On Second Thought(73)

He hesitated.

“Have you ever had one before?”

“No, actually.”

“Oh, fun! Give it a try! Smell it first. It should smell like the ocean. Then just slurp it in. You’ll taste the brine, and then give it a few chews. Don’t make it into paste, though. Just let it ride.”

He did as instructed. “What do you think?” I asked.

“Very good.” He smiled.

That smile was... It was kind of...adorable.

That’s the wine talking, I told myself. I ate the last oyster. “So you and your ex...you were childhood friends and then what?”

“We got married and had two daughters.”

“That’s really crappy storytelling. How about you fill in some blanks?”

He straightened his cutlery. “Yes. Well, we ran into each other again after college and started dating and got married two years after that.”

Still pretty crappy. “What’s her name?”

“Laine.”

“Were you happy together?”

“We were. For a time. I thought so, anyway.” He sighed and looked at me. “Were you and Eric happy together?”

“You know what?” I said, leaning forward. Yep. Definitely a little buzzed. “We really were. We were so happy.”

“Until...?”

“Until Nathan died. And then Eric snapped like a toothpick.”

“What made you happy?” he asked. Once again, I had the impression that he was data-gathering so he could report back to his home planet.

But that was just his way, maybe. I thought for a moment. “I loved every day. I loved doing things together. I loved talking to him, and just...being part of a couple. Showing him I loved him.”

“How did you do that?”

“Oh, the usual, I guess. I left him little notes in his briefcase and taped to his toothbrush. Cooked his favorite stuff. Made sure I told him how nice he looked. Bought him little presents. I helped him at work a little, you know, giving him suggestions of how to deal with difficult bosses and stuff.” I shrugged. “Nothing special.”

He just looked at me for a beat. “It sounds very special.”

I’d have to be careful with that voice. Just because he’d been blessed with a lovely baritone didn’t mean anything. It was the same voice that irritably asked me not to ignore the toner light on the printer and noted how many minutes late I was.

But man, it was a good voice.

We looked at each other for a long second. Then Carl appeared and set down our plates in front of us, and my lobster risotto smelled the way I hoped heaven would when I crossed through the Pearly Gates. “Oh, thank you, Carl.” I took a bite and groaned. “You were right. So good! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Carl beamed and put Jonathan’s chicken in front of him. “Would miss or sir like anything else?”

“No, we’re perfect,” I said. “But I love how you call me miss.”

Carl nodded and went off to his other (less charming) customers. I was sure he missed me.

“There you are, making friends again,” Jonathan remarked, refilling my wineglass. “The carriage driver, the people in Divorce With Integrity.”

“You need a new name, by the way. Whoever thought of DWI?” His mouth moved in what may or may not have been a smile. Score. “Yes, I guess I do. I like people.”

“I can see that.”

“Is that a plus or minus in my column?”

Another near miss with the smile. “I’m still deciding.”

If I hadn’t almost beaten my ex to a pulp tonight, if I hadn’t had a glass of wine in me on top of a straight-up martini, I might have thought Jonathan Kent sort of...liked me.

Or pitied me. Shit, there was that, wasn’t there? This was his apology dinner, after all.

“So what happened to you and Laine?” I asked, deciding I hated that name. Too snooty.

His eyes dropped to his meal. “My father had a massive stroke, and I took over running the magazine. I worked a lot. He needed a lot of help, ah, transitioning. The children were small, and it was difficult for her.”

“That’s it?” There seemed to be a good chunk missing from the story.

“Pretty much.”

“She couldn’t cut you a little slack? Your father was sick, you were trying to earn a living and she dumped you. That’s pretty cold.”

“I dumped her,” he said, cutting his green beans.

I blinked. He always had a slightly martyred air; I just assumed he was the dumpee.

“Why?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, just kept cutting those green beans into one-inch pieces, eating steadily.

Oh.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“About what?” Still no eye contact.

“She cheated on you.”

He stopped chewing for a second, then swallowed. Took a sip of wine. “Yes.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“No, thank you.”

I put down my fork. And then, maybe because of the wine, maybe because he took me for a carriage ride like any good Prince Charming, I reached out and gave his hand a squeeze.

He looked at our joined hands—human contact, how curious—then up at me. “Would you like to tell me more about Eric?” he asked.