Where Angels Go (Angels Everywhere #6)(47)

“I see.” He rubbed his face. “I don’t mean to be forward here, but I could use a cup of coffee.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.” She stood and took two steps toward the kitchen before abruptly turning back. “How’d you do that, by the way?”

“Do what?”

“I checked the peephole in my door before I unlocked it and there was a woman on the other side.”

“A woman?” He wore a puzzled frown.

“She was attractive and had blond hair and striking blue eyes.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Obviously.”

He met her gaze head-on. “I was the only one there, Beth. Maybe you should have your eyesight examined.”

“Maybe you should—” She clamped her mouth shut. They had too many other things to discuss. An argument would be pointless; it didn’t matter what or whom she’d seen—or thought she’d seen. “Give me a minute to make that coffee.”

Unexpectedly, Peter followed her into the kitchen. “What just happened back there?” he asked with obvious surprise.

“What do you mean?” She efficiently measured the grounds and poured water into the coffeemaker.

“You dropped the discussion.”

Confused, Beth glanced over at him. “What discussion?”

“It used to be that you absolutely had to be right,” he told her. “You’d go ten miles out of your way to prove how right you were and how wrong I was.”

“I did?” Beth didn’t remember it like that.

“You always had a point to prove.”

“Yes, well, people change.”

Peter didn’t speak for some time. “I’ve changed, too.”

“I’m sure we both have.” For the better, although she didn’t say that. After six months of being his partner on WoW, she knew this man, knew important things about his character, and he wasn’t like her ex-husband at all.

The coffee started to drip and Beth got two mugs from the cupboard. Staring down at the kitchen counter, she gathered her courage to ask him a question.

“Did you mean what you said this afternoon about…still loving me?” The words seemed to stick in her throat.

“Yes.”

She wished he’d elaborate—and a moment later he did. “I never stopped loving you, Marybeth. That was one of the problems. For years, the people closest to me have encouraged me to find someone else and remarry. I tried.”

She jerked up her head. “So it’s true?” Abruptly her heart sank, and she actually felt ill. “You did marry again.”

“No,” he returned vehemently. “Who told you that?”

“A friend. Well, sort of a friend. Lisa Carroll. Remember her?”

“Yeah.” Peter frowned. “She told you that?” When Beth nodded, he pressed his palms on the kitchen counter. “That isn’t even close to being true. Why would she do that?” He paused. “What about you? Have you…did you find someone else?”

Beth shrugged, unwilling to disclose that she’d been practically a hermit in the dating world. “I went out some. No one for long.”

“I occasionally dated, too,” he confessed. “Including Lisa,” he added in a low voice. “For about two weeks.”

Well, that explains it, Beth thought—but didn’t say.

“No one clicked with me,” she said after a brief silence.

He offered her a sad smile. “No one clicked with me, either.”

“Mostly I was afraid.” Because she needed something to do with her hands, she filled the two mugs with coffee, welcoming the distraction.

Peter reached for his mug and she automatically opened her refrigerator and took out the milk.

He smiled. “You remember that I take milk in my coffee.”

“How could I forget?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her own mouth. “Don’t you remember we had that huge fight over milk? I’d forgotten to pick some up on my way home.”

Peter threw back his head and stared at the ceiling. “I was pretty unreasonable back then.”

She’d thought the same thing. He’d accused her of intentionally forgetting the milk, apparently convinced that she’d done it in retaliation, since he’d been right in a silly argument they’d had the day before. It’d all been so stupid, so adolescent.

Peter poured a dollop of milk into his coffee, then returned the carton to the refrigerator. Beth watched in amazement. While they were married, he’d driven her to the brink of insanity by leaving everything out. He left drawers open, newspapers on the floor, dirty dishes everywhere.

When she complained, he’d accused her of being too fastidious and a “neat freak.” Beth hadn’t seen herself as either; however she’d considered him lazy and disorganized—and had told him so.

They both sipped their coffee for a couple of minutes, leaning casually against the kitchen counters. Despite her relaxed pose, Beth felt anything but.

“Did you mean what you said?” Peter gazed at her over the top of his mug.

She knew what he was asking. “I always loved you. Even when I filed for divorce, I loved you. I couldn’t live with you, but that didn’t change how I felt about you.”