And there it was. The truth she’d been skirting around. Maeve was right in everything she had just said. Yes, Billie had been exactly what Debra wanted just a few weeks ago, but now?Now she was beginning to understand that Billie’s priority was herself and nobody else. She had the talk, and she knew how to make you feel as though you were the centre of her world…but then she turned her back and left you wondering what on earth you’d done to deserve it. As Debra sat here today, she could admit that she’d done precisely nothing to deserve the way Billie had treated her.
“Set it up.”
Maeve’s eyes widened. “R-really?”
Debra shrugged. “I can’t sit here waiting for someone who’s already walked away.”
Maeve’s smile burst across her face. “Deb, this is amazing. I’ll get in touch with her today. Maybe I could suggest Friday? Saturday?”
“Saturday works better for me. Caleb is travelling in to visit me on Friday morning. We’re spending the afternoon with one another before he tackles some assignment he has at uni.” Debra hadn’t spent much time with her son lately, he was out there in the big wide world making friends and connections. She didn’t want to cut their visit short to have a drink with another woman. “What will be will be. Just let me know if there’s a plan.”
“Oh, I’ll let you know. Don’t you worry about that.”
With a contented sigh, Debra brought her cup to her lips and enjoyed the caffeine hit. She wasn’t over Billie, maybe she wouldn’t be for a while, but she wasn’t going to be broken by her either. Perhaps letting someone new step into her world would remind her that she had so much to offer…to someone who wanted to receive it. Billie Brown wasnotthat person and Debra understood that now.
Maeve raised her cup in a toast. “To new beginnings.”
“Hmm.” Debra lifted hers. “To remembering we deserve them.”
Chapter Twenty
Impressedby the restaurant Maeve had chosen, Debra sat across from Lucille, acutely aware of how surreal the whole evening felt. Candlelight flickered softly between them, reflected in the polished cutlery and wine glasses already half-finished, and the ambiance around them created the kind of intimacy that only existed when a place knew exactly what it was meant for.
A first date.
Her first official date in decades.
For the last hour or so, Debra had been hyper-aware of herself—the way she sat, the way she laughed…even the way she spoke—as though she would somehow get it wrong. But now, as the evening settled and her shoulders eased, she made a decision not to spend what remained of the night trapped inside her own head. She owed herself more than that.
Lucille was lovely. Genuinely so. She had a warm, open smile, kind, trusting eyes, and the sort of humour Debra found herself relaxing into rather than bracing against. She laughed with her whole face, her head tipped back without apology, utterly unconcerned with who could be watching. It was refreshing.
But more than anything, Lucille didn’t treat Debra as though she was fragile.
“So you moved to the city after the divorce?” Lucille asked, idly twirling her wine glass by the stem.
“Yes. I needed a fresh start.”
Lucille’s expression softened in that particular way—recognition without pity. The look of someone who had walked similar ground and survived it. “That takes courage. Rebuilding on your own.”
Debra smiled, choosing optimism over honesty. “It felt lonely at first, but it was worth it.” Ithadbeen lonely, it still was in ways she didn’t always like to admit, but Debra didn’t want to linger on any of that tonight.
The server appeared, placing two plates between them. The scent of rosemary and lemon butter rose immediately, mingling with roasted tomatoes and warm pasta. Debra’s stomach gave an unmistakable growl, and she laughed, her cheeks warming as Lucille’s eyes lit up.
“I like a woman with an appetite,” Lucille said with a wink.
It should have made Debra blush. It should have grounded her fully in the moment. Instead, her mind betrayed her and flashed to Billie’s voice, low and intimate, as she murmured, “Tell me what you want”against her throat.
God. Not now.
Debra forced her attention back to the table, to the woman sitting across from her. Lucille was talking about Italy now, about travelling again, and the freedom. The late trains and how standing alone in foreign cities left her feeling entirely her own person again. Debra listened, smiling between mouthfuls and nodding at the right moments, enjoying the steadiness of it all. The wine helped, but so did Lucille’s calm presence.
And yet, every now and then, like a tide she couldn’t quite hold back, her thoughts drifted. To that dim museum corridor.To the urgency in Billie’s breath. To the way Billie had looked at her, not casually and not carelessly, but as though she was something rare.
Stop it,Debra scolded herself, spearing a piece of chicken a little more firmly than necessary.
Billie had made her choice, and now Debra was making hers.
This eveningmattered.
