She pushed her hair away her forehead.
“Now, before I get out my violin, I’ll make that call.”
She stared out her kitchen window while she waited for the call to connect. It occurred to her that they’d both taken the day off for nothing. She smiled grimly. Right now, wasted leave time was the least of her worries.
The receptionist at the clinic didn’t sound surprised when Alex told her she wanted to cancel her appointment. Perhaps this happened all the time. Perhaps she was one of many desperate woman who found they didn’t have the stomach to take the pragmatic route to motherhood when push came to shove.
Ethan was browsing her CD collection when she came back. She stood in the doorway watching him unnoticed for a few seconds. He was a good friend. A really decent man. Now that she’d gotten to know him—really know him—she could see past his beautiful face to the man underneath. He would have made a great father. She found it hard to believe that he planned to spend the rest of his life alone. She hoped that whatever it was that was holding him back resolved itself for him. He deserved better.
He glanced up. “All done?”
“All done.”
There was a short silence, then he pulled a CD with a bright pink cover from her shelf.
“Cyndi Lauper. There’s a guilty secret.”
“Hands off Cyndi. She’s very retro cool.”
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s drawing a long bow.”
“Says the man with not one, not two, but
three
Barry White albums,” she said.
“They were a gag gift from my brother.”
“Sure they were.”
“Don’t get too high and mighty on me, lady-who-owns-Nana Mouskouri’s-greatest-hits.”
He plucked the CD from her bookshelf with a gotcha flourish.
“Yeah, well. They were doing a retrospective on the radio. I got carried away—”
“At least you have the courage to admit your mistake,” he said sagely.
She opened her mouth to say something sassy back, but suddenly her throat and chest were aching and she knew tears were not far away.
She cleared her throat. “Listen, I’ve got a few things I need to take care of. Loose ends and whatnot. You know.”
“Right. I should go, then.”
Yes, please go. Before I blubber all over you. Before I lose it completely.
“If you don’t mind. I might as well make use of the day off to get something done.”
His expression was unreadable as he replaced her CDs on the shelves then collected his coat from the back of her couch. She followed him to the front door. Ten more seconds and he would be gone and she would be alone and it wouldn’t matter if she howled her eyes out.
“Listen. If you need to talk, call me, okay?” Ethan said as he reached the doorstep.
“Sure. But I’m fine, really,” she lied.
His gaze searched her face, then he nodded. “Okay.”
She waited until he’d reached the elevator before she shut the door. Then she walked into her living room and stared at all the fertility-clinic paperwork and those damned stupid mens’ magazines she’d bought for Ethan.
The wanting-to-cry feeling hit her again and she closed her eyes.
All right, you big sook. Get it over and done with. Because this is the only chance you’re going to get to wallow in this.
She waited for the tears to come. Her throat got tight. Her chest ached. She gripped the couch—but her eyes remained steadfastly dry.
Okay.
Okay.
Moving slowly and carefully, she did a circuit of her apartment, collecting anything and everything to do with the fertility clinic and pregnancy and babies. She dumped the paperwork in a carton, to be taken down to the Dumpster in the basement next time she left the apartment. She hesitated over throwing the pregnancy books in.
She was still only thirty-eight, after all.
Hope springs eternal.
She wavered for half a second more. Then she dropped the books into the carton. She didn’t want anything hanging around to remind her of this debacle. It would be bad enough having to face Ethan at work every day with the memory of all of this sitting between them.
She pushed the carton close to the front door so she wouldn’t forget it when she went out. The sooner it was gone, the better.
Then she returned to her living room, sat on her couch and burst into noisy, messy tears.
Instead, she’d kicked him out and he was making bread at eleven in the morning, taking out his frustration and, yes, disappointment on the mass of dough under his hands. Because he
was
disappointed, even though he knew they’d made the right decision. For a short while he’d convinced himself that he’d found a way to have what he wanted without the mess and entanglements and risk of a relationship. It had seemed like the perfect solution. Then reality had intruded.
He wanted more from parenthood. And so did Alex. When push came to shove, neither of them wanted to compromise.
Which left him…nowhere. His feelings hadn’t changed regarding marriage. And he’d rejected the alternate route to parenthood. All of which meant that it really was over for him.
He was never going to be a father.
Might as well let the fact seep into his bones, permanently this time. He’d have to make do with his brother’s children, be the best uncle he could be.
It wasn’t the end of the world. Disheartening, yes, but he’d get over it. Accept it. Move on. After all, he had a pretty good life.
The dough had lost its elasticity. He’d over-kneaded it. He stared at it for a long, silent minute. Then he gathered the big, floury lump and dropped it in the rubbish bin.
His thoughts shifted to Alex again as he started cleaning the counter. Had she allowed herself to cry once he’d left? Had she allowed herself even a small moment of humanity and frailty?
He dried his hands and glanced around his kitchen. He should go for a drive. Or maybe call his brother, see whether he wanted to hook up for lunch. Anything other than haunt his apartment, fixating on Alex and what had almost been between them.
He pulled out his phone and dialed. His brother picked up after the second ring.
“It’s me. You free for lunch?” Ethan said.
“I thought you had an appointment with a paper cup today.”
Ethan gazed out across the park. “We canceled the appointment. You free or not?”
“Who canceled? You or Alex?”
“It was a mutual decision.”
“What happened to wanting a kid?”
Ethan closed his eyes. What had he been thinking, calling his brother? He was only going to get the same grief he’d been getting for the past five years.
“You know what, forget I called.” He started to hang up.
“Wait. I’m sorry. I wasn’t having a go at you. I know how much you were banking on this.”
“It was a crazy idea.”
“Well, yeah. But it was a step in the right direction. You and Alex are closer now. You both know what each other wants—”
“Derek. I swear, you’ve got a one-track mind. Will you please give it a rest?”
“At least be honest with yourself. You have feelings for her, and all this stuff about a baby was your way of trying to smuggle them in under the radar.”
Ethan didn’t say anything for a long moment. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about Alex.”
Even if it had been a long time since he’d thought of her as simply a friend.
“So you’re going to let her walk away?”
Ethan thought about what Alex wanted and what he wanted.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Bullshit. You’ve never given up on anything you wanted in your life.”
There was so much confidence in his brother’s voice. He was so sure that all Ethan needed was to meet a good woman and he’d shrug off everything that had happened with Cassie and leap into the breach again.
Derek didn’t understand. But how could he when he didn’t know the full story? He knew only that Cassie had left, and that Ethan had not been interested in a reconciliation. They had never discussed the details because Ethan had never been able to reveal the full depth of his wife’s betrayal and rejection. He literally hadn’t been able to make himself form the words.
The day he’d come home from work and found Cassie waiting for him was etched like acid in his memory. She’d given him no reasons or explanations or warnings, she’d simply severed their marriage in the most brutal possible way. She’d sat there and told him she didn’t love him anymore. Then she’d told him about the baby. And then she’d walked, leaving him to try to make sense of what remained of his life.
For a long time, there hadn’t been a day that went by without him thinking about her, about what had gone wrong and how he hadn’t seen it coming. He still didn’t understand how he could have been so out of step with her. How he could have slept beside her every night and not known that she was quietly opening separate bank accounts and viewing apartments so that when she walked out the door she could step straight into her new life. Without him.
It hadn’t been a perfect marriage, but what marriage was? They’d had their differences and their rough patches. But he’d believed in her, trusted her, loved her implicitly.
And she’d shed him like an old skin and never looked back.
“Maybe we should have lunch another day,” Ethan said. “I’ll call you on the weekend or something, okay?”
He ended the call before his brother could object. The phone rang immediately and he let it go through to voice mail.
He didn’t need a pep talk or a lecture. He didn’t need his brother spouting the joys of marital and family life. He was happy for Derek and he loved Kay. He would lay down his life for Jamie or Tim. But he could not and would not go there again himself. What was that old saying?
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
He wasn’t about to be fooled twice. No matter how much he was drawn to Alex. He may have toyed with the notion of intimacy over the past few weeks, but he didn’t have it in him to go there again. He just…didn’t.
As always, it hadn’t made her feel any better. Her eyes were still puffy and swollen from crying and she felt completely flat, interested in nothing. She knew herself well enough to know the feeling would pass, but the long hours of the evening stretched ahead seemingly endlessly.
Get through tonight. Then you’ll have work tomorrow, and a week—okay, a month—from now you’ll be over it. Mostly.
For a moment she was overwhelmed by the task ahead. She let her shoulders slump. She didn’t want to play with mosaics. She didn’t want to do anything. She felt hollow and empty. She felt defeated.
After a long moment she took a deep breath and forced herself to sit up straight. She edged one of the tiles a little to the left and was reaching for her tile nippers just as a knock sounded on the door.
She paused, glancing down at herself. She was wearing a baggy old pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a stretchy tank top. Her hair was still damp from her shower this afternoon and she wasn’t wearing underwear or makeup.
She shrugged. There was only one person it could be, since the intercom hadn’t buzzed to announce a visitor. It had been a month since she’d last caught up with Helen, her friend from the apartment across the hall. Having company tonight could only be a good thing—provided it was the right kind of company. By which she meant the kind that didn’t know anything about her now-defunct baby plans and therefore wouldn’t ask probing personal questions. Alex didn’t want to be probed or questioned tonight. She simply wanted to process and grieve. And since she hadn’t confided in anyone apart from Ethan, she figured she was safe.
She walked to the front door, rubbing her gummy fingertips together to try to remove some of the adhesive residue. She opened the front door—and discovered the wrong sort of company standing on her doorstep.
“Ethan.”
For a moment she simply stood there, blinking stupidly. She should have known it would be him. Why hadn’t she checked through the spy hole before opening the door?
“Hey. I brought you dinner,” he said, hefting a heavy-looking recyclable shopping bag.
“Dinner…?”
He brushed past her and into her apartment. “Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, baby peas, homemade gravy. And a bottle of
sémillon
sauvignon. You want to eat out here or in the kitchen?”
He was already heading for the kitchen before she could respond. She chased after him, belatedly dragging the low-slung waistband of her pajama bottoms up to meet the hem of her tank top. She was very aware that she wasn’t wearing panties or a bra and that it had been a long time since she’d considered herself fit for public consumption without either. But she could hardly race off to her bedroom to put underwear on while he made free with her apartment.
Then she remembered something else—her mosaic project was spread out across the kitchen table. No one ever saw her mosaics, for good reason.
She swore under her breath and lengthened her stride. She skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway. Ethan had left his shopping bag on the counter and was hovering over the table, examining her handiwork.
Too late. Damn.
“It’s not finished yet,” she said quickly.
“It’s a tabletop, right?” he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder.
His gaze dipped briefly below her neck and she crossed her arms over her braless breasts.
“Yes. A side table. I found it at a secondhand shop.”
“And this round thing at the top is a flower, right?”
“A daisy.”
“And this is a rose. And that’s a daffodil,” he said.
They were pretty good guesses considering how un-rose-and un-daffodil-like her representations were. She was well aware that they looked more like clumps of ceramic confetti than anything else.
“That’s right.”
“It’s good—”
“Don’t. Don’t lie and tell me it’s good. It’s terrible. I know it’s terrible. That’s why I don’t show my mosaics to anyone. It doesn’t matter if they’re terrible or not when I’m the only one who sees them. So you don’t need to butter me up by saying something nice when we both know it’s not true.”
Ethan’s mouth curled up at the corner. “Are you finished?”
She let her breath out, aware she’d overreacted a little. “Yes.”
“I was going to say it’s good you put a cloth down because your glue’s leaking.”
“Oh. Right.”
She joined him at the table and saw that the tube of tile adhesive was adrift in a sea of ooze.
“Damn.”
“Where do you keep your paper towel?” he asked.
“Under the sink.”
She shifted her tray of tiles and her tool kit to the floor, then lifted the half-finished tabletop and leaned it against the wall. When she turned around again Ethan was wiping the adhesive off her drop sheet with a wad of paper.
“Thanks,” she said. “And sorry about the rant.”
Ethan handed her the wad of paper towel. “It was a pretty good one, as rants go. And for the record, the tabletop isn’t that bad.”
She gave him a look. “It’s not that good, either.”
He grinned. “True. But it didn’t make me want to poke out my eyes, so there’s something to be said for that.”
Sometimes she forgot how completely devastating he could be when he smiled. She swallowed, the sound audible.
“I’ll get some plates. And I need to wash my hands…”
“Point me in the right direction and I’ll serve while you go clean up.”
She was quick to take him up on the offer, scuttling off to her bedroom at the speed of light. She degummed her hands in record time, then scrambled into underwear and a T-shirt and jeans.
She had no idea why Ethan was here, or why he’d brought her dinner, of all things. Their baby bargain was over. There was no reason for him to be here.
Unless he felt sorry for her?
She was brushing her hair when the thought occurred and she stilled with the brush midstroke.
Was that why he was here? Because he was worried poor childless Alex would lose it without close supervision? Had he imagined her huddled on the couch, elbow-deep in a bucket of ice cream and ridden to the rescue, the way he had so many times since this all started?
She threw her brush onto the bed. If that was the case, if she detected even a whiff of pity coming off of him, she was going to tell him in no uncertain terms what he could do with his chicken and all the trimmings.
And if it wasn’t the case… She had no idea why he was here. Hadn’t they said everything they needed to say to each other this morning? And weren’t they going to see each other tomorrow at work?
There was one other reason he could be here, of course. But he’d made his feelings about settling down pretty clear—as had she. Only a very silly woman would allow herself to buy into the fantasy that he’d somehow had a change of heart since getting to know her.
He was pulling a plastic tub of gravy out of her microwave when she returned to the kitchen. His gaze raked her from head to toe but he didn’t say anything about her quick-change routine.
“I couldn’t find your bottle opener,” he said.
She crossed to the fridge and pulled one of her own bottles from the built-in wine rack.
“Let’s drink one of mine. It’s the least I can do, since you’ve supplied the meal.”
“Your call.”
She busied herself with opening the bottle and getting out wineglasses. Then she joined him at the kitchen table. Her plate was heaped with food, all of which looked ridiculously good. She slid his wine across the table and watched as his long fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.
“Thanks.” He smiled faintly and it hit her that the last man who’d sat at this table and eaten a meal with her was Jacob.
“Why are you here?” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but she needed to know.
Ethan was slicing his chicken but he put down his knife and fork and looked at her. “I felt like crap and I figured you might, too. So I thought I’d bribe my way through the door with chicken.”
She frowned. “You didn’t need to bribe your way in.”
“Didn’t I?” His blue eyes were searching.
“No. You’re disappointed, aren’t you?”
She’d let him down. Led him on a merry dance then left him gasping like a landed fish.
“Of course. Aren’t you? If we were both a little more ruthless, we might have been shopping for a home pregnancy test in a few weeks’ time.”
“No, we wouldn’t. I’ve already got one. A double pack, just to make sure.”
“Exactly my point. We invested a lot of time and energy in this.”
She looked down at her plate, away from the sadness in his face. He felt the same way she did. And he’d sought her out to both give and take comfort.
“You’re a nice man, Ethan Stone,” she said quietly, glancing up at him again.
“Let’s not get too carried away.”
Good advice, Alex. Listen to the man.
He deliberately changed the subject then and they talked about work and the day’s political news. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was simply Ethan, with his easy charm and distracting wit, but by the time they were pushing aside their plates she was feeling decidedly more mellow.
She was glad he’d come. A dangerous admission to make, even to herself, but it was true.
They moved to the living room after she’d cleared the table and she raided her chocolate-cookie stash for dessert while Ethan opened the second bottle of wine. She found him examining her teapot collection when she returned to the living room with a plateful of Tim Tams and other indulgences.
“This is my favorite, I think. Although the one shaped like a cat is pretty damned cool,” he said.
“The cabbage was a lucky find. But that cat… I nearly broke an old lady’s arm to get that teapot.”
“Excellent. Tell me everything.” He rubbed his hands together with exaggerated anticipation.
So she told him how she’d spotted the teapot at the same time as a purple-haired old lady at a yard sale and how they’d both reached for it at the same time but she’d been a trifle faster off the mark and the old lady had lunged across the table at her and refused to let go until the woman running the sale had to step in to adjudicate.
Ethan was wiping tears from his eyes by the time she’d finished. She’d always loved making him laugh but tonight it felt like a special achievement.
“Alex. That’s priceless. A million other women would have bowed to her brittle bones and handed the damned thing over but not you.”
“Old people are just normal people with more wrinkles. Why should they be granted a get-out-of-jail-free cards on things like courtesy and finders keepers? Besides, it turned out she thought it was a dog, not a cat. When she put her glasses on she was more than happy to let it go.”
She had her feet curled up beside her on the couch and had been rubbing her arches absently throughout her story. Ethan slid his wineglass onto the coffee table in front of him, then stood and crossed to sit on the end of her couch.
“Come on. Give them here,” he said.
It took her a moment to understand what he intended.
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“I give a mean foot massage, Alex. It’s about the only thing Cassie and I could ever agree on.” He held up his thumbs and wiggled them in the air. “Magic thumbs.”
She shook her head again. No way was she lying on her couch while Ethan rubbed her feet. It was way, way too intimate.
“I’m really ticklish. I’ll only wind up giggling like an idiot.”
“Clearly you’ve only had substandard massages in the past. Come on.”
She started to object again but he simply circled her right ankle with one of his big hands and pulled her foot into his lap.
“Hey!”
“Shut up and take your medicine.”
He started rubbing her foot then and it felt so good that even though she knew she should pull free and maybe even send him home before she forgot that tonight was about mutual sympathy and not…anything else, she subsided back onto the cushions and closed her eyes.
“Not ticklish?” he asked after a minute or so.
She cracked an eyelid. He was looking very pleased with himself.
“Strong thumbs, my backside,” she muttered.
He laughed, the sound very low, and she closed her eyes again and didn’t even try to suppress her own smile. And she didn’t resist fifteen minutes later when he switched to her left foot, rubbing the tension from her arches and making her wish she had a third and even a fourth foot to offer him so she could prolong the experience.
Twenty minutes later it occurred to her that Ethan had stopped the massage a while ago and she opened her eyes to find him collecting his car keys from the coffee table.