“Don’t get me wrong. Charlie Chaplin was wonderful in The Gold Rush, I love a good chicken suit gag, but I just don’t think you can compare it to The General. I mean, that train was moving. The whole time. And he’s jumping on and off like it’s a trampoline.”
“So much yes! He was a physical comedian, but not in the same way as Chaplin. His physical comedy was smarter, wittier. And his timing, there has never been anything like it. And the end, when he tries to kiss Annabelle but has to keep saluting the soldiers . . .”
We both giggled, remembering the same point in the movie. Claire mimed the salute scene, perfectly mimicking Buster Keaton’s exasperation, launching us into renewed laughter.
Jethro snagged my attention, slipping his fingers into mine and bringing my knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. His smiling eyes ensnared mine, heated and cherishing, making me feel warm and cherished. He looked happy.
He gave my hand another squeeze then stood, quietly picking up our plates and strolling out of the dining room.
“I’ve always said, a man’s place is in the kitchen.” Claire lifted her voice so he could hear, winking at me.
He must’ve heard her because he called back, “Shut your mouth, woman, or you’re not getting any pie.”
“You brought pie?” she hollered, suddenly serious.
He didn’t respond. She turned her attention to me.
“He brought pie? I didn’t see pie when y’all walked in.”
I shrugged, hiding my smile behind a sip of wine. She didn’t see the pie because it had taken her thirty minutes to stop staring at me when we arrived.
“Thank you so much for having me over.”
She smiled a brilliant smile, her cheeks blushing pink with pleasure. “The next time we meet I promise I won’t go gaga again. And I am so sorry about that. I see now that you’re a normal person. Just like everyone else.” She nodded, then added with stellar comedic timing, “Except funnier, cleverer, and smelling like gardenias.”
“Claire—”
“And with mile-long eyelashes.”
“Stop—”
“I can’t stop. Sorry.”
I grinned at her silliness. “Please don’t apologize.”
“No. I will. I promised myself I wouldn’t act like a fool. But faced with the reality of you on my front porch, I lost my mind, and I’m sorry. It might take me a while, but I’ll eventually stop putting my foot in my mouth.” She lifted her glass of red wine toward me. “Wine helps. So call me when you’re a half hour away next time, and I’ll drink a glass.”
We both laughed at this suggestion. She was the picture of charming self-deprecation.
“You two go for a walk.” Jethro reappeared and began stacking the leftovers.
“I should help with the dishes.” I stood to gather the glasses, but Jethro snatched the nearest one from my grip.
“Go on now. I want you to see the gazebo. I thought I might put something similar behind the old house and I want your opinion.”
I knew what he was doing. Now that Claire wasn’t tongue-tied, he wanted us to spend more time together. He wanted us to be friends. Things had been going swimmingly, but now a stirring of self-consciousness reignited in my stomach. Being Sienna Diaz, movie star, was easy. Tiring, but easy. It was a role, a mask I could slip on at will.
Being myself wasn’t usually as easy. Jethro had made it easy for me, which was one of the reasons I loved being around him. I glanced from him to Claire. She was watching me with hopeful eyes.
“I’ll bring the wine,” she offered, grinning at me. “I promise I won’t smell you again, unless you want me to.”
And again, just like that, my nerves dissipated. “I’ll only go if you promise to smell me.”
“Deal.” She hit the table as she stood, and then plucked her wine glass and the bottle from the table. “But seriously, you do smell good. What perfume do you wear?”
I followed her out the French doors that led off the dining room, catching Jethro’s small pleased smile as he turned back to the kitchen.
“Honestly, I don’t even know. My sister sends it to me. She also buys all of my other products—makeup, moisturizer, shampoo, everything—and I use what she sends.”
“Do you mind asking her for me? I can’t find anything I like.”
“Sure. Absolutely.” I made a mental note to have a bottle of whatever it was sent over, because the goat cheese alone deserved a hundred gallons of fancy perfume.
Claire and I crossed her deck, down the steps to a flagstone path. The gazebo was in the distance, illuminated by floodlights, and covered in blooming fuchsia bougainvillea and white jasmine. The night air smelled heavenly.