CHAPTER EIGHT

      “Knock, knock.”

      Stella looked up to see Jen rapping on the soft edge of the cubicle. “Hey.”

      “What’re you doing tonight?”

      “Nothing.” Stella swiveled in her chair. “Tristan’s with his dad tonight through the weekend.”

      “Want to go check out the new Justin Ross movie? Jared told me he’d rather poke out both eyes with a chopstick than go.” Jen grinned.

      Stella hesitated, thinking about the empty house, the laundry she’d planned to do. Cleaning out the fridge. Paying bills. She was flying over the weekend, but tonight she had no plans. “Yes. That sounds great.”

      “Dinner first?”

      “Sure.” Stella returned Jen’s grin.

      They went to dinner at a new Italian place that Stella had heard about but never tried. As she settled into her seat and put the napkin on her lap, Stella realized how long it had been since she’d even gone out with a girlfriend. How long it had been since she’d even really talked with one of her girlfriends.

      “Wow,” she said aloud without meaning to.

      “What?” Jen looked up from the menu. “You don’t like what they serve here? We can go someplace else—”

      “No. Not that. Just that it’s been a while since I went out.” Stella held up a hand at the look on her friend’s face. “I told you, I’m fine without a boyfriend. I meant with a friend. It’s like I haven’t even heard from any of them in forever.”

      She fell silent for a moment, remembering. “I guess I haven’t really missed any of them.”

      The women she’d bonded with in the neighborhood playgroup, the wives of Jeff’s friends. Those were the women she’d spent most of her time with. They’d had coffee and dinner at each other’s houses. Watched each other’s kids. Bitched about their husbands and kids.

      But had she ever really been friends with any of those women? Real, strong friendships last through good times and bad, and there’d been some very, very bad times.

      Stella looked at Jen. “I guess I lost more than I thought in the divorce.”

      Jen frowned. “That sucks.”

      “It’s okay.” Stella shrugged. “Honestly, I really did just notice now how long it’s been since I had, like, a ladies’ night out, which says a lot more about me than anything else. So, thanks for inviting me.”

      “Thanks for coming along. I’m such an enormous Justin Ross fangirl, and Jared will occasionally suffer through watching Runner with me, but he’s like, ‘no way am I going to see that movie.’” Jen laughed, shaking her head. “He’ll be waiting up for me when I get home, though. Hoping he’ll get secondhand lucky.”

      Stella snorted laughter. “And all I have at home is a pile of dirty laundry.” Before Jen could say anything, she held up a hand. “Hush.”

      “He has a few cute friends,” Jen said, then held up her hands at Stella’s expression. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

      Dinner was good. The movie, even better. Stella had never watched Runner, the show that had made Justin Ross famous, but she knew who he was. It was impossible not to—he’d suddenly become America’s sweetheart. She couldn’t say she’d ever be the sort of fangirl Jen was, but she could definitely appreciate his appeal.

      “Have fun tonight,” she teased as they both got in their cars in the parking lot.

      Jen gave her a starry-eyed grin. “Oh...I will. Girl, I definitely will.”

      Stella’s phone pinged just as she pulled into traffic, but she didn’t reach to pull it from her purse and check the message. She never checked her phone while driving. Ever. Tristan knew it, and was unlikely to ping again if she didn’t answer right away, so when the phone chimed again, Stella glanced at her bag on the front seat, then at the clock. It was just past ten-thirty on a Thursday night. Jeff would’ve gone to bed. Cynthia would only text if there was a problem, and even then would be more likely to call than send a message.

      At the third chime, Stella’s hands started to sweat. She gripped the wheel harder, staring down the dark highway. No traffic lights to give her time to pause so she could fumble in her bag and find her phone. She had another twenty minutes’ drive to go, and when the phone chimed a fourth, then fifth time, she pulled over to the side of the road to answer it.

      The messages, a string of casual conversation ending with “give me a ring when you have a chance,” had come from Craig.

      First she was relieved that it wasn’t an emergency. Then a little annoyed that she’d had to pull over. And finally, as she pulled back out into traffic and finished the drive, Stella realized she was...anxious.

      Confused. Anxious. A little excited. But mostly wary, she thought as she dropped her keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter and hung her coat and purse in the closet.

      She put her phone on the table while she poured herself a glass of cold water. She eyed it as she leaned against the counter to drink. As if it might bite her, she thought, and laughed out loud.

      It was Craig, for goodness’ sake.

      She had told him to call her, she remembered that much. But, unlike those long-ago days when she’d counted the minutes in between conversations, she hadn’t been thinking much of him at all. She hadn’t really expected him to call her, as a matter of fact, and now that he had, it would be up to her to return it. Or not.

      Still thinking about it, Stella took her phone upstairs and settled it into the charging dock. She showered and got ready for bed, taking her time, but even so it wasn’t quite midnight when she slipped into her bed and turned out the light. She turned on her side to stare at the dark, square shape of the phone.

      It was reprimanding her.

      Not replying to a message was one of the shittiest things to do to someone. She’d always thought that. Not simply not replying right away, but not replying at all, ever. Toward the end of their marriage, Jeff had started ignoring her messages, and it had driven her insane with rage.

      Craig had always answered her messages...until he’d stopped.

      * * *

      They’ve ordered food, but Stella can’t eat. She pushes the food around with her fork and drinks too much iced tea, but her stomach’s too jumpy to put any food in it. Craig asked to meet her at a chain restaurant where you can create your own pasta dish, and she ordered chicken Alfredo, a stupid choice because it’s far too heavy and rich for her even on days when she’s not a bundle of nerves.

      It doesn’t matter how many days they’ve already spent eating lunch together, or how many hours they’ve spent talking on the computer and the phone. This feels different. It is different, she reminds herself as Craig tells her a funny story she finds herself incapable of laughing at. Her face is frozen. Her fingers clumsy enough to knock her silverware on the floor so that, blushing, stammering, she has to reach for her fork.

      Craig bends at the same time, his hand taking hers. He squeezes her fingers, and Stella drops the fork. They both sit up, facing each other across the small, intimate table for two. It’s a table for lovers, though that isn’t what they are.