In a Book Club Far Away(71)

She followed him through the swinging door, to the impressive, sparkling-clean stainless steel commercial kitchen, with a center counter and three industrial mixers next to a floor mixer. “It’s so pretty in here.”

“It’s a small space for six people, but it’s laid out nicely.” He waved her toward the back. “But if you want to see small, let me show you the office.”

She stepped into the doorway. The office was as large as the guest bathroom in her mother’s home. “Whoa. This is tiny, but you’ve used the space well.” She scanned the shelving that went up to the ceiling, which held baskets and binders.

“My sister is type A, as you can see.” Henry came around her. He snatched a pink Post-it stuck on the computer.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He brushed passed her, sighing, and as if relenting, showed her the Post-it. “A note from my sister.”

Don’t be a slowpoke.



“What does that mean?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s her way of giving me a hard time.”

“Oh?”

“Encouragement. To not be so nice, or I’ll be slotted into the friend zone.”

“With whom?”

“Who else? With you.”

He gestured for her to take the lead, to exit. Regina mulled his words as they walked back through the kitchen. She thought of his honesty, of his ability to tell things like they were but without pressure or expectation. Laying a hand against the swinging kitchen door, she paused, compelled to return the sentiment. She looked up at him. “‘Nice’ matters to me. I like nice. And being nice has nothing to do with being slotted into the friend zone. And being friends doesn’t mean being slotted into the friend zone. And for the record, what others might consider a slowpoke, I consider very much right on time.”

“Really?”

“Yes, because—” Bravado rose within her. In all the talk of change, here was something she had control over. She might not have had control over her marriage, the rate and speed her son was growing, or this situation with Sophie, which was a whirlwind on its own. But this, with Henry, she could manage. “Because you’re letting me find my footing. So I can do this, on my own time.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “This?”

“Yes, this.” She placed both hands on his chest, letting them slowly slide up his shoulders. She felt his heat on her palms; she heard each breath he took. “This okay?” she whispered as she lifted to her tiptoes.

“Just… perfect.” He met her in between, his lips finding hers. His hands came to rest solidly on her hips.

But unlike the comforting hug of their first meeting, the casual kiss on the cheek afterward, their friendly lunch at Genevieve’s mini table, and their good-night kiss the other night, this was hot. It escalated to the tangling of limbs, of clothes being tugged out of place, of locking up the store. Together, they took the building steps two at a time to his third-floor apartment. There, in his bedroom, they tumbled and kissed, then gave in and made love in the same way they talked and messaged: with an equal give-and-take.

The night was, indeed, perfect.





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Sophie




“Perfect. Just perfect.” Sophie licked her lips as she set the glass of Moscato on the side table. She kicked her legs up on the ottoman and sighed. She’d earned this moment of relaxation, and she intended to savor it.

“You don’t have to rub it in.” Adelaide, reclined in the La-Z-Boy, peeked above her book.

“You’ll have some soon enough. Alcohol and narcotics do not mix.” Sophie cracked open her copy of Waiting to Exhale. Now on page 201, she was well into the book and enjoying every page. And the wine, of course.

“I haven’t had a narcotic since this morning. Only ibuprofen,” Adelaide whined.

“Still. Not tonight.” Sophie lifted the book to her face, ready to immerse herself in the book’s world.

To Sophie, books always carried secret messages tailored specifically to her. They were like horoscopes, giving her exactly what she needed at the moment. Right now, she pretended that she was with her three friends in Sun City trying to figure out what in fact had happened in her life, though she hadn’t quite decided if she was Bernadine, Savannah, Gloria, or Robin. These four women were drastically different, and all were dealing with troubled love lives, and reinventing part of themselves in the process. Sophie saw a little bit of herself in each of them.

It had flown by, this real life of hers. Looking back at raising her children, at all she’d accomplished, Sophie had to admit that she hadn’t done a bad job. But while her friends throughout the years had taken girls’ trips to glamorous destinations to practice self-care, or cruises and adult vacations with their spouses, Sophie had not.

It hadn’t been about the opportunity, or even about the ability. In raising her kids, her focus had been on being there for them, always. She’d wanted them to have a parent to come home to. She hadn’t wanted her children to have to miss her in addition to Jasper, nor did she want to miss a moment of their lives. Had she been a helicopter parent? Proudly so. She had no regrets.

And now her girls were independent.

Being here in Alexandria, away from her responsibilities, Sophie realized that she had missed out. She had been so focused on being good, on doing good. Soon, her babies would be off to college. Adventure was calling.