomach to clench with hunger pangs.  Her hectic schedule hadn't had room for meals today.  “I’m starting to think you’re a high-functioning alcoholic.”

“I plead the Fifth.” 

The playful jab was only partially in jest.  Jon held his wine well, but they’d shared enough of it in the last week that she’d learned to spot the subtle signs of his drinking.  High cheekbones lit with a pink hue when he hit the sweet spot between relaxation and drunkenness, and his smile took on a different tilt. He spoke more readily about nothing in particular and was freer in sharing random thoughts. 

That’s the place she wanted to get him to before bringing up her morning delivery, so Delaney passed the time by indulging her curiosity. 

“So, can I ask you a question?”

“You technically just did, but yeah.  Anytime, as long as you know I may not always choose to answer.”

“Fair enough.”  She twirled zucchini noodles around her chopsticks, not looking at him when posing, “Why are you paying for a hotel in the city instead of staying in your New Jersey house?”

Petra’s demanding questions the other day had gotten stuck in Delaney’s head, taking root and growing until Delaney’s curiosity was inspired.  It did seem strange to spend whatever he was spending on the Four Seasons, when he had a home just outside the city.

“Who wants to know?  Mou or Petra?”

Was she that transparent, or was he just that astute?  “Petra may have planted the seed, but I’m asking for me.”

Jon nodded and set the chopsticks down in favor of his wine.  He was again abandoning most of his meal, and if she hadn’t seen him do it every time they ate, Delaney might have had qualms about her cooking.  The man kept his trim waistline by eating like a bird and filling his stomach with alcohol.  That habit carried the potential to be worrisome, but she told herself it was too soon to make that judgment.  It felt like they’d been together for longer than reality and the calendar said they had.

“The house in Jersey is inconvenient for me and she doesn’t want it, so we’re selling.  I was actually thinking about giving Avery the listing.”

Selling the famed house on the Navesink?  That was something akin to sacrilege in Delaney’s mind, not only from a fan’s perspective, but….  Well, that house was a huge part of his life.  His history, in fact, and he’d always struck her as a man who thrived on tradition.

She tilted her head, eyebrows knitting with confusion.  “I’m sure she’d love to have it, but why?  You have a studio there.  It’s your kids’ home.”

“My kids are New Yorkers,” he countered.  “Jake and Romeo were raised there more than Jersey, and the other two have chosen the city.  We haven’t been at the house for more than holidays in a few years, and as far as the studio goes, it’s just a studio.  I can always build another or there are lots of places who'd like my business.”

“I don’t get it,” was Delaney’s sighed admission when taking up her own wine.  “Maybe it’s just the fan in me talking, but that house….  It symbolizes you as much as Superman, your smile, the long-haired baby pictures from the eighties.  Even freeping ‘Wanted’ or ‘Prayer’.  How do you give that up?”

Having drained his glass, Jon reached for the bottle to replenish it.  “I’ll take you over there sometime and tell you what I see in my dining room.  My office.  Maybe then you’ll understand.”

“I’d love to see inside, but I’m not sure I’ll ever understand.”  If she’d had the option of keeping the home where her daughters grew up, Delaney would’ve pounced on it.  There were memories embedded in every wall, window and floorboard.  Now that she’d lost both girls, living with the physical reminders of those memories might not make the loss so painful.

Or it could be more painful.  You don't know.  Not really.

“But you’re keeping the house in the Hamptons?”

“For now,” he acknowledged with a slow nod.  “I get that, she gets the Greenwich condo and we’ll sell the ones in Jersey and Florida.  Maybe after this year, the Hamptons place will get sold, too.  I’ll have to see how it goes.”

“And you’ll just have the new apartment.”

“Maybe, maybe not.  I want an actual house someplace.  Just one without as many reminders attached.”

“I gotta tell you…”  Her head slowly shook with incomprehension.  “I never dreamed you’d be the one wanting to escape reminders.  You seem so rooted in history and tradition that it baffles me.”

“History and tradition, yeah, but I don’t like making mistakes.  I sure as fuck don’t like being reminded of them, so that’s not the history I wanna preserve.”

The chardonnay was over half gone now that he’d poured himself another glass, and the telltale flush darkened his cheeks.  The segue and the timing were never going to get any more perfect. 

“I went to see Dorothea today.”

Surprised pinpoints of blue locked on her, but he didn’t seem perturbed when asking, “Yeah?  What for?”

Shrugging one shoulder, Delaney pulled one foot onto the chair seat with her, loosely draping her arms around it.  “Wanted to clear the air on the off chance this thing between you and me continues.”

“Stop right there,” came the abrupt command along with an upheld hand.  “Since I did such a shitty job earlier of saying I’d keep my dick in my pants and might have created some ambiguity, let the record show I want this to continue.  This friends and lovers thing is working for me.”

“It’s working for me, too,” she agreed with a smile.  He was a pretty cute wino.

“Good, because I’m gonna want your pussy for dessert, friend.”

Her insides clenched with both delight and dismay at his crude candor.  He hadn’t proven himself to be suave, and charming her panties off wasn’t the way he operated.  The man wanted what he wanted and wasn’t shy about demanding it. 

Oddly enough, that didn’t offend her.  Delaney appreciated not having to second-guess him and liked his unabashed way of expressing desire for her.

“You want whipped cream with that?”

The smoldering gaze that had sidetracked her from the conversation went molten as one corner of his mouth kicked lazily into a sexy leer.  “Nah.  It’d just spoil the taste.”

“Discussing oral sex at the dinner table?  You’re a dirty man, Mr. Bongiovi.”

Her heart thumped erratically when his eyes met hers to taunt, “And you like it.”

What was it she’d just thought about him not charming off her panties?  Wrong.  He just had his own unique brand of charm, and it had her squirming in her seat.  If she didn’t get back to the topic at hand, he’d have her naked on this table.

“I do, actually.  Just not when I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

“Then talk.”

She blatantly ignored the hand that disappeared beneath the table at the same time he shifted on his chair.  The hard-on might not survive this little chat, but she’d make sure he got it back later.

“I made it clear to Dorothea that there was nothing going on between us before Monday and that I was as shocked as the rest of the world over your divorce.  She was good to me the day I got plowed by the bike messenger, and I didn’t want her thinking things that weren’t true.”

“And?”

“And,” Delaney addressed his lifted brow.  “She believed me and offered some advice.  Very curious advice.”

For the first time since she’d brought up Dorothea’s name, he appeared unhappy.  The curved lines between his eyebrows became more pronounced with a frown, and his movement on the wooden chair had nothing to do with arousal. 

“Tell me why you’re getting divorced, Jon.”

Well, fuck.

He’d known this moment was imminent.  In all honesty, he should be grateful she hadn’t demanded it three days ago.  Jon probably would be grateful if he’d found any means of sugar-coating this so that he didn’t come off sounding like the asshole that he was. 

Instead, his gratitude lay in the belief that Delaney saw him as a normal man and had only put him on a short pedestal.  Jon was about to take a nosedive off that fucker, and with any luck, a good tuck and roll would keep him intact.    

Keep this relationship intact.

After throwing back a final bracing drink of wine, he sighed and gently set the glass next to what remained of his dinner. 

“There was this girl that went to high school with me and Dorothea – Angie Nunzio.   She wasn’t a particularly nice girl, mostly because she got off on fucking other girls’ boyfriends.  Did it to Dorothea once, before I came along, and to her best friend at least twice.  To say that she didn’t get along with Angie is like saying the Pope is a little Catholic.”   

Jon shifted his attention from the chopsticks in his restless fingers to the row of houseplants along the kitchen window sill.  “Graduation came and went, and I was too busy trying to establish a music career to think about anybody from high school, including Dorothea for a while. 

“We broke up for a few months in the early days of the band, because she didn’t like everything that came along with the musician life.  It pissed me off, but whatever.  I had a career to build.

“During that break, Angie managed to get herself backstage at one of the shows.  I was drunk, and she was shoving her tits in my face, so I screwed around with her a couple times.”

Not his proudest moment, but not his worst, either.  Not even his worst in this story, and he risked a quick glance in Delaney’s direction to see how she was receiving it so far.  What he found was an expression devoid of any discernible expression, and he counted the absence of disgust a win at this stage. 

“Dorothea found out, and when we reunited, she made me swear I’d never go near that ‘putrid whore’ again.  That was the only woman she ever explicitly told me not to touch, so I agreed.  I didn’t like the girl that much, anyway.”

Now came the fun part.

“Fast forward almost four years – March 1, 1993 – and Angie Nunzio somehow finds her way into my hotel room in Kalamazoo fucking Michigan.   I still think it was Sambora that had her poppin’ out of a big fucking cake to wish me a happy birthday.  She was half-naked, I was beyond half-drunk, and Richie was pushing me at her.  Drunk as I was, I knew it was a shit idea, but à la ‘Bed of Roses’… I woke up with her still in my bed.”

“Oh, Jon.”

“I know, I know,” he growled at her pitying tone while agitatedly spinning the wineglass on its base.  “Dumb fucking mistake, but I managed to keep it quiet.  There was only one time the cat almost jumped out of the bag, and that was when Sambora bringing up her name at the goddamn hospital the day Stephanie was born.  

“Dorothea heard ‘Angie’ and gave me a look that should’ve lasered my balls off.  When they stayed attached, she demanded to know if it was that Angie.  All those years later, and that’s still the first person that comes to her mind.” 

Shrugging defenselessly without looking toward his hostess, Jon confessed his greatest sin.  “I told her no.  What am I gonna say?  She’s about to have our first child.  I’m not going to admit what a motherfucking idiot I was. And when she asked again later, it was a little late to be changing my story.  I also didn’t see the point in pissing her off for something that was never going to happen again.”

Pushing back his chair, he picked up the empty wine bottle and moved toward the kitchen.  “Do you have more someplace?”

“In the fridge,” she instructed as he dumped the empty in the trash.  Opening the refrigerator rewarded him with a cold bottle of Hampton Water, and he pulled it out while Delaney asked, “Did it happen again?”

“No.”

Jon popped the top and poured without bothering to rinse the leftover drops of chardonnay from his glass. It wasn’t about taste at this point.  It was about having something to do with his hands while numbing his conscience. 

“But she found out anyway, I’m guessing?”

“Despite my denial at least a couple more times over the decades,” he confirmed dryly, dropping back into his chair with a temporarily full glass.  “Fast forward almost another twenty-five years to last Christmas.  We’re all gathered at the house in Jersey – my family, her family.  Everybody’s sitting around the dining room table when there’s this knock on the front door, and Dorothea goes to answer it.”   

“Oh, God.  Was it Angie?”

He gulped a huge drink of wine and once again focused on the window plants. 

Angie may have been preferable.  He could’ve called her crazy to her face and bullshitted his way out of the ensuing mess.  Instead, he had to stand in the foyer with Dorothea behind his right shoulder to hear the young woman identify herself.

“Not Angie.  Her daughter – claiming she’s my daughter.”

He could still see the girl’s big baby blues going all watery when saying that cancer had taken her mother the month before.  He could still plainly visualize the tears trekking down her cheeks when apologizing for the intrusion, but her mother’s dying wish had been for Jon to know.

Never in his life had he felt so badly for cursing a dead woman, but he’d called Angie Nunzio every name in the motherfucking book on that religious holiday. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”  Delaney gasped, hand coming to cover her mouth. 

“I wish.”  Jon’s snort was both painful and pathetic.  “It was her mama’s dying wish for the girl to meet her daddy.  Me.”

"I..."

"Don't try and say anything.  There are no appropriate words," he assured her tiredly.  "It's fucked up any way you look at it.  Just let me get to the punchline.”

An elfin chin dipped in deference to his wishes, and Jon leaned both forearms on the table to meet her eyes and bring this train wreck to the final point of impact. 

“The whole family is hanging out of the dining room, shamelessly eavesdropping.  Every last one of ‘em is wearing a ‘holy shit’ expression on their face, so Dorothea drags me and the girl into my office, where I proceed to deny my ass off right up until the minute the girl announces her birthday.  December 1, 1993.  Exactly nine months after my Kalamazoo cake visit."

Jon’s eyes slid boldly to Delaney’s, prepared to accept whatever judgment he may find there.

“And that was the end of my marriage.  Merry fucking Christmas.”

45 - Penthouse Living in Queens

“Top floor, huh?” Jon tucked both hands tighter into his jacket pockets, hiking the gym bag so that it didn’t slide to the floor.

“Penthouse living in Queens,” she teased with a wink and twisted the key in the lock.  “Not quite the same as your new digs, but it’s fine for us common people.”

“You’re anything but common, Mou.”

Delaney Gardener was a unique woman.  He’d known that from the beginning, but she reinforced it a little more each day.  Today’s proof was in the warm hug she gave Avery Anstead at their first Tribeca listing. 

A statuesque raven beauty who could moonlight as a runway model didn’t intimidate the tiny woman with the cosmetic free face.  Delaney’s entire knee poked through a rip in her jeans as her scuffed tennis shoes butted up against Manolo Blahniks, and it didn’t bother her a damn bit.  Her grin was borne of genuine pleasure when greeting the realtor who was living up to her billing so far.

They’d looked at two different properties before she thoughtfully turned to Jon, asking if he minded veering from the schedule a bit.  During those first viewings, she’d gotten a handle on what he really wanted and went rogue, moving them out of the scheduled Tribeca neighborhood and into SoHo. 

Just a few blocks from his old place on Mercer Street, actually – on West Broadway.  

The three-story penthouse unit had a wine cellar, massive master suite with a hot tub just outside, and terraces upon terraces – including one that was the entire rooftop.  That level of the building was only equivalent to the eighth floor, so it wasn’t a lofty view, but he liked it and made the offer at about three this afternoon.

By the time Delaney embarrassed his ass by climbing a massive rock wall like a monkey while he struggled to find hand and footholds, Avery had already received acceptance from the sellers.  The super realtor was making insane promises about a move-in date of two weeks from now, and if that actually happened, he was going to give her the listing for his house in Jersey. 

He was also going to express his gratitude to Delaney for the referral, Jon added to himself as they entered the apartment. 

“I work for a living.  Don’t judge me,” she ordered over her shoulder when passing through a doorway out of the foyer. 

"I work for a living too, smart ass."

He followed her and let his eyes roam the space she called home.  They’d come immediately into the dining area, and her table and chairs were dark wood, both heavy and well-used.  They complemented the living area at the other end of the long room.  It was also done in shades of brown – a leather and microsuede sofa, wingback chair, desk, tables and lamps – but all of that was brightened by mottled yellow walls, unframed art and autumn-checked curtains.  The area was infused with life in the form of potted plants and a…

“Is that a birdcage?”

“Yeah.”  She stepped around the dining table and followed his gaze.  “That’s Nero.  He’s the only thing Poppy left behind.  I dislike the little beast, but I can’t seem to make myself get rid of him.”

“What kind of bird is it?”

“Canary.”

Jon had never known anyone who had a pet bird, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about it crawling in bed with them. 

“I’m going to dump my gym bag in the bedroom.  Want me to take yours?” 

“Yeah, sure.  Thanks.”  They’d both showered and changed back into jeans and t-shirts at the gym, so he handed over the bag.  When she disappeared through a doorway and around a corner, Jon lifted his voice to ask, “Mind if I look around?”

She was back before he finished the question and waved her hand negligently in the air.  “Not much to look at but help yourself.  This is the living room, obviously.  Kitchen behind you, bathroom behind me.  My bedroom to the left of the bathroom and makeshift studio to the right.”

“Studio?”

“Not your kind of studio,” Delaney chuckled.  “Art.  Painting, pottery, ceramics...”

“Got any finished work in there?”  He’d known about the art teacher thing but somehow hadn’t connected that to her being a practicing artist.  Now he was inordinately curious about what that studio might hold.

Dimples flashed as she rearranged her ponytail into a topknot.  “A few things.  Kung pao chicken with zucchini noodles okay for dinner?”

For him, huh?  That made him happier than it should, and Jon was now even more eager to nose around her studio.  “Sounds great.”

“Good.  Won’t take long to fix.  There’s wine in the fridge when you finish your ten-second tour.”

With that, she turned toward the kitchen whose base cabinets were green, upper cabinets were yellow and countertops were red.  The place definitely had personality, and he went the opposite direction, finding himself inside a tiny hallway.  She’d said the studio was on the right, but he couldn’t resist peeking into her bedroom first.

It only took a couple of steps to put himself in Delaney’s private domain, which was as cool and relaxed as the woman herself.  The walls were a pale, matte blue and overlaid with a glossy design of the same color, giving the appearance that they were etched.  The hue was repeated again in her bed covering, and the two antique side chairs were upholstered with a pattern of complementary shades.

He only spared the white curtains and floral rug a glance while wondering if the artwork hanging over the brass headboard of a hastily made bed was hers.  On his way to take a closer look, Jon was distracted by a framed photo on top of the dresser. 

A radiant Delaney was in the center, and she was sandwiched between two young women in their flowing graduation gowns.  One of them looked very much like Delaney and Petra, as she was petite and had long auburn hair.  The other girl was tall and lithe, with dark, wavy locks whose ends brushed her jawline.  Both had light gray eyes.

“You like it spicy or not so spicy?” called the woman who also possessed the same aquiline nose as her companions in the photo. 

Jon had imaged Violet and Poppy to be identical twins, but if these two weren’t her daughters, they were definitely family members.  Maybe Petra had girls, too?

“Not so spicy,” he called back, dragging his attention from the assortment of female doodads on the dresser surface to the bookcase that stood beside it. "The picture on your dresser.  Are those your daughters?"

"Yeah.  High school graduation."

So her twins were fraternal instead of identical.  He wondered what other kinds of interesting things he might find out in her bedroom.

There were photo albums, some art books, knickknacks, a jewelry box, a stuffed mouse and a shelf of Bon Jovi memorabilia.  Guest pass stickers from her nights backstage were stuck to the side of the shelf that held his maracas. 

It was strange seeing them out of context.  It was even stranger to know he’d given them to her only two weeks ago – two weeks ago, tonight, actually – when it felt like a lifetime.  How was it possible for her to so seamlessly slip into his life in such a short time?  

Okay, in all honesty, living in a hotel room when he wasn’t on tour didn’t count as his real life.  He was in the process of redefining that, but she was part of that definition.

Her sassiness, strength and sweetness were all in perfect proportion with one another.  He liked the way she made him laugh, talked to him like a real friend would, and just about every other damn thing about her so far.  He hadn’t really been kidding the other night when saying she’d better start showing him some flaws soon – other than snoring.  Nobody was perfect, but Mou was pretty damn close to his perception of it.

They hadn’t talked about the specifics of their relationship.  As far as he knew, she might be planning to go out with someone this weekend while Jon was out of town.  Someone she could actually go out with on a date – like that damn paramedic.  She hadn’t mentioned the guy again, and he didn’t know if that was good or bad.

It’s time to clear that shit up.

Abandoning her bedroom until later, he didn’t bother looking in the darkened bathroom or studio when passing by.  He’d check them out later.  Right now, something more pressing had come up.

“Mou.”

Guileless dove eyes lifted from the pan on the stove.  “Yeah?” 

“You’re not fucking anybody else.”

One cheek tucked into a dimple as she went back to stirring something that smelled good enough to make his stomach growl.  “No, I’m cooking.”

“This is not the time to be a smartass,” he warned, folding his arms and leaning against the sink.  The casual flippancy pissed him off, scoring her first negative mark on his imaginary scorecard. 

“What is it the time for, then?  Expressing my gratitude for the best sex I’ve ever had?  Relaying my humbled awe at the privilege of being naked with a rock star?”

“It’s time for you to answer me with a simple, unqualified ‘okay’.”

“Answering implies that there was a question or suggestion posed.”  A quick flick of the wrist turned the front burner down while she lifted a steam pot lid on the back one.  “I didn’t hear either.”

“Goddammit, Mou…” he huffed in frustration, reaching out to spin her away from the stove so that she looked at him.  “When I leave town, I don’t want you going out with other guys.”

Delaney silently blinked, studying his eyes.  “Then you’re not going out with other women.”

“It’s not that easy,” he told her evenly, figuring they might as well get this out of the way.  “I have social obligations – especially in the Hamptons.  I’ll spend time with women I’ve been close to.  I’ll kiss them, hug them and act like they’re the great missed opportunity in my life.  That’s just the way it goes.”

Still, she held his gaze as though there was some great secret in their depths.  “Will you sleep with them?”

There were women he’d slept with before, quite honestly and, seeing that this would be his first Hamptons trip as an unattached man, they may view it an opportunity for a repeat performance.  He would also be fair game to the well-heeled divorcees who had always kept their distance in the past.   There had already been several “condolence” calls this week, but Jon had been so engrossed with Delaney he hadn’t really acknowledged the underlying intent. 

Gone were the days of simply hanging out on the beach to enjoy the sun, sand and his kids.  Jon Bon Jovi was back on the market.

“Since it’s taking so long to come up with an answer, I’ll retract the question.”  She also retracted herself from his grip and picked up the wooden fork to stir the pot.  “I won’t be held to a standard that you aren’t willing to hold yourself to.  When you figure out what that is, we can talk about it.”

Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

“It’s not taking that long to come up with an answer,” Jon hotly denied.  “Reality is setting in.  This trip to the beach is going to be vastly fucking different since my marital status has changed, and I’m not happy about it.”

“Sorry.”

Except she didn’t sound the least bit sorry as she picked up a speckled white dish to plate their food.  She sounded like she couldn’t care less that he was about to feed himself to the wolves. 

“Come with me.”

“No.”  A plate with fragrant kung pao chicken was pushed at him.  “Silverware is in the drawer on the other side of the sink.”

“Dammit, Delaney.  Please?”

Resting the serving spoon on the side of the pan, she sighed lightly into his face.  “I told you why I can’t.  And you said you wanted me kept out of the public eye for a while.  Unless I miss my guess, the Hamptons on Memorial Day weekend will put me directly in that eye – just so you can keep horny women at bay.   You can always tell them 'no'.  It works wonders, in case you haven’t heard.”

He closed his eyes.  Christ.  Sacrificing her feelings and well-being for his convenience wasn’t a great way to solve his problem – or keep his girlfriend.  He’d just put the wolves off by telling them he was trying to woo a woman in the city.  They may not believe him, but that was their damn problem.  Jon knew it to be true.

“You’re right.  I’m sorry.  Forget I asked.”  Sliding his plate onto the counter, Jon reached for her waist and gently twisted so that he could brush soft lips over hers.  Delaney didn’t return the kiss, so he murmured what he should’ve said in the first place, “I’m not going to sleep with anybody, Mou.  You’re the only one I want in my bed.”

Her neck craned back so that analyzing gray irises could examine his eyes again.  For what, he didn’t know, but she studied first one and then the other until her cheeks sunk under the weight of satisfied dimples. 

“And yours is the only bed I want to be in.”

44 - Say It With Flowers

[8:10 AM]JON: Where the hell are you?

Delaney smiled at the text over her steaming cup of coffee.  Before responding, she instructed her floral wholesaler, “Yamir, make sure you give me green Queen Anne’s lace, not white – and some echeveria.”

“For you, Delaney, anything.  I was starting to think I’d never see you again, my best customer.”

Shooting him a lopsided grin, she admitted, “I’ve missed you, too, but Ireland says you’ve been taking good care of her.”

Chocolate brown eyes sparkled with humor, and white teeth flashed inside a caramel face.  “Only because I know she comes for you.  The girl isn’t shrewd.”

“Well, thanks for not indirectly screwing me over.”

[8:12 AM]DELANEY:  Flower district.  If you’re going to tie up my afternoon and night, I needed to get SOME work done.

[8:13 AM]JON: I don’t like you fucking sneaking out of bed.

She snorted under her breath as Yamir brought an extra two dozen lemonade roses to go with the rest of her order.  Those would be nice for the project she was putting together this morning.

[8:14 AM]DELANEY: No point waking you up just because I have a day job.

[8:15 AM]JON: What am I supposed to do with my morning wood?

Men were all alike, and Delaney smirkily shook her head even as she bloomed with warmth on the inside.  It was a little thrilling to know he’d woken up reaching for her.  That feeling plus last night’s crazy physically emotional episode cemented what he’d already said – this was more than a one-night stand.

That meant her plan for this morning made even more sense than it had during her daybreak visit to the potty.

[8:16 AM]DELANEY: Save it for tonight?

That earned a scowling emoji that made her laugh out loud, but it was quickly followed up by another, less irritable text to confirm their apartment search schedule.

[8:17 AM]JON: Pick you up at the shop at 1?

[8:18 AM]DELANEY: Errands to run, so I won’t be there.  Meet you at Warren St. listing at 1:30.  You still have the address?

[8:18 AM]JON: Yeah.  Have a good day, Mou.

[8:19 AM]DELANEY: GOOD day, not NICE day, right?  ;)

[8:19 AM]JON: You figure it out. Haha.

She put the phone away with a soft chuckle, looking up to find that Yamir had finished loading the van and was now watching her.  His eyes were scrutinizing and held the shrewdness he accused Ireland of lacking.

“What?”

“Whatever has been keeping you away from the Flower District is good thing,” he offered casually.  “Five years you have been coming here.  I always think you are happy woman, until today, when I see true happiness shine.  May you always keep this joy, Delaney.” 

I don’t know about always, but it feels good for now.

“Thanks, Yamir.”

{{{

A couple of hours later, Delaney was in the shop’s back room, placing the finishing touches on her piece.  It was earthy with the green array of Queen Anne’s, hydrangea and echeveria, but there was also an air of chic thanks to the lemonade roses and hydrangeas that were the soft white of a cloud.  The small arrangement’s eclectic mix suited its intended recipient.

“Pretty,” Marilee admired, leaning on the design table.  “I don’t remember getting an order that fits this bill, though.”

“Sometimes I just like to create.”

That catty eyebrow of the store manager found its way over the rim of her glasses.  “Sometimes you do, but you’ve got a purposeful gleam in your eye today.”

“Mm.”  She wasn’t getting into this today.  “Don’t you have something to do out front?”

“Nope.  Katya’s got it covered so we can dish about your new boyfriend.”

Was Jon her boyfriend?  It was a stupid term for a mature man, so Delaney decided to reject it.  “Not my boyfriend.”

“I don’t care what you call him, I wanna know what he does to make you glow when you’ve obviously been ridden hard, put away wet, haven’t got on a lick of makeup and are wearing a rat’s nest in place of a hairstyle.”

It was difficult scowling through a smile, but somehow Delaney managed as she twirled the glass cube to inspect the flowers.  “Since you’ve been sporting a pixie cut for ten years, you probably don’t know that messy buns are all the rage.”

“When you’re twenty-five, messy buns are cute.  On a woman your age, they’re a rat’s nest.”

“Bite me.  I now have a better sex life than most twenty-five-year-olds.  That earns me some hair leeway.”

“Ooh!”  Marilee’s blue eyes went big.  “So, he lives up to the hype?”

The floral piece was perfect, so Delaney lifted her gaze from it and grinned naughtily.  “Let’s just say we’re very compatible.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to give up more than that!”

“No, I don’t.  I kind of like keeping my amazing sex life private.  Crazy me.”

Her friend blew an annoyed breath out her nose and huffed, “Damn right it’s crazy!  We’ve been friends for years, Laney.  Give me something, for God’s sake!”

What could she tell that didn’t feel like revealing something too personal?  She’d never been one to share bedroom tales, mostly because it meant admitting her desire for things that were a little edgy.  Nobody other than the man in her bed needed to know those fetishes, and nobody needed to know that Jon peeled away all her layers last night, exposing her to the core.

She’s waiting.

Delaney opted to share something personal yet not intimate. 

“His pet name for me is ‘Mou’, because it’s Greek for ‘mine’.  And,” she tacked on as an afterthought as a slow leer bloomed over Marilee’s mouth.  “Last night, he called me his beautiful fighter.”

The memory of that episode still carried a physical impact, which was revealed when Marilee looked pointedly at Delaney’s forearm.  “Hell’s bells, woman.  You’ve got goosebumps! I guess we can safely say you won’t be going out with the Hugo guy.”

The hand that had been resting lightly on the work table came to cover her face, fingertips pressing between closed eyes.  “Oh, freep.”

Her manager’s knowing chuckle didn’t make the sick feeling in her stomach go away.  “You forgot to call him, didn’t you?” 

“What was your first clue, Sherlock?”

“That would be his appearance in the shop yesterday, saying, ‘She never called’.” 

The hand dropped from her face and closed lids flew open for a split second before she sighed, “Son of a motherless goat.  What did you tell him?”

“That you’d been very busy and I was sure you’d contact him in your first free moment.”  A look of utter indifference cloaked her features. “I wouldn’t worry about it.  He gives off a weird vibe.  You’re better off keeping your distance, in my humble servant’s opinion.”

“Weird how?”

“Overly charming – like, in a serial killer kinda way.”  When Delaney’s jaw fell open in horror, Marilee dismissed it with a laugh and careless wave of the hand.  “I’m exaggerating.  Some.”

Great.  Whereas Delaney truly had forgotten about contacting him – that was partially Jon-induced, since he didn’t seem thrilled about the whole scenario – now she was reluctant to call the guy at all.  Not that she really thought it was personal, anyway.  Pearl and Marilee were both nuts in thinking that he wanted to ask her out, because that was just… nuts.

Serial killer kind of nuts?

It was probably something of an official nature.  Maybe she dropped something from her pocket, or – she took inventory of her hands and noted that her pinky knuckle ring wasn’t there.  Unable to pinpoint exactly when she’d last seen it, she identified that as a viable option.  He had one of her rings, because it fell off in the ambulance.

“I’ll call him tomorrow.”  Today was already too full, and she picked up the arrangement.  Between this, apartments, the gym, dinner and whatever else Jon dreamed up, Delaney’s calendar was booked for the day.  “Ireland should be here in about an hour.  I’m going to make a delivery and do some personal stuff.  I have my phone in my pocket.  Call if you need me.”

“Jesus.  It’s awful early for an afternoon delight.”

Not in the least bothered by the teasing, she winked at Marilee.  “Who says delight is only meant for afternoons?”

{{{

An eerie sense of déjà vu settled over Delaney as she entered the foyer of Greenwich Lane.  Her last visit to this building – to Dorothea Bongiovi – had not ended well, and she had to shake away the yucky feeling her subconscious was radiating.  The fact that it was only short-term amnesia was a blessing that she appreciated.  Good things had even come as a result, but it wasn’t something she wanted to repeat.

“Hello.”  A cheerful two-dimple smile accompanied her greeting to the same doorman who was on duty the last time.  “I’m here to see Dorothea Bongiovi.”

The thirty-something man took in her fading violet bun, plain face and flowers before his head tilted ever-so-slightly to one side.  “I remember you.  You got hit out front a couple weeks ago.”

“That’s right,” she confirmed amiably, twisting the ball of her sneakered foot on the marble floor.  He’d been easy enough to get past last time, so there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t wave her on up again.  “A bike messenger wiped me out after I came from seeing Dorothea.  I’d like to take these up to her as a token of my thanks for her kindness that day.”

Not really, but it was the right thing to say.  He was already nodding and, as she predicted, waved her toward the elevator.  “She’s a nice lady.  Sorry to hear about her and her husband.”

Delaney made a noise that sounded like sympathetic agreement, but she was in a unique position that made it difficult for her to feel sad about the dissolution of Jon and Dorothea’s marriage.  Maybe tonight would be a good time to ask him about the details, she thought while punching the Bongiovi doorbell.

It wasn’t long before the door swung open to reveal the lady of the house, whose eyes went immediately flat, even though she forced herself to smile.

“Delaney.  What a surprise.”

“Hi, Dorothea.  I was hoping you had a couple of minutes to talk?”

The smile slipped a bit, but she dipped her head in assent and took a step back.  The woman was classy with a capital C.  “Please.  Come in.”

Delaney did so with only a quiet murmur of thanks and, when the door closed, turned to extend the flowers.  “I was rude enough to show up unannounced, but not to come empty-handed.  Based on what Jake picked out for Mother’s Day, I put together something I thought you might like.”

“They’re lovely.”  Accepting them with a subdued smile, she gestured to the living room and walked that way, leaving Delaney to follow.  The hydrangea arrangement found a spot on the coffee table and the soon-to-be-former Mrs. Bongiovi found a spot on the chocolate sofa behind it.  “I’m leaving shortly for a fundraiser, but we can chat in here for a few minutes.  Have a seat and tell me what brought you here today.”

Perching on the adjacent armchair that was a complementary shade of brown, Delaney adjusted the teal throw cushion behind her.  She rubbed both palms over the worn denim covering her thighs and met the other woman’s eyes.

“I’m not quite sure I ever really expressed proper thanks for your help that day in front of the building.  In this city, those kinds of acts are more the exception than the rule, so I appreciate your kindness more than I can say.”

Dorothea’s face remained neutral as she crossed her own denim-clad legs.  The white t-shirt she wore bunched at the waist and rode up on arms that were also folded. 

“You’d just given me the greatest compliment a mother can receive in saying I did a good job with my kids.  After that unsolicited praise, I couldn’t very well walk by and pretend not to see you.  I was simply returning the kindness you’d shown me.”

“Then we’ll consider ourselves even,” Delaney agreed pleasantly.

“Now why are you really here?” Jon’s wife still watched with expectancy, proving that she was not dumb and there was no point in pretending otherwise.

“To look you in the eye and say that I don’t fool around with married men.  I found out Monday afternoon, along with the rest of the world, that you were getting divorced.  Before that, there was nothing between me and Jon but friendship.  Honest to God.”

“Why do you think I care?”

The question and her gaze weren't cold nor warm.  Curiosity was the prevailing tone, and Delaney lifted a shoulder.  “Maybe you don’t, but I do.  I’ve met two of your kids, and Jon’s mentioned my meeting the other two.   Yes, I know half of them are adults, but still… as a mother, I need you to believe that I’m not some skankalicious ho-bag without morals.  I understand the timing isn’t ideal, but I’m a decent person pursuing an attraction to another decent person.”

Whiskey brown irises had been receptive up until that last part, at which they narrowed slightly.  “Has he told you why we’re divorcing?”

“No.  Not yet.”

Nodding slightly, her attention slipped off to the side before returning to Delaney.  “I know you're not ‘some skankalicious ho-bag’.  Instinct tells me you’re actually better than just ‘decent’, too.  It takes someone of character to make two completely unnecessary trips here – both today and when personally delivering those Mother’s Day flowers.  That’s why I’m going to give you a little advice.”

“Okay…?”

Again, Dorothea’s gaze slid away for a beat, and this time it slid back and locked.  It might be Delaney’s imagination, but she thought there was a touch of sadness there – or maybe resignation.  Whatever the case, the other woman was matter-of-fact in stating, “Jon is a performer.  First, foremost and always.  He’s mastered the art of charm and a disarming smile to sell whatever he wants to sell, and he’ll use it on anyone.  The only place you can separate fact from fiction is in his eyes.”

“His eyes...”

This felt like one of those Yoda or Mr. Miagi moments that held underlying meaning, because Delaney felt like looking at someone’s eyes was obvious.

“Yeah, I know.  Sounds simple, right?”  Dorothea’s laugh was dry and without humor.  “The trick is convincing yourself to look, even when you don’t really want to know the truth.”