The past needs to stay buried.
Still, guilt gnaws at my chest like a persistent ache.
“What’s wrong?” Keshia’s fork hovers halfway to her mouth. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Close. That text was from Eric’s brother.”
“The one who got thrown out of that steakhouse for grabbing a teenager’s ass?”
“That’s the one. Real class act.”
“What does he want?”
“To talk, apparently. Probably about Eric’s body being found. But if he’s looking for someone to reminisce about what a wonderful person his brother was, he’s got the wrong number.”
Keshia sets down her fork. “How are you handling all of this? I mean, I know he was a bastard, but it’s still got to be weird finding out your ex-husband is dead.”
“I’m fine. I buried that part of my life a long time ago.” I push a cherry tomato around my plate. “I never expected to see him again, anyway.”
“That’s healthy.”
Healthy.Right.Nothing about the complicated knot of relief, guilt, and anger I feel when I think about Eric qualifies as healthy. But some truths aren’t meant for restaurant conversations.
“Subject change,” I say. “How are things with Shawn?”
She groans. “Crashed and burned. He was fun while it lasted, but I’m already back on the apps. What about you? How’s domestic life treating you? You know, with the guy you swore you were keeping things casual with?”
A smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “It’s good. Really good. And not just because of the apartment, though that doesn’t hurt. I’m seeing sides of him I never expected. He’s more thoughtful than I gave him credit for. He stocks my favorite coffee, lets me control the TV remote, even said I could redecorate if I wanted.”
“And have you?”
“I added blue throw pillows to the couch.”
She laughs. “Wow. Really going wild there.”
“Baby steps. I’m still figuring this whole thing out. Austin deserves the stability, but I keep worrying about getting too comfortable. What if it doesn’t last? I’d hate to lose...the apartment.”
Keshia raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.The apartment. Not the six-foot-something guy who makes you smile like an idiot.”
I throw a crouton at her. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying. When’s the last time you looked this happy?”
She’s not wrong. I spent so many years in survival mode that I forgot how to hope for anything permanent. For the first time in years, I wake up feeling rested instead of calculating how many hours until the next crisis.
“Okay, but seriously,” Keshia says, leaning forward with a grin. “How is he in bed?”
“Keshia!” I glance around to make sure no one at the neighboring tables is listening.
“What? You work at a strip club. You can’t be that uptight about talking about sex in public.”
“Used towork at a strip club. Remember?”
“Right, I keep forgetting you’re living a real-life Cinderella story,” she grins, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “Plucked from poverty by Prince Charming.”
“Pretty sure Cinderella didn’t have to worry about her prince’s ‘business associates.’”
She snorts with laughter, and we move on to lighter topics as we finish our salads.
