“Oh.” Russ’s mouth quirked down on one side, sheepish. “Sorry. I’ve never actually read it.”
“That’s—” Cherry smiled for real. “That’s okay.” She shook her head. “And anyway, I’m actually...” She shook her head again and flapped her left hand. “Divorced.”
Russ stood up a little. “Oh.”
“I mean, we’regettinga divorce.”
His face was serious. “I’m sorry, Cherry.”
“No, don’t be. It’s...” She waved her hand again. “You know.”
“I’ve been divorced for three years,” he said.
“Oh. Russ.” Cherry finally stopped smiling. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “I lived.”
His eyes were soft. She smiled at him.
He leaned toward her and bumped his elbow against hers. “You’ll live.”
She laughed a little. “Thanks.”
“Do you want a drink?”
Cherry looked over at the bar. “Yeah, but I don’t want to lose my seat.”
“I’ll get you something,” he said. “What do you want?”
She bit her lips, humming. “Nah. I’d just have to go to the bathroom when the show starts, andthenI’d lose my seat.”
“Oh mygod,” Russ said. “Just tell me what you want. I’ll protect your seat all night, Grandma.”
She pointed at him. “Seriously, do you promise? I can’t stand through a concert.”
Russ made a face. “I’ve stood with you through several concerts, Cherry.”
“That’s the problem. I ruined myself with long nights in high heels.”
He grinned again, nostalgic. “Oh yeah, you did. You used to wear those little pin-up girl shoes.” He held up his thumb and forefinger. “They made your feet look tiny.”
Cherry kicked his shin with her clunky boot. “I want a Coke Zero. And you have to come back in an hour to watch my seat while I go to the bathroom.”
“I won’t leave your side,” Russ said, loping away from her toward the bar.
Cherry smiled after him. Then tried to shake it off. But her face still felt like it was smiling even with her lips pressed together.
Russell Sutton. Who would have thought?
Chapter 3
Russ brought back a Coke Zero for Cherry and a beer for himself. And he kept his word—he stuck to her table. The opening act had started playing—a local band that never broke out, Sacagawea—but Russ and Cherry just huddled a little closer and kept talking. Cherry told him a bit more about her job. She’d started out as a graphic designer—he knew that—then she got promoted to team leader, then manager, and now she ran the railroad’s marketing department. The woman above herofficiallyran the department. But Cherry was the brains of the operation and frequently the mouth, and always the person who made sure that everything got done. (She was a little more self-effacing as she explained all this to Russ.)
Russ had been working in and around government since college. He was the mayor’s chief of staff now—even though the mayor was a Republican and Russ was a lifelong liberal. (His grandpa had been governor, back when Nebraska still elected Democrats.) And he was active in a bunch of civic groups. For voter turnout. Literacy. Arts programs in marginalized neighborhoods. He reallydidknow half the people in the room—they kept stopping at the table to say hello. He kept introducing Cherry. (“Do you know my friend Cherry? We were practically roommates at Creighton.”) Russ still went to a lot of concerts. He still saw a lot of movies. He still ate dinner once a week with his parents. He was still really,reallyattractive.
“Handsome” wasn’t the right word for Russ. He wasn’t especially tall or broad. His features were kind of sharp. He looked like the tokenIrish actor on a BBC drama—a little flintier than everyone else and a little more alive. His eyes were dark blue and set deep, and his color was high. When he was excited or drunk, he looked feverish.
He looked a little feverish tonight.
