Page 23 of Embracing the Change

But Jamie had half fallen in love with Nora in that bathroom.

He’d had plenty of time to process this, considering, at the time, he’d been married to a woman he loved very much.

And he understood that part of it was all that was Nora Elizabeth Ellington Castellini (at the time, she’d since dropped the Castellini, fortunately for her, having that assclown out of her life) was all that Belinda Oakley was not.

But part of it was her generosity of time, and care, and discretion, which more than hinted at the significant levels of her compassion and integrity.

Not to mention, she was tall and voluptuous, had an aggressively lavish sense of style that was so unapologetically in your face about her obvious wealth, for a man like Jamie, who was unapologetically aggressive about acquiring wealth, it was arousing.

But she could be in a T-shirt and jeans, and she’d be beautiful to look at, because she was beautiful deep down to her soul.

He’d been right when he’d spoken to her in that restaurant, their time was not to come. She was still with Castellini when he was between Belinda and Rosalind, and he was very with Rosalind when she was done with Castellini.

And now, losing Lindy, he was just done.

Forever.

But she was still Nora, indicating with every move she made he’d been right about her generosity, compassion and integrity.

Like right now.

He stepped to the side. “Come inside and have dinner with me.”

“Jamie—”

“This will be the first night I’m alone since she died.”

That did it.

Nora stepped right in.

He closed the door and guided the way to the kitchen, not missing that Nora blatantly looked around and took everything in while he did.

He did not know her well, but he knew that was very her.

Nora didn’t hide who she was or what interested her.

And now he was wondering if she’d ever worn a mask.

Nora was just…Nora.

He got out plates and napkins while she unearthed food.

“White? Red? A cocktail?” he offered.

“White,” she ordered.

He went to his wine fridge.

It was in silence that wasn’t entirely comfortable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, that they sorted their meals, and Jamie poured their wine, and they found themselves sitting at his island in his wife’s kitchen.

“I’m not surprised Rosalind could best the Herculean task of creating a home that’s both unequivocally homey, at the same time elegant and refined.”

A dumpling he’d dipped in sauce that was trapped between his chopsticks and suspended halfway to his mouth froze in mid-air as he stared at her.

Nora noticed and said, “What I mean is, it’s lovely.”

“Thank you,” Jamie replied.

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