A Summer Affair by Elin Hilderbrand Page B

have been lonely for so long,” he said, “but I didn’t feel lonely until I spent that hour with you.”
    “So I made you feel lonely?”
    “You made me feel unlonely. And then you left and I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
    “I had the same problem,” Claire said.
    “I am not like this,” he said. “I have not kissed a woman other than my wife in twenty years.”
    Really? Was this true? Claire thought of Isabelle French.
    “What about Isabelle French?”
    “What about her?”
    “I saw your wife at the grocery store. She seemed to think there might be something going on between you and Isabelle French.”
    “She said that?”
    Claire looked at the floor. Now she had the weirdly unpleasant feeling that she’d betrayed Daphne’s confidence. Which felt like a worse offense, somehow, than kissing Lock.
    “Yes,” Claire said.
    “Daphne doesn’t always realize what she’s saying.”
    This was a generous spin on the way things were, but Claire wasn’t going to argue with Lock about Daphne’s state of mind.
    “I have no feelings for Isabelle French,” he said. “Other than compassion.”
    “Compassion?”
    “Bad divorce,” Lock said. “And some subsequent bad decisions.”
    “I haven’t met her yet,” Claire said.
    “You will.”
    “Yes.” This sounded sort of like a discussion about the gala, which was odd because they were standing very close to each other, closer than normal people would stand. Claire was inside Lock’s orbit; she was a captive of his magnetic field.
    It’s like someone cast a spell on me.
    Was this total bullshit? God knows, it sounded like it. If Jason had heard Lock speak those words, he would have guffawed and choked on his spit. He would have questioned Lock’s sincerity, and possibly his sexual orientation. But that was how Claire felt, too. She had attended the lunch at the yacht club terrified of Lock Dixon, but after the first meeting, she was thinking about him in a whole new way, thinking about him all the time. He’d wooed her, somehow.
    And now they were kissing and she didn’t understand it, and he didn’t, either, apparently, and that came as a relief. He was not a brave horseman after all. If it did turn into something more, it would be the two of them, bumbling their way through the dark, which felt like something Claire might be able to handle.
    Since they were on the topic of the gala, sort of, Claire decided to bring up the ostensible reason she was here.
    “I got Max West,” she said. “He’ll do it for free.”
    “I know,” Lock said. “I heard.”
    “How?” Claire said. “How do you know?”
    “Someone told me.”
    “Who?”
    “I promised not to reveal my source. It was someone you were at a party with over the weekend.”
    So, one of twenty-five people. It was a very small island.
    “I thought you’d be shocked. You didn’t think I could do it.”
    “Of course I did.”
    “So you’re proud of me?”
    “I’m proud of you.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.
    “I started sketching the chandelier,” she said.
    “That’s great,” he said.
    “It is great,” Claire said. “I’ve been wanting to get back into the hot shop. I just needed a push.”
    “I’m nothing if not pushy,” he said. He checked his watch. “I should get home.”
    Stupidly, this pierced her. Claire had thought he would try to persuade her to stay. Didn’t he want her to stay? Didn’t he want to kiss her some more? She had only been having an affair for twenty minutes, and already she was jealous.
    “Okay,” she said. Thank God for words like “okay,” employable in any situation, even when what you meant was the opposite of “okay.” Claire had to get out of there; she was in danger of sinking into an emotional quagmire. She hadn’t taken her jacket off and hence she couldn’t busy herself with putting it back on. There was nothing left to do but turn and go. Was that what she should do?
    “So I’ll see you . . .”