Rebecca smiled, genuinely smiled, not the tight-lipped courtesy I might have expected. “Nice to meet you. Jackmentioned you used to—” She caught herself. “Well, anyway. Nice to meet you.”
Used to. Two words that contained a whole history.
“You too,” I said. And meant it, weirdly. Rebecca seemed nice. Kind. The sort of woman who probably didn’t spend every relationship waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Which made me feel like an absolute heel for wanting what she had.
But I did want it. Standing here, looking at Jack in his Sunday-morning sweater, watching the way he moved through the store, I wanted the second chance I’d come back for. The voice in the darkness hadn’t sent me here to give up at the first obstacle. I wasn’t going to win him back by running away every time I saw him.
“I didn’t know you shopped here,” I said, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile.
“Best fish sauce in Boston.” He gestured at my basket. “You remembered.”
“Some things you don’t forget.”
The words hung between us, meaning more than they should.
An older woman appeared at the end of the aisle, one of the regulars, I realized, someone who’d been shopping here as long as I had. She spotted Rebecca and lit up.
“Becca! I didn’t know you were back from New York! How was the gallery opening?”
Rebecca glanced at Jack apologetically. “Mrs.Williams. Let me just—” She moved toward the woman, already being pulled into conversation.
Which left Jack and me standing alone among the soy sauce and rice vinegar, the sounds of the store fading to background noise.
“So,” I said.
“So.” He shifted his weight, a tell I recognized—he was uncomfortable. Uncertain. “About yesterday. At the diner.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I panicked and left before—” I stopped. Took a breath. “I was surprised to see you. That’s all.”
“With Rebecca.”
“With Rebecca,” I agreed.
He didn’t say anything. Just watched me with those blue eyes that had always seen too much.
“Could we get coffee?” The words came out before I could second-guess them. “Or lunch? Tomorrow, maybe? I just—” I twisted the basket handle in my hands. “There are things I’d like to say. Things I should have said back in the fall.”
He was quiet for a moment that stretched into forever. I watched him weigh options, calculate risks. Jack had always been careful—a journalist’s instinct, maybe, or just the habit of a man who’d been burned too many times.
“Okay,” he said finally.
“Okay?”
“Lunch. Tomorrow. There’s a place near the Globe—Mike’s, on Dorchester Ave. Do you know it?”
I didn’t, but I’d find it. If I had to drive in circles for three hours, I’d find it.
“Noon?” he asked.
“Noon works.”
Rebecca was heading back toward us, Mrs.Williams finally releasing her. He stepped back, putting an appropriate distance between us.
“See you tomorrow, Maggie.”
“See you tomorrow.”
