Thinking about it now, that could be left open to some interpretation. The jacket in question leaned toward burgundy. She should have been more descriptive: the color was like sun filtering through a bottle of merlot, which was what she had thought when she splurged on it.
Why hadn’t she thought out the intricacies of being met by a stranger in such a large airport a little more thoroughly? Had she been expecting someone to be waving a sign with her name on it?
To be perfectly honest, yes, she had.
And then she saw him.
It felt as if the sea of people around her had been storm-stirred waves that suddenly went still.
He was standing, leaning one shoulder, casually, against a post, long legs crossed at the ankle. Unlike almost everyone else in the terminal, he seemed to be neither waiting eagerly for someone nor rushing off somewhere.
He seemed, while not exactly indifferent to the controlled chaos around him, above it, somehow, untouched by it.
He was wearing a suit of the lightest charcoal gray, the jacket open, the cut showed off both his broad shoulders and the length of those powerful legs. The shirt was a crisp white, a tie, in an unlikely shade of pale pink, was knotted somewhat carelessly at his throat. Jessica’s gaze rested on his shoes—leather, buffed to a soft sheen, a shade of tan that shouldn’t have worked with the suit, but did.
Not one man in all of her hometown of Timber Falls could carry off any shade of pink, in any circumstances, and certainly not in combination with those shoes. The man’s sophistication—his absolute confidence—was underscored by the color of his hair.
It was gray—not fifty shades, Jessica scolded herself—but certainly a dozen, from several startling variations of silver, to strands of white, and tiny hints of black. Rather than aging him in any way, his hair, and the superb cut of it, made him seem distinguished, in control and fabulously sure of himself.
He was scrolling through his phone, and she had a ridiculous desire to know what was holding his interest like that.
Photos? Of his children? He somehow did not look the type. Wife? No ring on his finger. Girlfriend? Ah, probably plenty of those.
He glanced up, as if he’d sensed her gaze on him. Jessica saw his eyes were darker than her own, coffee as compared to chocolate, and his gaze was intense, and stripping.
Embarrassed by feeling such a pull to a complete stranger, Jess looked quickly away and scanned the crowd for the far more dowdy Gilbert-Cooper of her imagination. When she didn’t see anyone, she cast another longing glance over her shoulder at the firmly closed Customs doors behind her.
And then, disgusted with herself for the weakness, Jessica found she could not resist glancing back at that man one more time. He was scanning the crowds now. She noted his brow was furrowed in a frown, almost as if he was irritated. And then it appeared he saw whomever he was looking for because he tucked his phone away, and moved. Straight toward her! She could feel herself holding her breath.
Jessica didn’t know if she was relieved or sorry when he stopped in front of the woman beside her.
Who happened to be wearing a red jacket.
Paired with a rather hideous flowered skirt.
With jet-black beehive hair and too much makeup.
“Jessica Winton?” he asked the woman.
Jessica felt the insult of it, and also her wariness increased. Was that how he pictured a small-town bookstore owner, then? If that was the case, why had his company gone to such lengths to get her to come?
Still, the inquiry did mean that he was Gilbert-Cooper. Her potential boss!
“Honey,” the woman said, eyeing him as if he was a hot fudge sundae on a sultry July day, “I’ll be whoever you want me to be.”
Jessica understood the polite thing to do would be to go correct this, but some little devil made her want to see him pay the price for his misconception.
“I believe it would be a yes or no answer,” he said after a pause. “Jessica Winton?”
The woman extended her hand. “And you are?”
Jessica’s mouth fell open. Was this stranger beside her really going to pretend to be her?
It obviously was time to say something, she knew that. But she was inappropriately tickled to watch Mr. Suave and Confident’s hand disappear inside a ham-like grip. The woman didn’t let go, either. In fact she blinked, eyelashes so heavy with mascara that it looked like she had spiders glued on, at him.
He extricated his hand with difficulty. “Jamie Gilbert-Cooper.”
If they had said Jamie, instead of James, in the letter, Jessica might have been better prepared for him. She would have been prepared to meet the hero of Outlander not someone dowdy and old and in a bow tie! Still, she was guiltily aware she had let this go far enough.
“I don’t see a wedding ring,” the woman said boldly. “A guy like you not hitched?”
His discomfort was acute, and really Jessica could not have him believing for another second that this woman was her.
Well, maybe one more second. Just until she heard his answer.
“Not hitched,” he said, only the tiniest tightness in his tone indicating he was irritated, “and not planning on it, either.”
“Well, that makes you exactly my kinda guy, Mr. Gilbert-Cooper.”
Jessica cleared her throat. “Did you say Gilbert-Cooper? That’s who I’m waiting for.”
Jessica looked at them both innocently, as if she had just noticed them.
The woman swiveled her head, and gave her a glare as if Jessica was an uninvited guest at a private party. Then she turned back to Jamie Gilbert-Cooper. “Honey, you are one long, tall drink of handsome. You can’t fault a girl for trying. Can you?”
Apparently an answer was required.
He did not look like he was caught off balance often, but he definitely was now. Casting Jessica a faintly accusing look, he muttered, “Enjoy your stay in New York.”
“I’m here for the Gidgets Widgets Convention,” she said, not so easily dismissed. She fished
