And here I was with a new and fragile marriage that we’d built on a mountain of faulty logic and old fondness for each other.
I couldn’t stop asking myself whether I was forcing any part of this. Whether I’d decided along the way what I wanted this to be and then convinced myself it was. I couldn’t talk myself into job offers or coworkers who insisted I join them tonight but what if I’d talked myself into loving Noah? What if I was repeating all my same old mistakes?
I didn’t know how to protect myself from that.
As the evening came to a close, we parted with hugs and congratulations for Janita and promises to do this again sometime soon. When I closed out my tab at the bar, I noticed Christiane Manning a few seats down. She stared into a full martini, her chin resting on her hand.
Despite all the better judgment in the world, I said, “Hey, Christiane.”
It took her a second to drag her gaze away from the glass and over to me and then another second for recognition to flicker in her eyes. Eventually, she forced a smile. “Hello there. Haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I’ve been”—I glanced out at the water and slowly shook my head—“figuring things out.”
“Where’s your husband tonight?”
I swallowed a sigh. I didn’t mind being Noah’s human shield but I was getting tired of Noah being the solitary source of conflict between me and Christiane. It was a waste of everyone’s time. “He and Gennie are out of town for a few days. They’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”
I waited for some sweet-edged comment but it never came. She nodded and went back to staring at her drink. I took my time adding a tip, checking my math, signing the receipt. The silence that settled wasn’t awkward but it didn’t feel good either. It was uneven.
“The twins are with their dad this weekend,” Christiane said eventually. “I hate being in my house alone right after they’ve gone. All that quiet—it feels wrong.” She picked up her drink but set it down before taking a sip. “A lot of the other divorced moms I know say they love the quiet and the freedom but I haven’t gotten to that stage yet. I haven’t figured out how to be alone yet.”
I hesitated a moment before settling onto a barstool. “I can empathize with that,” I said. “It’s been so quiet at the house without Noah and Gennie. It’s like I’m waiting for something to happen but nothing happens.” I traced the grain of the hardwood bar top with my finger. “I’ve been ordering takeout every night because I can’t remember how to cook for one.”
Without looking at me, Christiane motioned to her martini. “Do you want a drink? I know you probably had enough with your friends but you’re welcome to stay.”
“Sure.” I waved the bartender over, ordered a glass of sangria.
When my drink arrived, Christiane pinched her fingers to the stem of her glass and held it up to clink against mine. “I wasn’t trying to steal your husband,” she said by way of a toast. “Even though I acted like I was trying to steal your husband.”
Considering this, I drank deeply. “Thank you,” I started, “for that point of clarification.”
“I don’t like feeling empty,” she said. “After my divorce, I just felt like I needed to cram that emptiness full of anything I could get my hands on.”
“And…Noah seemed like someone you could get your hands on?”
She turned to me with a flat stare. “There were obvious flaws in that plan. Noah being in love with you, to start.”
I wasn’t going to explain the multitude of reasons her information was more than a little faulty. Nope. I had sangria to drink and no desire to hurt my own feelings tonight.
“He has a kid the same age as my twins and he’s all alone, and just look at him,” Christiane went on. “It seemed like we’d fit. Like we matched up in the same spots.”
I gave a knowing nod. Sounded just like my approach to the ex—and nothing like my approach to Noah. “Matching up isn’t all it seems to be.”
“He doesn’t evenlookat anyone else,” Christiane continued. “Certainly doesn’t notice any of us at goat yoga. And you know what? Goat yoga is not relaxing. There is nothing fun about trying to hold a pose while a goat licks your face or shoves his nose into places where goat noses donotbelong.”
“Wait. Hold on. You’re going to goat yoga to catch Noah’s attention?”
Christiane gestured with her glass, sending half the liquid flying at the bartender. He took most of it to the chest though some splashed across his face. He trudged away with a growl. “Why do you think anyone goes to goat yoga at Little Star?”
“I can assure you that the last thing Noah’s concerned with is goat yoga.” I took the glass from her, set it back on the bar. “If that was your plan—go to yoga at his farm, flirt him up at football games—you’re missing the part where Noah is extremely protective of Gennie and the only reason he knows your name is because your kids have a history of pushing his niece around. You could be his dream woman—”
“Like you?”
“Stop.” I gave her an impatient glare. I didn’t want to play that game tonight. “You could be everything he’s ever wanted, but the second someone messes with his niece, it’s all over. He doesn’t give a damn about his dreams if Gennie is unhappy. That’s probably the reason your charms didn’t work on him.”
Christiane frowned at her clasped hands. “My kids can be assholes.”
“All kids can be assholes. They don’t usually mean it but it happens to the best of them.”
