“You know that Max, from her first novel, was based on me?” He straightened up. “A sprightly British detective come to steal all the young American ladies away from their quarterbacks.”
“Of course she knows that,” Davena teased. “You remind her constantly.”
“Rubbish.” He snuck me a devious smile. “She was quite the girl, your mother. Walked right into the university’s newspaper office and demanded they print her piece on corporate sexism when nobody else wanted to touch the topic. I knew then we’d be great friends. No surprise she became editor of that paper soon after.” Mack covered the back of my hand with his palm. “A real go-getter, like our Liv here.”
Maybe my mother had been once. That was before I’d gotten old enough to really know her, though.
The sight of Bill maneuvering through diners was a relief in that moment. He’d save me from this topic.
“I was here on time,” he said as he approached. The restaurant’s lighting turned his gold shirt mustard. “Parking is damn impossible.” He leaned over and gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek. “Got your text. Congrats on Diane’s job.”
“I didn’t get it yet,” I said.
“You will.” He turned to Mack and Davena, dragging his chair from the table. “What’d I miss?”
“Not too much.” Mack signaled a passing waiter. “Bring a bottle of your finest Cab for the table,” he said, winking at me. “We’re celebrating Liv’s news.”
Cabernet Sauvignon: rich, full-bodied wine. Chosen by someone who knew me as well as anyone. Maybe even as well as my dark stranger. At the memory of deep, bold words rolling off his tongue weeks ago, I buried my face in my menu to hide my blush.
“Mack was just reminiscing about old times,” I answered Bill.
“Old times, huh?” Bill asked. He understood that meant my mom. He cleared his throat, turning back to the table. “Hey, don’t you two have a big trip coming up?”
I cast Bill a grateful glance for saving me a trip down memory lane.
“Amalfi Coast,” Davena replied. “We’ve been shopping ourselves silly.”
“Correction—shehas been shopping herself silly,” Mack said. “I’m just the human credit card.”
Davena waved him off. “I only needed a bathing suit that’d cover my new scar.” She put a hand over her side. “No more bikinis for me. Just old lady one-pieces.”
Mack took her hand from her ribcage, lacing their fingers as he brought her knuckles to his mouth. “Careful. That’s my beautiful, vivacious wife you’re talking about.”
With a petite but athletic body, fair skin, and cropped, curly, blonde hair, Davena was the picture of health, her fiery eyes only surpassed by her sassy attitude. Even with the discovery of her breast cancer years earlier, I’d never seen Davena without a twinkle in her eye. The wordpitydid not weigh down her vocabulary.
Tempted as I was to ask about her health, I knew I’d get a brush-off. I’d learned long ago that for her, normalcy was the best medicine.
“You really should go see Lucy,” I said as the waiter arrived with the wine bottle. “She’ll set you up with a fabulous new wardrobe.”
“Which one is Lucy again?” Mack asked, holding up his glass to taste.
“That precious little stylist Liv has known since college,” Davena said. “You’ve met her at least three times. Try to keep up.”
“Lucy works just across the street from me,” I said to Davena. “We can all get lunch, and then she can help you find something cute and conservative.”
“Me,conservative?” Davena made a gagging noise. “Can’t stand that word.”
Mack took a sip and nodded at the waiter. “Why do you think she made us move from Texas?” he joked.
Bill unfurled his napkin onto his lap, humming. “You know, we just wrapped up a case against a doctor who nearly killed a woman when he botched a double mastectomy.”
“Bill,” I scolded. Sometimes, my husband’s emotional detachment could be a good thing. His straightforward approach to most situations had initially drawn me to him, and his intuition to back off when I needed to be left alone had saved our relationship many times. But in social situations, it sometimes left me apologizing for his behavior—like now. “I’m sorry, Davena,” I said. “Of course you don’t want to hear that.”
“Cancer kills,” she said, adjusting her eyeglasses to read the menu. “It’s not groundbreaking news or anything.”
Once we’d ordered our meals, Mack leaned into me, lowering his voice. “How’s Mum?” he asked. “Really.”
“I haven’t spoken to her much lately,” I confessed. “She says she’s working on her next bestseller, but she won’t share details. Since Dad no longer owes her alimony, she claims she’s broke and can’t focus. But between a successful publishing career and my father’s support all those years, I just don’t see how that can be.”
