She was lucky she’d seen her mom talking to Gary Shaw today and to suddenly realize that even while her mother had managed all these years without her dad, Hank Greenleaf, and even though she’d taken a chance at happiness with two other men since him, the whole time a big part of her had remained unlit, like the dark side of the Moon.
Who knew someone like Gary Shaw could walk in and change everything? But he had.
She was even lucky to know how Eli’s shoulders felt shuddering beneath her arm on the day of his dad’s funeral.
And how his mother’s haunted face had looked that night at the bonfire.
And to see Jonah facedown in handcuffs.
And to feel Jonah gone out of their lives.
All the laughter. And fights. And summer days and summer nights.
All of those things had taught her about love. And how being loved like that, being part of a big panorama of love like that, that was the reason she’d ever felt free to pick up a guitar and write her songs and be exactly who she was.
Above all, she was lucky a certain bullheaded man would always, always do the right thing by her, no matter the cost to him. Because instead of grabbing her by the belt loops and pulling her back and banging her deliciously senseless in the woods, which is what she wanted just about more than anything and would probably have made her his slave, he’d let her go so she could make a decision that could very well break his heart all over again.
She doubted Eli was sleeping tonight.
She was pretty sure Franco Francone, however, was sleeping like a baby.
She smiled, at peace.
When she thought of her whole life like this—as an improbable, ceaseless cavalcade of blessings, not as something that pivoted on a single dire choice to sleep with a hot actor or not, she knew what to do.
She got back into bed and slept hard after that.
Franco sauntered into Cafe Cinnabar ten minutes after she’d arrived and slid into the chair across from her.
She’d been nursing an excellent cup of coffee and enjoying being entirely alone in a newish place.
“I don’t see any luggage, Glory,” he said by way of greeting. “Unless all you’ve got in that purse is a bikini and some lip balm. In which case, congratulations. You’ve nailed precisely the dress code.”
Glory smiled tautly. And said nothing. Yet.
Her heartbeat had started to ratchet up.
“Heated pool. Heated hot tub. Heatedeverything,” he expounded. “You can fashion a sarong out of a satin sheet when we go down to dinner.”
She still didn’t speak.
“I bet you rock a bikini.”
“I do,” she said sadly, finally. “I really do.”
Once she said the words she couldn’t unsay them. And part of her was floating over her body, observing the surreality of the moment. Because a lot of people, 90percent of them women, would think she was out of her mind.
“I can’t go.”
He leaned back in his chair slowly.
A little silence fell.
“Do... you have to work?” He was clearly pretty puzzled. “You can’t get off work?”
“No. That’s not it.”
There was a little silence as he studied her. She saw it plain as day when she saw the realization strike.
