The First Taste(38)

“I get it. Sadie had to lay out a budget because I’ve been overspending on the baby.” Nate grins. “You ever think about having another?”

“Baby?” I reminisce about it frequently, but doing it all over again? “I can’t imagine it. It’s been me and Bell for so long.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But you could. If you really miss it. You could have all that again.”

I thump Nathan on the back. “You’re starting to sound like Sadie,” I say. “You guys need to get it through your heads—I don’t want a baby. I’m not looking for a girlfriend. I’m good on my own.”

Nathan frowns at something behind me. I look just as Mindy turns away from us, clearly trying to hide the fact that she overheard me. I shouldn’t be sorry—it’s the truth, and I make no bones about it. But I feel Sadie’s scowl before I see it.

Resigned, I give Nathan a look and take the seat next to Mindy. “How are you liking the city?” I ask.

“It’s fun for now,” she says. “But I can’t see myself staying forever.”

I hadn’t picked up on her slight drawl earlier. “Why not? Where are you from?”

“Georgia. This place is . . . different. I wouldn’t raise a family here.”

“Yeah.” I lean back in my seat. “I have a daughter, and I couldn’t do it. I get anxious just putting her on the bus to school.”

She smiles, looking down at her wine. “Bell, right? She’s so cute. The resemblance is uncanny. She looks just like you and Sadie.”

“Thank God,” I mutter. Sometimes I catch glimpses of Shana in Bell, but mercifully, not too often. I worry that as she gets older, the resemblance will strengthen. As if I need the reminder.

Nathan walks up behind Sadie’s chair and kisses her on the back of her head. He shoots a glance in my direction and whispers something in her ear. Her face falls. “Oh,” she says. “Okay.” She leans over to us. “Let’s head to the event. We’re a little early but they should have a bar to keep you guys occupied.”

I stand and help Mindy off the stool. She and Sadie walk ahead of Nate and me.

“Thanks for saving me, man,” I say to Nathan.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Pretty sure you did, and I appreciate it.”

He half-smiles. “I just told her the women’s bathroom was out of order.”

“Is it?” I ask.

“How the hell should I know?”

We laugh as we step out into the night to make our way to the gala.





ELEVEN


AMELIA



In my bra and underwear, I check my hair and makeup one last time before putting on earrings. They were a gift from Reggie that should make me feel bad but diamonds will always have the opposite effect on a woman, no matter the circumstances.

It should take precisely fifteen minutes to reach the venue, which leaves me five minutes until my car arrives. My red dress is like a work of art, with subtle, intricate details like stitching, gathering and beading only a trained eye would notice. Despite having had a fortunate enough existence that I get to wear things like this from time to time, stepping into a dress like this is never anything less than satisfying.

I pull it up over my hips and zip it halfway. Reaching across one shoulder to close it the rest of the way, I grasp fruitlessly for the zipper. My arm starts to burn from the effort. Just as I’m about to snatch it, there’s a knock on my door.

I give up with a huff and go to answer it. The driver’s early, and he’s not supposed to come upstairs, but at least he can make himself useful by helping me into my dress.

I open the door. “I just need a few—”

I freeze. It isn’t the driver on my doorstep, but a man I’ve worked hard to keep off it. A man who, every time I manage to forget him for a while, seems to sense it and show up.

Once my mind starts to work again, I lean against the doorframe. “Reggie.”

“Bonjour, muffie,” he says.

I cross my arms. The nickname serves to remind me of a better time. For one of our early dates, Reggie surprised me with a weekend in Paris. The first time we slept together, it was in a room that opened up to a view of the Eiffel Tower. The next morning, he fed me muffin and coffee in bed. “Don’t call me that,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

He massages the inside corners of his eyes with one hand. I notice his dark circles first, then his undone tie, and five o’clock shadow, but it isn’t his unkemptness that catches me off guard. I haven’t seen Reggie in months, and he’s lost enough weight to obliterate his beer gut. His cheeks are no longer pudgy, his posture is straighter, and somehow, he appears to have covered up the bald spot that started forming halfway through our marriage. I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing. He looks even better than he did when we started dating.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“No.”

He drops his gaze over my dress. “Wow. You look stunning.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ll explain, but not in the hallway. Come on. This is my home too.”

I laugh hollowly. “Not in the slightest. You lost the right to walk through this doorway when you brought her here.”