Donovan didn’t want her to have to play bartender. “You sit. I’ll make the drinks.”
“I’ll help. You don’t know where everything is.”
Donovan pulled out the gin bottle as Lela grabbed two pint glasses from a cabinet.
“I see we’re going for the supersize.” He gestured with a nod to the glasses.
“This is not a super fun conversation.”
“Got it. Fill those to the top with ice. Then we need tonic and lime.”
“Refrigerator.”
Donovan went hunting, finding the fruit in the crisper drawer and the half-size tonic cans at the back. “I see you still have a thing for pickles.”
“Hey. Did you agree to this just so you could snoop?”
He turned back and smiled at her. “Maybe.” He free-poured the gin, then the tonic.
Lela cut slices of lime and squeezed them into the drinks, then stirred them with a butterknife. She raised her glass. “To friends.”
“Yes. To friends.” He sipped his drink, the bubbles and citrus tickling his nose. Their gazes connected, and even though he got a little zing of electricity, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Two people picking up exactly where they’d left off. “So. Your ex?”
She took his hand, her fingers warm and perfectly coiled around his. “Come on. Let’s get comfortable.”
He trailed behind her, his body buzzing from the effects of the drink and of Lela. He had to make a conscious effort not to run off to the circus with his thoughts. Because here in this moment, all he could think about were decisions and mistakes and the course of his life. Should he have been less committed to keeping Lela in the friend zone when they were in college? Was she what had been missing from his life?
They sat on one of the black leather couches, which looked truly out of place among the original elements of the home, like the white carved stone fireplace surround or the old cast iron insert. “If your ex picked out this furniture, I already know why it didn’t work. It’s cold and totally lacks character.”
Lela pulled her leg up on to the sofa and faced Donovan. “Mark was a good guy. But, honestly, I think I talked myself into the idea of loving him. All of my friends were married and having kids and I felt like life was passing me by. So he came along and swept me off my feet, and I went along with it.” She took a long sip of her drink then cradled the glass in both hands. “I know that sounds terrible.”
“We’re wired to do crazy things for love and sex.” Much of Donovan’s life could be summed up by that statement, although he would vote to substitute stupid for crazy. “So no kids then?”
She shook her head. “That’s one of the worst parts. I really wanted them, but he was dead-set against it. Of course, I knew this when I married him, so I have zero business being upset about it.”
“You can’t change your feelings.”
“That’s very insightful.”
“I went to therapy for a while, but that’s the only part I really remember.”
“I guess you’re right.” She lazily rubbed the glass with her index finger. “Tell me about the wives after Genevieve.”
Donovan hated that it was wives, plural. He felt like a cliché. To cope, he gulped down a good third of his drink. “There was Tess, the dermatologist. That lasted two years. Then Nadia, the yoga instructor. That lasted eight months, I’m afraid to say.”
Lela shook her head then raised that same finger she’d been massaging the glass with. “Let me guess. Tess was younger than Genevieve, and Nadia was younger than Tess.”
Donovan swallowed hard. “Why does it sound so horrible when you say it?”
“Because men are painfully predictable?”
“Please don’t lump me in with the other dudes of the world.”
“I’m merely pointing out a pattern. You happen to fill it.”
“I like older women, too, Lela.”
She arched both eyebrows at him then took another long sip of her drink. “Don’t tell me. Women your own age?” Her eyes went wide as saucers in feigned astonishment.
